Back in 2023 I rewrote a Bible story, and thought that I'd posted it here.
Musta slipped my memory to do so.
I'm not going to give much preamble. Instead, I'll just drop it in here. (Originally written the tail end of June, beginning of July, 2023.)
A man had two sons. The
older did everything right (you might know an older brother or sister like
this), and stood to inherit his share. The younger had stars in his eyes and
asked to have his share of his father’s inheritance now, so he could live life
on his own terms.
You get the picture?
Dad, know-it-all perfect Big Brother, and Little Brother who wants to be out
from under Big Brother’s disapproving eye.
Well, Little Brother
converts his cattle to cash, spends like a sailor on shore leave, buying drinks
for his bar buddies, and such. Predictably, he runs out of cash, and since he
has not properly learned a high-paying trade, he has to take the lowest of the
low poor-paying jobs out there in order to get even a bit of something to eat
(all of his bar-buddy friends having dropped him, since he’s not buying drinks
for them anymore, y’see).
One day, while throwing
out the trash and picking through it to find something remotely edible, he has
a thought: “My dad’s hired hands live far better than this.
I’ll go home and ask to be a hired hand. At least I’ll have three hots and a
cot. What’s the worst that can happen?”
Little Brother hitches a
ride with a trucker headed the right way (Eddie Rabbit’s “Drivin’ My Life
Away!” pouring out of the truck’s radio), and gets dropped off in town. He
takes the long walk toward home, and says to himself, “I’ll tell my dad that
I’ve sinned against him and God both, and I’ll throw myself on his mercy and
ask to be allowed to be, not a son, but a hired hand.”
But when he turns in at
the lane to the ranch, his dad, who has been watching for his son’s return,
jumps out of the rocker and hoofs it down to where his second son is walking,
and grabs him in a big daddy hug.
Younger Son kind of
pushes him away and says his bit: “Dad, I’ve sinned against you and God. I
don’t deserve to be your son, but can I, may I, be a hired
hand?”
“None of that talk!
Let’s get you cleaned up!" replies Dad, "Looks like you have more
road on you that anything else! What you been doin', sloppin' hogs?” And his
father walks him up to the house and the cook (who used to dote on him when he
was a boy) exclaims, “You’re back! But, my goodness! Let’s clean you up! I want
to see your handsome face without all that dirt on it! When you’re done I’m
gonna make you your favorite meal!”
And Dad says, “Think
bigger than that, Gertie! We’re gonna have us a barbecue! Have Lonnie find us a
prime beeve to kill and prep for ribs and steaks and such, and get that pit hot
for the roastin’! Can you make up a gallon or so of that sauce I like? And send
a runner out to where his brother is working, get him in, too!” “Goodness, yes!
I’ll have it ready before that pit is hot and Lonnie is done with that beeve!”
So Little Brother gets a
steaming hot bath (the first in many weeks), and when he’s toweled down a bit
and shaved and other whatnot, his Dad takes him into his own room, and pulls
out HIS best shirt, HIS best suit, HIS best bolo tie, HIS best watch on a chain
with the family signet on the other end, and the finest set of boots He has in
HIS closet.
The Little Brother looks
into the mirror, and sees a changed man, and doesn’t quite believe that it’s
himself.
Dad asks, “Feeling
better now, Son?”
The young man stands there
speechless, but with a puzzled smile on his face.
“Is this how you see me,
Dad?”
“This is how I’ve always seen
you, Son.”
Side by side they leave
the Father’s rooms and head back to the kitchen, and out to the back yard to a
trestle table full of good things, including tea, lemonade, coleslaw, Texas
potato salad, and sourdough bread, with space left over for the hot food to take
up station when it’s ready. Those not directly helping with setting up the
party are saying things to the Little Brother like, “We’ve missed you! We’re so
glad you’re back!”
About sundown the Dutch
oven full of baked beans, a platter of short ribs, another of steaks, and
another of shredded brisket (and of course Gert’s barbecue sauce) are brought
out to the table. Father says the blessing and people line up to load up their
plates. Somewhere there’s a fiddler playing ‘Saturday Waltz’ from Copeland’s
‘Rodeo’.
Just as the party is
hitting its stride, Big Brother comes in, dusty from working the back forty.
“What’s all this?” he
asks. Father answers, “Your brother’s back! We’re celebrating! Get cleaned up
and help yourself to a plate!”
“What do you mean, ‘my brother’s back!’? The
son that took his inheritance and spent it on a riotous life? YOUR money?! And
you’re throwing a party for HIM?! I’ve done EVERYTHING you’ve asked of me.
You’ve never even let me take a goat from the herd so I could party with MY
friends! This makes NO sense!”
His father replied, “My
Son, you have been good and faithful, it’s true. Everything I have will be yours
when you inherit. But your Little Brother! He was lost to the world, but now he
is back home! Join me, join us, in the celebration of the fact your Little
Brother was lost, but now has been found!”
But Big Brother, dignity
insulted, would not join in.
The fiddler moved on to
“Hoedown!” and those who’d finished their strawberry-rhubarb pie moved to the
dancing area and started polka-ing and two-stepping.
And a great time was had
by (almost!) all.
And there it is. If ever you wonder whether you can go back again,
