This post also appeared in the Sunday, March 17, issue of the St. Michael Catholic Church bulletin.

A few weeks ago I was blessed to attend a day-long silent retreat for church staff, led by Father Park. It had been a long while since my last silent retreat, and the time was truly blessed.

One of the scripture passages given to us for reflection was an old standby: the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32). Like many of you, I’ve heard this story countless times and sometimes approach it like an old friend I know well, slipping into familiar patterns without a second look or thought.

This time was different. Instead of focusing on the father’s forgiveness, the younger son’s repentance, or the older son’s hardness of heart, what struck me was the father’s unflagging generosity with both his sons.

Or, more specifically, our Heavenly Father’s unfailing generosity with me.

I read the story slowly, as instructed, and caught myself thinking about the audacity of the younger son asking for his inheritance early—immediately, in fact. I didn’t get hung up on the implication that he could not wait for his father to die. Instead, something more relatable stood out: The young man, like me, wants what he wants when he wants it.

Maybe he didn’t intend to fall into sin and squander everything. Maybe he had big dreams, like I often do. Maybe he planned to do something amazing, if only he had the resources. Maybe he thought he was ready to take on the world. Maybe he had never come to terms with his own weakness and dependance—never realized how much his father was sheltering and caring for him.

I thought back on my own life: the number of times I have asked the Lord for everything I thought I had coming to me before I was ready. Asking for my bride’s hand while caught in the grip of pornography. Demanding answers to hard questions from a Church I refused to be in communion with. Begging God to prosper a new business based on a heartfelt desire and a couple leads that didn’t pan out. Asking Him for more children as casually as our children asked for more French fries.

Most times I’ve asked for anything, He has given with both hands. I’m rarely ready to receive it. So much of what He gives, I squander. A decade or more of marriage in which I lacked the self-possession required to give myself away in love. Years of hedging my bets, trying to find the sweet spot between “Sin no more” and “Well, I haven’t killed anyone!” Constantly looking to the next big thing and thinking, “If I could just ____________, I would be happy.” And, despite my brokenness, trusting myself to be a good husband, father, and provider, rarely asking for help until, like the younger son in the parable, I was starving and desperate.

If the parable were about me, the cycle would continue indefinitely—sometimes with me as the younger son, impatiently asking for the world, sometimes as the older son, complaining that my long-suffering patience has gone unrewarded. And in every instance, the Father rushing out to me, inviting me in, and giving me everything.

Everything. Every time.

I continue to struggle this Lent with wanting what I want when I want it. I am impatient and demanding. God forgive my self-centeredness. Bring me back home to You and teach me to be content with the everything You have for me.