Restless In Her classes, Halle began to spend time across the street from our high school with some students who regularly cut classes. As her special education teacher, I spent many hours sitting on a curb or a bench with her, trying to help her find a purpose for being in school. She had come a long way from being the angry, uncooperative, failing ninth grader I first met in my special education class for students labeled emotionally disturbed. She had been reclassified in tenth grade and qualified to move with me to the more mainstream resource program I was then heading. She was making A's and B's in her classes and had been a delight—until the end of her senior year.

Although I continued to reach out, Halle became more and more distant and rebellious. No matter what I said or did, she now seemed determined to fail. Finally, she decided to drop out of school. I wasn't surprised by this decision, but I felt very sad and disappointed. She had come so far and was so close to graduating!

The Bible story of the prodigal son, who leaves home, strays, suffers, and then returns to a welcoming father, was of great comfort to me as I watched Halle leave my classroom. Like the father in this parable of Jesus, I knew that people sometimes need to leave the safety and support of "home" to learn important life lessons. I knew that trying to hold on to Halle and force her "to see the light" would not work. Like the prodigal, she needed to discover the importance of "the light" on her own.

My experiences with Halle and with subsequent "prodigals" have caused me to think deeply about the role of the father in this parable from the Gospel of Luke (15:11–32). As the prodigal son returned from his disheartening adventures far from home, his father ran to meet him. The father appeared to have been waiting and watching for his son's safe return, as if he had been joyfully anticipating a happy homecoming. The loving father embraced his bedraggled and beleaguered son, lavishing upon him gifts and a grand party, rather than heaping admonishments on him.

When I first conceived of individuals as prodigals, I thought of them as mortals needing to learn lessons. I have since learned that, from the higher perspective of spiritual reality, there is really no such thing as a wayward prodigal. Although our actions may indicate that we are pursuing a prodigal path, I have learned that seeing one another as prodigals is harmful, because when we do so, we are identifying ourselves as mortals instead of as who we really are: God's perfect sons and daughters. Now when I am confronted with people who appear to be getting off track, I try to see them as God's perfect spiritual ideas without a single speck of error. This perspective results in much more healing than happens if we accept the premise that a person must experience wrongdoing in order to appreciate good.

I see that the father in the story (who represents God) was always beholding his son as perfect, and that this spiritual viewpoint helped awaken his son from the dream that there was pleasure in what the Bible calls the wastefulness of "riotous living." Also, that this spiritual viewpoint freed the father from needing to scold or admonish his son. The father knew all along that wickedness was no part of his son.

As I have thought deeply about this parable, I have also acknowledged the mistake of taking parables too literally. Bible parables are designed to highlight and illustrate a specific point, but they do not tell the whole story. For example, in this story the father (representing God) stayed home while his son journeyed to far-off lands. In fact, God, our Father-Mother, is never separated from us. He is always with us, even if we think we can run away from Him. And all we need to do in order to return home is acknowledge His presence because He is right here, right now, loving us and guiding us. Self-will and egotism separate us from God, and the relinquishment of self-will brings us back to the identity God has given us.

Although I have identified with the father in the prodigal story, I recognize that I am never the father. In other words, I am not personally responsible for the welfare of others. It is not my personal love or efforts that will help them go forward. It is God's love and power reflected in each of us that are here to transform my life and the lives of others. As I relinquish a human concept of what it means to help others, I find that the way to give real help is to gain a spiritual concept of who they are in God's sight.

My experiences working with "prodigals" have also taught me more about unselfed love. It is easy to love when someone I am trying to help is responsive and progressive, the way Halle was for several years. But then, it is tempting to feel hurt and resentful when the person one is trying to help seems resistive and rebellious. In the words of Mary Baker Eddy, I am learning to "love more for every hate," and to focus on people's spiritual nature instead of their transgressions. I also now recognize any hurt and resentment that I feel to be a type of selfishness—because I'm focusing on how a situation is affecting me instead of on what others are feeling or how God is seeing the situation. As I learn to turn outward in my thoughts, praying for the ability to see the way God sees, I find I'm more able to maintain a healing perspective.

Periodically thinking about this parable comforted me when I remembered Halle. I knew that she and other wanderers were God's precious children, cared for and guided by Him. I knew Halle could never be separated from God, that He was always communicating His great love for her. And that she must feel this love and hear His gentle commands.

Halle did eventually "come home." A couple of years after she had left high school, she called me and asked what she needed to do in order to graduate. Inspired by the father in the parable, I welcomed Halle with open arms and did everything I could to facilitate her goal. The school's administration permitted me to compile an independent study unit that would fulfill her graduation requirements. Halle's graduation from high school was quite a celebration. The "prodigal" had inded come home!