The other night I was preaching at church. I wrote my talk a few days earlier than usual and then checked its contents with my friend who runs the venue.
She looked a bit shocked and then told me that had preached almost that exact message a few weeks earlier! So suddenly I had to write something else…and fast.
In the middle of the night a few days later, God woke me up and gave me the idea to write a monologue as if I was the older brother in the story of the prodigal son. I will serialise this over the next few days:

“He’s always been the same. Ever since he was little, Joe has always craved attention. He’s a party animal, a real big mouth. Sometimes we got on, but the older he got, the more he wanted the company of his friends rather than to stay at home with us. We drifted apart, because, well, he was a… drifter. One minute he was best friends with one guy, the following week it was someone else.

I have had the same set of best friends all my life. We do everything together – the three of us. But Joe, he always has someone new to know. Something new to try. He gets bored easily does my little brother.

When Mum got sick, Joe was hardly there. He said he didn’t have the stomach for the nursing. I found that”¦ really hard – after all she’d done for him”¦ but he was in and out the door each day in a few minutes. He never sat with her or just let her talk. When she died there was a knot in my stomach that stayed for years. I found it hard to talk about it, but I knew I would always, always stay on the farm. I wanted to do it for her. I didn’t want her to worry. I wanted her to know she could count on me. That Dad could count on me. I was dependable, trustworthy. I turned up and worked hard and always did what needed doing. I wanted her to be proud. I wanted Dad to be proud. That’s who I am. I am someone you can rely on.

Then one day we were in the fields planting. It was back-breaking work and Joe skived off early, as usual. He said he was meeting one of his friends for a drink. But that’s not what he did. He went to one of my best friends houses and started getting friendly with his sister, if you know what I mean? There were rumours and we had to try and quosh them. I warned him, but Joe, Joe isn’t a listener. He is a talker, a shouter, a laugher. He laughed at me and called me old fashioned.

“When are you going to have a bit of fun David? Lighten up! Enjoy life. You are always working! You’re old before your time!”

I nearly punched him, but he ran off, laughing as usual.

Then one day, out of the blue, he came in with this funny smile on his face as though he’s had the best idea ever. He whispered something to Dad. Dad’s face fell. I just knew he had said something awful. But Dad wouldn’t tell me what he had said. As Joe left, Dad seemed preoccupied and sad.

So later on that morning I accosted my little brother.
“What have you said to Dad?” I asked him.

“Oh not much.” Joe had smiled nonchalantly, “I just asked him I could have my share of the estate now. No point waiting any longer is there. I mean I am missing all the fun.”

I couldn’t believe it. Joe was basically asking Dad for his inheritance. He was saying ” I wish you were dead so I could have all your money!” I couldn’t believe he had said it.

But my little brother had already packed his bags. He was leaving that day with his pockets full and his father’s emptier than they were. I couldn’t hold my tongue as I watched him leave.

“Why did you give it to him Dad?” I said. “You could have withheld it and told him he had to wait.”

“He would have left without my blessing,” said Dad. “And that would have been worse than him leaving at all.”