Prodigal

I know who I am.
You may know me too.
I am of a royal blood line.
I am a prince, a child of power, the son of the King.
And I am a prodigal.

I have been loved,
I have known love,
I have lived in the very presence of love incarnate.
Yet, I am a prodigal.

I know my Father,
I speak of Him often,
yet, I have held Him at arm's length.
I am a prodigal.

He has given me everything;
I have only wanted more.
He has blessed me beyond measure;
still, I have wanted more.
He has loved me in spite of the pain I have caused;
I continue to want only more.
I am a prodigal.

I am impatient.
I am unsatisfied.
I am restless.
I am angry.
I am a prodigal.

I know I am loved;
I do not live as if this is true.
I know I am cared for;
I do not live as if this is true.
I know I am a son of the King of kings;
I do not live as if this is true.
I am a prodigal.

I am in debt to debtors.
I am lonely in the crowd.
I am unhealthy in a world of fitness.
My mind is cloudy,
my judgement weak.
I am filthy and clothed in rags.
I am a prodigal.

I know that my Father longs for my return.
I know that He would greet me with open arms.
I know that He would sprint down the drive to meet me at the road.
I am afraid to return.
I am a prodigal.

I am not afraid of my Father,
I am ashamed to look in His eyes.
I do not worry that He may reject me,
His embrace would painfully crush my hardened heart.
I have no concern that He may no longer love me,
hatred for myself leaves only a desire for pain, not mercy.
I am a prodigal.

I am filled with pride, 
a false sense of humbleness.
I will crawl home,
though it is not required.
I will bloody my knees,
though He will heal them with a touch.
It is all I can muster.
It will be enough.
He will lift me up.
He will heal my soul,
so that I may no longer be prodigal.