“The kids are in town for a funeral”
Zach Bryan is a troubled young man for whom I pray regularly but, boy, does he write brilliant lyrics that absolutely nail the experience of rural mothers and fathers whose children go, sometimes come back, but often leave.
“If you could see ‘em now, you’d be proud; But you’d think they’s yuppies”
The statistics support our experience. It’s called the rural brain drain. County by county, out-migration (that’s people leaving) is 28% for young adults ages 20-24 in rural areas compared to 8% in metropolitan areas.
I have two kids. One left, one stayed. The one who left will never move home. She tried it, but it turned out terribly for reasons not fit to write about. It’s okay. She’s only 2 hours away, and we see her as often as busy schedules allow.
But it’s not only our own children who leave. It’s the children we helped raise. I raised our own two kids, of course, but did some heavy lifting too with their friends, the Girl Scouts, band kids, and, well, I don’t know how many kids in youth groups.
Some stayed. Some left and moved home. Some visit often and willingly. And some visit occasionally–yes, for funerals–and for Christmas and Easter. Mostly we see them become adults on Facebook and Instagram. We see the photos of the weddings and newborn children. We pray for them and wish them well.
Jesus told a parable about a family in Luke 15:11-32. We call it the parable of the prodigal son, but there are two sons and a father, and they all three matter in Jesus’ telling.
You know the basic outline, right? A young man gets restless, demands his inheritance early and runs away to squander it. Eventually, he realizes his stupidity and returns home where he’s met with his father’s open arms and his older brother’s bitterness. The father risks everything letting his younger son leave. He risks it again letting him come home. He risks everything yet again to reconcile with his older son.
The father gives, because that’s what love does. It gives. Without condition or promise of return.
Our variety of small-town prodigal sons and daughters haven’t squandered their wealth in restless living. No. They’ve simply built lives and careers and homes away from us. Some disparage the place from which they came. Some simply forget. The vast majority just move on.
A young man from town, not too long ago, was interviewed on social media and asked to describe his hometown. “You’re not missing much,” he laughed. Oh. That stung a bit.
So, you know what we did? We applauded him. The comments of pride and support poured in, as we did what we’d done for the first 18 years of his life: we kept loving him, celebrating him, and encouraging him.
As it should be.
So clean the house, clear the drawers, mop the floors, and stand tall. The kids are in town, and we couldn’t be happier to welcome them home.