One of the most powerful realizations in my spiritual life was recognizing how often I identified with the elder brother in Jesus’ Parable of the Prodigal Son. Not the son who left. The one who stayed. The one who worked hard. The one who followed the rules. The one who quietly built resentment while believing he was right.
I wrote about this in Unapologetic Manifestation through the lens of my relationship with my oldest son. It was one of the most vulnerable stories I have ever shared because, in telling it, I had to admit that I wasn’t simply reacting to his choices—I was allowing my own consciousness to be shaped by resentment. Like the elder brother, I was keeping score. I was making our relationship contingent upon whether I felt seen, appreciated, and valued.
I’d love to tell you that once I recognized that pattern, it disappeared forever.
It didn’t.
Just this week, I found myself standing in that same familiar place.
For weeks I had poured my heart into creating one of the most meaningful Sunday services I’ve ever produced—a musical exploration of the spiritual lessons found in Hamilton. My team gave everything they had. My daughter was performing. Together we created something that moved people deeply. By every measure, it was a beautiful success.
Because my oldest son has been living with us this past year while saving money, I invited him to come and experience the service with our family. I never told him how much it would mean to me if he came. I assumed he knew.
He didn’t come. He didn’t call. He didn’t text. He simply wasn’t there. Can you tell I was keeping score? That evening I came home filled with gratitude. People had been inspired. I had received wonderful feedback. I was proud of what our team had created together. And yet…There it was. That old, familiar ache.
Almost without realizing it, I began to withdraw emotionally from my son. I became quieter around him. Less available. Less affectionate. The elder brother had quietly taken his seat at the table once again.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Just hours after teaching about the prison of resentment and the spiritual power of forgiveness, I found myself making our relationship about me—about my disappointment, my expectations, and my hurt.
Thankfully, years of spiritual practice have taught me something important. The goal isn’t to never experience resentment again, the goal is to recognize it sooner. Awareness gives us a choice.
Instead of letting resentment become my reality, I was able to ask myself, “What story am I telling? What expectations did I never communicate? Am I withholding love because I didn’t receive what I wanted?” Those questions didn’t erase my disappointment. But they softened it.
The father in Jesus’ parable never kept score. He understood that love is not a reward for perfect behavior. Love is a way of being. That is the invitation for all of us. The elder brother lives in each of us. He appears whenever we believe our love should be earned, our sacrifices should always be acknowledged, or our worth depends upon someone else’s response.
Spiritual maturity is not pretending that part of us doesn’t exist. It is recognizing it with compassion, thanking it for trying to protect us, and then choosing not to let our heart grow smaller. And then to love extravagantly.