When I was young I never had the slightest intention of being an obedient child. The only thing my father and I had in common was that we were both prodigal sons. I could never live up to his expectations, and it seemed the only thing we knew how to do was make each other angry. I packed up that anger and took it with me when I left home, carried it for years like a backpack full of rocks. I can say these things now because I know that an awful lot of men out there can relate, and because, in my case, it’s not the end of the story. My father and I eventually became friends. I grew to love the man, and I know that he loved me. In time, he even came to be proud of me, and he let me know it. The change in our relationship was something only God could have accomplished. I know this was true in my father’s case because I could see God’s fingerprints on his life.
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