Life-Giving Words of Hope & Encouragement

I never truly understood what it meant to give my life for love. For all my days, I had been nurtured, cared for, and prepared—set aside for a purpose I could not yet comprehend. I had been fed richly, my body growing strong, all in readiness for a grand occasion. But I never imagined that my purpose would be far greater than a mere feast.

The day began like any other, quiet and uneventful. The servants moved about, tending to me as they always had, ensuring I was well-fed and healthy. But then, something in the air shifted. A hushed excitement rippled through the household, an anticipation I couldn’t yet name. It wasn’t until I saw him—silhouetted against the horizon—that I understood something momentous was unfolding. The son had returned.

I had heard whispers of his story—the one who had taken his inheritance and fled, throwing away all he had in reckless abandon. He had left behind a father who loved him, a home that had always been enough. And yet, despite everything, here he was again, his steps slow, his body worn thin from hunger and regret.

But before he could even reach the gate, his father ran to him.

I watched as the old man gathered his son in his arms, unbothered by the filth, the stench, the evidence of his mistakes. Tears mixed with laughter as he held his boy close, as if he had just received him back from the dead. And then came the words that sealed my fate.

“Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let us feast and celebrate, for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”

A chill passed through me. I had always known I was being kept for a celebration, but I had never fully grasped the cost of it. Until now.

I was the price of restoration.

It was my life that would mark the moment of reconciliation between a wayward son and his waiting father. My sacrifice would become the symbol of love given freely, of redemption bought not with words, but with something tangible, something costly.

I had been prepared for this, though I had not understood it until now. Love—true love—demands sacrifice. The father’s joy came not just from the return of his son but from his willingness to give something precious to mark the occasion. And as I was led away, I realized I was part of a story much larger than myself.

A story of redemption.

A story that whispered of another sacrifice to come.

Because this was not just the tale of one lost son returning home. It was a reflection of a greater love—a love so fierce, so relentless, that it would one day demand an even greater sacrifice. Just as the father in this story gave up something dear to him for the sake of his son, so too would God give up His own Son to bring us back into His arms.

Jesus Christ, the ultimate sacrifice, would give His life so that we, the lost ones, could be found. His death on the cross would echo this very moment—a life laid down, not for its own sake, but so that another might be restored.

As I took my final steps, I understood at last.

Sacrificial love is not about loss. It is about restoration.

It is the kind of love that runs toward the broken, arms wide open. The kind of love that does not hesitate to give up something precious so that another might be made whole. It is the kind of love that changes everything.

I was more than just a fattened calf.

I was a symbol of grace. A shadow of a greater sacrifice to come. A part of a story that would stretch across eternity—a story of a God who loves so deeply that He was willing to give everything to bring His children home.

And that, I realized, was a purpose worth dying for…

I hope this speaks to you, and I pray you have a blessed day!

***credit for story idea from Dr. Mark Rutland***