This blog is an endeavor to lay bare the spiritual journey I find myself in the midst of.  My sincere hope is to post at least twice a month.  Hopefully more.  I am hoping that by sharing my own journey, fellow believers may find themselves wanting to know more and that non-believers may start to question their own faith and perhaps even seek out their own relationship with Christ.  Pious?  Perhaps.  Honest?  Absolutely and always.  I am no scholar on the subject of religion and Christianity.  Indeed, I would classify my knowledge as being in a fledgling state.  Just seeding and ready to grow.  If you are averse to the terms "God", "Christ" and "Jesus", this blog probably isn't going to be for you.  If you want to challenge yourself and are open to other thoughts and opinions, I invite you to read on.  You may find something you like.

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Prodigal.

Adjective meaning "characterized by profuse or wasteful expenditure." 

Or, noun, meaning "one who spends or gives foolishly."

Merriam-Webster says the roots of the word come from that latin prodigus or prodigere, which means "to drive away, squander".

I am prodigal.  I live a prodigal life.  I am not proud of this.  I am not alone. 

We've all heard the story of the Prodigal Son.  It's one of my favorite parables put forth in the Bible.  One of two sons wants his inheritance before his time.  He is impatient and wants what's his, now.  His father acquiesces to the his demand and the son promptly runs off with his fortune and wastes it, losing everything.  After living for a time in squalor, the son decides he'd be better off returning home and working as a slave for his own father.  Upon returning to the home after much time away, the father accepts the son back into the fold with no questions and even throws a party for the returning son.  The second son, who had stayed and worked with the father, is jealous of the attention and love his brother is receiving from their father.  The father simply says "rejoice, your brother was gone and now he has returned."

I am a son.  I am a brother.  I am now a father.  I have wandered from home.  I have squandered much of what has been given me.  I am trying to return, just happy to be a footstool for my family.  How will my Father react?  How will my Brothers react?  How would I react if I were the father and the brother? 

I would guess that many of you still reading at this point share many parallels with my own backstory.  I was baptised at an early age.  Too early to remember, as is the custom in my family.  I have been an on-again, off-again church-goer for most of my life.  I served as an acolyte ("altar boy" for the uninitiated, non-Episcopalians) for most of my post-elementary school childhood, stopping only when i went away to college (and even then, i filled in at the church if i showed up and they needed a fill-in).  By the time i fully stopped serving the church, I could have performed the entire service rituals, without the collects, Gospel readings and sermons (which changed weekly), and felt quite comfortable doing so.  However, there was still an awful lot of the whole thing that I just didn't "get".  I knew God was the Creator.  That Jesus was His Son.  That He died on the cross for my sins.  But there was something missing.  I never felt strongly about much I heard in the readings and sermons.  I never felt a connection to what was going on.  I was there in body.  My mind was often elsewhere.  These were my teen years after all.     

After marrying and subsequently moving away from my hometown some 14 years ago, I basically stopped going to church altogether.  I found mysefl rationalizing that living in Colorado offered me what I needed on a spiritual level.  Anyone who has seen the sunrise over the Eastern Plains or the sun set over the mountians to the west can certainly back up this idea.  There is something spiritual about wide open spaces and high mountain peaks with views that seemingly go on forever.  I called it God's Church of the Rocky Mountains.  I worshipped here whenever i could.  After having kids, my time in the mountains began to dwindle.  Sure, we still did our camping trips and hikes.  But the time for those things was harder to come by.  Anyone with children can certainly relate.  Eventually. my wife and I decided we needed to get back into the "God thing" and we started looking for a new spiritual home.  We found a very welcoming and comfortable church and we've been attending on a semi-regular basis ever since.  This has been for the last 6 years or so.  Usually we end up going on unintended hiatuses during the summers when it's all too easy to do so.  We like to blame it on the fact that there is no Sunday School for the kids (at our church Sunday School is actually held during the service, so Andi and I love that we can worship without the hinderance of disinterested 5 and 8 year olds at our sides).  But in reality, we simply find it easy to fall into a malaise about going.  One weekend camping trip takes away one sunday.  You miss one sunday and then missing a second isn't so hard to do.  Then the third, and the fourth, and before you know it you've gone all summer without crossing the threshold of God's House.

Last February was a turning point in my life.  Not the kind that one reaches because one has hit "rock bottom"  But one that is no less important.  My Dad died.  From cancer.  We knew it was coming.  So did he.  Dad was not a church-goer.  Or really even a Christian.  He had been raised in a Methodist church but lost the faith somewhere along the line.  Some might say in Vietnam in the late '60s.  All i know is that for my entire life, I had only seen him in churches for weddings and funerals and once for my Confirmation and first Communion.  He believed in God, but not "the Jesus stuff" as he put it.  He prayed, but avoided mention of Christ.  I never put much thought to it until he was dying. 

After his death in February, I found myself longing to know how a man as seemingly wise as my father had been could believe in a God and His power, but not believe in the miraculous story of Jesus of Nazareth.  I began to read some books on Christian Apologetics and over time found myself tuning into a couple of the local Christian radio stations.  The music became a calming force for me.  Some of the pastors and preachers that I heard became teachers.  The books became eye openers.  Not so much because I didn't believe.  I always have.  But for the way they reinforced what I already thought but just didn't know how to put into words.  Today I regularly listen to a pastor on the radio during my drive to work.  I take notes.  I want to know more.  I want to connect more. 

Have you ever been walking around somewhere, thinking to  yourself how everything looks so familiar and feeling that you know exactly where you are.  Then all of a sudden you see a street sign and realize you're in a completely different place?  That's how it was when my Dad died.  My worry about my Dad's faith opened my eyes to see that my own needed help.  I was lost and I didn't even know it.  I'd like to say that i'm found.  God has certainly found me again.  But will i follow Him where He leads me? 

We all have a bit of the Prodigal in us.  We are prone to wander.  We are prone to over spend whatever cache we have.  I know the answer the above question.  I humbly invite you to share in my journey as I walk as the Prodigal Son.  Follow me as I undoubtedly react as the Prodigal Brother.  Walk with me as I try to live as the Prodigal Father.  We're all doing it.  Living the Prodigal Life. 

For the next post, we'll be jumping into the deep end as i tackle the issue of same-sex marriage.  Stay tuned....