“But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast to celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate. Luke 15:22-24.

Over the last number of years, I have come across thie well known, “Parable of the Lost Son,” from which the above passage originates numerous times. Once while studying this scripture in a small group, I remember being asked which character from the parable I relate to most. Depending on the season that I found myself in, I have in the past identified with the jealous older brother and at other times the joy of the father. However, as a new chapter of my life has recently begun here in Uganda, the individual in the parable that resonates deeply with me is that of the ‘lost son.’ Let me explain.

A couple of days after arriving in Uganda, I departed Kampala and traveled to a village in Kitgum located in the far north of the country. The purpose of my visit was to learn about the ways and customs of the Acholi people as well as to informally study the language.

Upon arrival to the compound of my host family, I was first greeted by the children who began to perform songs of welcome. As I stood enjoying the moving music, one by one the other family members began to appear, some greeting me with a handshake and others with a warm embrace. Lastly, the head of the household approached with a bright smile on his face. Upon taking my hand into both or his, he said, “Welcome our lost first born.”

Still holding my hand, I was then led to the home where the family's best furniture had been brought outside and placed in the shade of the veranda. There to greet me were respected community members as well as friends of the family who had all been informed of my arrival. As I took my seat in the reserved place of honor, the women who had all briefly disappeared began to return placing dish after dish of food before me.

The amazing spread of food made it hard to believe that I was in a land which has been devastated by war and highly dependant on humanitarian aid. However, the distended bellies of some of the children who had gathered to catch a glimpse of the visitor were a grounding reminder of what hardships the people of this region continue to experience.

After eating I was then led to a traditional round 'ot' made from bricks smeared over with mud topped with a grass thatched roof. I later learned that the home had specifically been built for me to ensure I was most comfortable during my stay. The family had labored for weeks making the bricks, weaving the bamboo together to form the roof, and harvesting both the mud and grass that would make up the rest of the structure. I was then left to bathe and rest after the long journey that I had just completed.

As I received blessing after blessing throughout my time with this phenomenal family, the phrase, “lost first born,” continued to play in my mind. The “Parable of the Lost Son,” paints a picture of a father who rejoices that his son has returned despite his wrong doings. Although the son is not worthy, to his surprise, the father continues to make sacrifices in order to bless his beloved child.

During the two weeks I stayed in Kitgum, I have received more than my share of blessings. Not because I deserved them, but because I was sincerely loved by those entrusted to care for me. While the war has caused much suffering throughout Acholiland, it is certainly evident that it has not taken away the peoples ability to love. They have been crushed and pressed on every side, yet continue to push forward in faith, hope and love. The kindness and sheer amount of sacrifice which the family endured in order to ensure a comfortable stay, was extremely humbling.

Many times in my life I have taken the blessings I receive for granted or have felt that it was my hard work that produced such fruits. However, everything I have has only been entrusted to me by God, including every breath I take. I have been reminded that I therefore need to daily make the choice as to whether I will use my life to bring glory to Jehovah Jirah or whether like the 'lost son', squander what has been bestowed upon me.

In the parable, the story does not go on to say whether or not the 'lost son' has permanently changed his ways. However, after the outstanding experience I had during my homestay, I trust the love he experienced was as transforming for him as it was for me. May I forever be mindful of the sovereignty of God and what he desires me to do with the blessings He pours out upon me.

Peace be with you, now and always.