He was there behind the smudged glass window separating us. His hair was disheveled and dingy, like he had just woken up from oversleeping. His face had a light stubble and his eye were red. I picked up the phone and he punched in the number allowing us to converse. "Thanks for coming. I'm so embarrassed. I'm better than this. I'm so ashamed." And on and on he went.
I was visiting a young man loosely connected with the church before the evening jail service I was gong to lead. Unlike the men I meet n the services, this young man I knew fairly well. His was a story of squandered opportunities and broken promises. He was always friendly when I met he on the streets or in stores, but cagey and restless.
The details of his arrest and record do not really matter. He was offered everything ad he spent it down to almost nothing. As I visited with him, I felt like I was seeing graphically the Prodigal Son in the pig sty before he came to his senses, when he was filled with nothing but grief and shame. My wonder is will this boy come, or spend his life in the sty?