Longing for restoration

There are moments in life when a man is still called a son, yet he feels like he no longer knows where his place is.
The house is still there.
The Father is still there.
But somewhere along the journey, the road back became blurred, unfamiliar, almost forgotten.

I am that son.

Not lost because I wanted to wander.
Not broken because I chose this path.
But worn out by battles, debts, disappointments, and the slow erosion of hope.
A man who once stood strong for others now finds himself standing alone, wondering how everything slipped through his hands.

There was a time when people saw strength in me.
Now they see struggle.
There was a time when I helped carry others.
Now I can barely carry myself.

Yet deep inside, something refuses to die.

A small voice keeps whispering,
“You still belong. You are still a son. You are not abandoned. You are only wounded.”

I have not rejected the Father.
I have only forgotten the way back through the storm.

And now I stand here, tired of crawling, tired of surviving, tired of this valley that feels like hell.
I want to rise again.
I want to breathe again.
I want to fly like an eagle, not because I am strong, but because I know I was created to soar.

I am reclaiming what was stolen.
I am taking back my identity.
I am holding on to what Jesus has already called mine.
My belonging. My inheritance. My name as a son.

If you read this and feel something in your heart, do not just see a struggling man.
See a brother who is trying to find his way home.
See a son who has not given up.
See a preacher who still believes, even while standing in the fire.

Joseph Khati