Before my blog becomes a desert town I should start blogging again... and what better way to start with a story.

At a certain pub in the country deep in the night, an old man, lays alone, drinking outside on the veranda, watching repeat telecasts of the Barclays Premier League, sitting under the signboard that was possibly as old as he was. He is accompanied by no one except silent banners proclaiming loud slogans. All is peaceful on the adjacent road, the peace occasionally punctuated with the sound of a risk-taker speeding through the road, and the sound of the traffic light leading the blind to cross the road. As he sits there, he notices the sound of the door chime as it announces the presence of the only other customer in the pub. This man looks well dressed, a symbol of his well to do, but the face does not match the appearance. In reality, he was no more than an empty shell, heartbroken by the many rejections that he had faced, so empty, so empty. This certain man spots the lonely old man sitting in the corner, and seeks his company.

“May I join you?”

A goodwill gesture, and the old man signals to the young one to sit. As time passes, each sits in his own world, unaware of the silence around them, and definitely unaware of each other. The silence is only broken when the question is openly asked by the younger one.

“What are you doing here?”

The old man replies, and starts talking about his lifestory, and why he was sitting here alone at night instead of returning home. The familiar story about many old folks in nursing homes today. Children abandon their father, leaving the father to fend for himself, while he moves on, in search of a better life. He talks about Melbourne, his rich son, his beloved son, how he was abandoned by his son, passed each day in loneliness, waiting for his son to return. He does not speak of hate, still one of compassion, but yet…

As the old man continues speaking, the younger one gradually realises that the old man was talking about him. But how? How come he looks nothing like the father I abandoned? How after 10 years he is still waiting for me? He does not speak of hate, but can I trust him?

The younger one knows that this was his father, but fears the repercussions if he acknowledges his father. Wrath and anger, and perhaps he hasn’t changed from a once fiery man. The older one knows that this is his son, and waits for the acknowledgement, but it never comes. Instead, as time draws on, the silence becomes more and more unbearable, all sounds coming to an ebb. Just complete silence.

The younger one looks at his Rolex, makes a hasty excuse about time and parking coupons, and disappears into the darkness. The older one, just sits in darkness, heartbroken.

Tis the story about us and God. How much longer will we stay away from Him. How much longer shall we make him heartbroken. Draw near to the Lord, and he shall give you peace, love and affection.