The Prodigal Son had two Petitions

A certain man had two sons: And the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living— Luke 15:11-12

Father, Give Me

I had never noticed before that the prodigal made two petitions to his father. The first was: "Father, give me." He said, "Give me the portion of goods that falleth to me."

The son wanted to leave home. He was tired of it and all it represented. He felt that he was missing things. The world was big, and he was getting independent, he was young, and he was missing things. It is always bitter, when my heart has felt it is missing something.  

The fatal mistake the prodigal made was this—he thought that all that he wanted was far off. Just like me, like us. It’s always better elsewhere. We miss what we have because we want what we don’t have. He thought that the appeasing of his restlessness lay somewhere over the hills and far away. He was destined to learn better and he came to his father and said, "Father, give me."

Mark this; there is no asking of advice. There is no consulting of the father's wishes. There is no effort to learn the father's will in regard to the disposition of the patrimony. It is the selfish cry of thoughtlessness, self centeredness.  Declaring what is his will: "Father, give me what is mine."

Father, Make Me

So he got his will, his portion, and departed, and we know the tragic consequences, just like we have seen in our lives.  The prodigal tried to feed his soul on sense.  Then the prodigal came to himself. Memories of home began to waken. He lay in his shed thinking of his father. Prayers rose within his heart.

I will arise and go to my father, and will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you, and I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Make me like one of your hired servants.”  Luke 15: 18-19

And now his petition was not "Father, give me." He had got all he asked, and he was miserable. His one impassioned cry was, "Father, make me." "Father, make me anything you please. Make me a hired servant if you want to. I have no will but yours now. I am an ignorant child and you are wise." Taught by life, disciplined by sorrow and the making of my own folly. Insistence now passes into submission. Once he knew no will but his own will. He must have it, or he would hate his father. Once the only proof of love at home was the getting of the thing that he demanded. But now, "Father, I leave it all to thee. Thou art wise; I have been very foolish. Make me—anything thou pleasest."

This is MY Prayer.