There’s a story about a son… A son who’s not too interested in family life at the moment.
So he goes… Far away with his dad’s money. Enjoys life. Has some fun. The sort of fun you don’t have with your dad around.
But then things go wrong. The money runs out. The friends disappear.
He realises he was in fact much better off at home, in fact, even the people who work for his dad are in a better place than him, they have food at least! So he works out what he can do, rehearses his returning speech, his passionate apology a thousand times.
He’ll say sorry, he’ll offer to work, just to be treated like on of his dad’s employees would be enough. He can make things right, he’ll sort it, it’ll be ok.
But get this, he’s on his way home and before he makes it his dad sees him, and runs to him. And he gets ready, breathes in, begins to deliver his well rehearsed monologue. But before he can finish his dad’s already talking… He’s getting excited, shouting to everyone, organising a party of all things! But this isn’t any party, it’s a party for the son! He’s so happy!
There’s no way this son was going to sort things out himself - but it didn’t matter. His dad wasn’t interested in him paying him back, or earning his way back into his family. It was an open door. A party was thrown.
In fact the dad saw him and was waiting even before he knew he was on his way home.

