Wednesday Reflections
Every family has its stories. Mine certainly does.
Looking back now, I realize that my two older brothers taught me something about Jesus’ parable of the Prodigal Son that I didn’t understand when I first heard it.
The lesson wasn’t about deciding which brother was right.
It was about discovering that grace is far more mysterious than we often imagine.
My oldest brother, George, was born in 1935. School was never his strength, but give him an engine that wouldn’t run, and he could usually figure out what everyone else had missed. His hands understood machines in a way books never could.
After high school, he joined the Army. He fell in love through letters with a young woman he had never met face to face. The first time they actually saw one another was the day they were married. Soon afterward, he served a tour in Vietnam.
War has a way of leaving marks that people cannot always see. George could be tough. Sometimes he seemed angry. Sometimes bitter. Family relationships were often strained, especially with our oldest sister. Yet there was another side to him that deserves to be remembered.
He loved his wife faithfully.
He devoted himself to two children who faced lifelong physical disabilities resulting from difficult births.
After retiring from the Army, he worked as a mechanic for a local school district, earned a bachelor’s degree, and retired again after years of faithful service.
Of all the children in our family, George was the only one whose marriage endured.
Then there was my brother Ted.
Ted was born in 1940, and in many ways he was George’s opposite. He was gifted beyond words. He could draw beautifully. He could write. He had an artist’s eye and eventually became a talented floral designer.
Everyone who knew Ted recognized his gifts.
But gifts alone do not guarantee an easy life.
Ted left school before graduating after becoming involved with one of his teachers. He never seemed able to settle down. He moved from place to place, struggled to keep steady work, and eventually spent time in prison for embezzlement.
His life brought heartache to our family.
Yet through it all, one thing never changed.
Whenever George came home, Mother and Daddy welcomed him.
Whenever Ted came home, Mother and Daddy welcomed him.
No lectures.
No conditions.
Just a place at the table.
Years later, Ted became ill. We knew he was sick, but we didn’t know why. Only after his death did we learn that he had AIDS. He had chosen not to pursue medical treatment.
Then came one final surprise.
Unknown to any of us, Ted had purchased a $10,000 life insurance policy and made our mother the beneficiary.
Even in death, he found a way to say, “Thank you.”
I remember how much that unexpected gift meant to her.
As the years have passed, I’ve realized that I misunderstood both of my brothers.
One appeared dependable but carried wounds I could not fully understand.
The other appeared to have wasted so much of his life, yet left behind one final act of quiet generosity that none of us saw coming.
When I read Jesus’ story of the Prodigal Son today, I no longer ask, “Which brother was George?” or “Which brother was Ted?”
Instead, I ask a different question.
How often have I mistaken one chapter of a person’s life for the whole story?
Grace has taught me that people are rarely as simple as our judgments.
The faithful often carry hidden scars.
The wanderers often leave behind unexpected gifts.
Perhaps that’s why the father in Jesus’ parable never stopped loving either son.
He simply opened his arms when they came home.
Maybe that’s the greatest miracle of all.
So pull up a rocking chair and remember someone you’ve judged too quickly—or someone you’ve misunderstood.
You may discover, as I have, that every family has its prodigals, every family has its faithful ones, and every family is held together not by perfection, but by grace.
And grace is always more mysterious than it first appears.
The Curious Pilgrim 
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