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Elmo from Sesame Street is one of those endearing characters who forever stays a little boy, er, monster. I seem to remember that a phrase from one of the earliest versions of the talking toy based on the character was, “Elmo got new shoes!” As you may recall, Elmo frequently referred to himself in the third person.

Hearing “Elmo got new shoes” made me laugh the first ten times I heard it. By the time the count reached twenty, my head began to ache. By the 30th time, this Mommy said, “Elmo needs to take off his shoes and take a nap,” as I removed the battery. Temporarily, of course.

In the parable of the prodigal son, the Bible tells us that the younger son of a rich man asked for his share of a future inheritance early. He then took the money and left to live a lavish, partying lifestyle in a far-off country.

When the money ran out and tough times came upon the land, the son made the long journey home on foot, intending to ask not only for his father’s forgiveness but also for a job on the family farm.

As the son reached the last leg of the trip, his father saw him “when he was still a great way off.” The first words from the father’s mouth were not to his son, but to the servants. “Bring out the best robe…and sandals for his feet.”

Curious instructions, yes? Why, of all possibilities, would the father want new shoes for his returning child?

We can imagine the answer in seeing a portion of Rembrandt’s painting Return of the Prodigal Son.

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Remember that the son had walked from a faraway land to return home. All he owned was what he wore. There had been no donkey or horse to ride upon. He walked. And walked. On dirty, dusty roads he walked so long and so far that by the time he arrived, his shoes were likely breaking, just as he himself had already broken.

The son fell to his knees before his father, begging for forgiveness, and Rembrandt’s interpretation was that as he did so, one shoe literally fell apart and lay on the ground.

That was certainly a committed walk; a focus so intent to accomplish his goal that he wore his shoes to pieces.

I keep that picture of a portion of the painting on my cork board in my writing room. The prodigal son’s dirty feet and fallen-apart shoe inspire me to push forward when maybe I’m not at my creative best. It reminds me to be quick to forgive others even before (or if even they don’t) ask to be forgiven.

And above all, it reinforces a great truth: That no matter what, just like the wayward son, I am loved and forgiven by my Father.

To my readers:  Do you have a favorite story to share about coming home?