What the prodigal son teaches us about sorrow, grace, and coming home
Have you ever had two Scriptures connect in a way you hadn’t noticed before?
It happened to me this week.
During my Quiet Time, I pondered the daily reading: “Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy” (Psalm 126:5). As I sat with those words, the parable of the prodigal son in Luke 15 came to mind.
At first, the two passages seemed unrelated.
The Psalm speaks of tears and harvest. The prodigal story tells of a son who wandered far from home before returning to his father.
But as I sat with them, something began to connect.
I usually imagine life as a straight line: first the tears, then the joy. First the failure, then the healing. First the struggle, then the celebration.
But life rarely works that neatly.
This past week, I experienced both tears and joy at the same time. There were moments of deep humility as I reflected on places where I’ve fallen short. At the same time, there was profound joy as I celebrated the launch of my new book and listened to people share how they’re growing closer to God through the Divine Flow lifestyle.
The tears didn’t disappear before the joy arrived. Somehow, they belonged together.
As I held those two Scriptures in my heart, I began to wonder if Psalm 126 is inviting us to notice something deeper. Maybe tears soften the soil of our hearts. Maybe they loosen our grip on pride and self-sufficiency. Maybe they remind us we need God’s grace to grow.
And when our hearts are softened, joy isn’t something we have to force. It’s something we’re able to receive.
The Human Struggle
That’s what I see in the prodigal son. The story isn’t about failure. It’s about coming home.
Every one of us wanders at times. We make mistakes. We get tangled up in our own thinking. We try to carry life on our own shoulders. We trust ourselves more than we trust God.
Yet, in Jesus’ story, the Father doesn’t stand on the porch with crossed arms and a lecture.
He runs. He embraces. He welcomes his child home.
Maybe that’s where joy begins—not because we got everything right, but because we let ourselves receive unconditional love again.
Where Tears and Joy Meet
Perhaps our tears and our joy belong together because both are part of how we grow.
The tears open our hearts. The joy reminds us we’re held in the arms of God. We are loved.
When I carry regret, disappointment, or sorrow, my first instinct is often to turn on myself. I ask questions that don’t help.
Am I a bad person? Should I have known better? Why can’t I get over this?
Then my mind argues both sides. One part of me tries to prove I’m okay. Another part points out where I’ve fallen short.
Am I good? Am I bad? Am I the good witch or the bad witch?
Back and forth it goes. And underneath all that mental noise, the tears are still there.
But I wonder if those tears aren’t something to be ashamed of. Maybe they’re more like a baptism. A flow of life-giving grace.
Maybe they’re one of the ways God gently softens the soil of my heart. Maybe they’re watering something I can’t yet see. Maybe joy is already taking root beneath the surface.
Amazing grace often grows best in well-watered soil.
The Journey of Coming Home
The journey of our lives is a journey of coming home.
Coming home from the places where we’ve tried to prove ourselves.
Coming home from the shame we’ve carried.
Coming home from the belief we have to earn love.
Coming home from the exhausting work of trying to hold life together by ourselves.
Whether we realize it or not, maybe God has been drawing us home all along.
Not to scold us. Not to shame us. Not to remind us of all the ways we’ve failed.
But to embrace us with a love we don’t have to earn. A love that was there before we knew how to name it. A love that keeps running toward us.
That’s what makes the prodigal story so powerful. The son comes home with his speech prepared. He knows he’s done wrong. He’s ready to explain himself. He’s ready to be treated like a servant.
But the father interrupts the speech with an embrace. Then he throws a party.
That’s hard for us to believe because we’re used to thinking joy comes only after we clean ourselves up. After we get it right. After we become more spiritual, more faithful, more whole.
But Jesus tells a different story.
Joy begins when we let ourselves be loved.
Even with tears still on our face. Even with dust still on our feet. Even with parts of the story still unresolved.
The feast doesn’t begin after the son becomes perfect. The feast begins when he comes home.
Maybe this is the story beneath all our stories. We’re all being invited home.
Home to the Father. Home to unconditional love.
Home to the truth that our tears and our joy are not enemies. They’re part of the divine celebration God keeps preparing for us. A feast where sorrow is held, shame is lifted, laughter returns, and joy rises again.
Perhaps that’s where joy begins—not after the tears are gone, but right in the middle of them, as we let ourselves come home to God again. And again.
Your Turn
Find a quiet place and close your eyes for a moment.
Imagine yourself as the prodigal son or daughter—not because you’ve done something terrible, but because, like all of us, you’ve tried to carry life’s burdens on your own.
Now picture yourself walking home.
As you come over the hill, what do you see?
Can you imagine the Father running toward you?
No lecture. No shame. Just open arms. A warm embrace. A feast prepared because you’ve come home.
Stay with that image for a few moments.
Then notice what happens inside you.
Does your heart soften as you let the Father’s love embrace you?
Can you let that love warm you, comfort you, and remind you that you are God’s beloved child?
Let yourself rest there.
In the embrace.
At the feast.
Home again.
—brian plachta
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