Prodigal Father

What if every morning,
in that moment when you’re first aware of yourself and life and breath once more,
that very moment is the same moment when God’s heart leaps
and He thinks to Himself, with arms outstretched,
“Maybe this is the day!
Maybe today will be the day she comes back!
And I will wipe the tear stains from her face
And I will clutch her close once again
With the streaming sunlight embracing.”

And he waits, still but straining,
In hopeful expectation.