What if?

What if you are the prodigal one?
What if you are welcomed, always,
deep within the heart, regardless of your deeds?
What, then, becomes of your certainty
that a rightful place has not been set for you?
Or the belief that someone has the power
to seat you at the far end of the table,
where only remnants are passed
on platters previously brimming
with a succulent roast from the fatted calf?
What if you are the lost one,
invited into generosity,
your dazzling body newly clothed,
once again reclaimed into the fold?
How then could your resentment continue,
your tale of recurrent exclusion narrate your life?
Would you lose your judgment against the one
who fled and squandered all,
who abandoned freely-given riches and slept with swine?

Consider this:
what if an amazing feast, a banquet of forgiveness
is laid down for you
simply because you have been misplaced
and then returned?