When my spring seminary course wrapped up at the end of July, I found myself with a stack of books that were not required reading.

I settled into the sweet space, turning pages as slower rhythms of living returned.

One book that resonated was Henry Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal Son, a story of homecoming.

Nouwen commits an entire book to reveal what hours and days of sitting before the original of this famous Rembrandt painting offered him.

As I turned pages, Nouwen guided me through the details of the painting, and many times, I flipped to the cover to study the painting for myself, finding so much more than at first glance.

I appreciated and related to how Nouwen recognized himself as the prodigal, the elder brother, and even the father.

The father, like God, is one who:

From the beginning of creation, has stretched out his arms in merciful blessing, never forced himself on anyone, but always waiting; never letting his arms drop down in despair, but always hoping that his children will return so that he can speak words of love to them and let his tired arms rest on their shoulders. His only desire is to bless. (95-96)

Recognizing God first loved us, knitting us in our mother's womb, Nouwen concludes with some profound questions that require deep reflection and self-acceptance (106-107):

Rather than asking: How am I to find God?

Ask: How am I to let myself be found by him?

Or: How am I to know God?

Ask: How am I to let myself be known by God?

Finally, instead of asking: How am I to love God?

Ask: How am I to let myself be loved by God?

Letting myself be loved by God is a choice among many.

I was struck by the powerful image in Inside Out 2 when Anxiety began tearing up as she worked hard to try and manage and control Riley’s life.

I sat in the theatre this summer, tears streaming down my face, remembering the overwhelming feelings anxiety brought just days before when I was in an MRI feeling claustrophobic.

The resolving image from the movie, where Anxiety sips a warm drink in an easy chair, continues to feel helpful, especially when I had another MRI only a few days later because the first pictures were blurry.

Amazingly, as I lay face down in that small space, I felt joy for the second MRI. It was a joy that came from knowing I could tell fear and anxiety where to hang out, over in the comfy chair sipping tea.

It certainly helped that my husband could be in the room as a support person this time, and I knew kind people were praying and thinking of me after facing the first MRI naively alone.

I am all clear; no abnormalities were found on the follow-up MRI, and I am grateful the doctors are being vigilant with my screenings because of the family history of my mom’s recent breast cancer.

I take from this experience what Nouwen says so well:

The choice to live free from many things that are joy killers is one our heavenly Father gives.

Nouwen describes not only the joy the father finds in his son's return but also the more subtle signs of Kingdom advancement in hearts, even as we await the full restoration of all things:

Yes, I know that not everybody has been converted yet, but there is not yet peace everywhere, that all pain has not yet been taken away, but still, I see people turning and returning home; I hear voices that pray; I notice moments of forgiveness, and I witness many signs of hope. I don't have to wait until all is well, but I can celebrate every little hint of the Kingdom that is at hand. 115

When Nouwen discusses the pure love flowing from what appears to be a blind father reaching out to bless, images of my dad in his final days of life come to mind as he gave unconditional love to each of his children and grandchildren.

My dad reviewed the beatitudes in his last week of life, where Jesus describes what it means to be blessed here on earth (see Matthew 5:3-12) in an upside-down-kingdom way.

Leading with love can occur even in death when one's last words and breath extend blessings.

This concept resonated at the end of one of my leadership books for the course I finished in the summer.

The only “why” that truly matters behind leadership is love!

The first nine Leadership on the Line chapters did not capture me like the last few—which held all the heart and soul I longed for.

Here are several of the quotes I spoke into my phone to save for one of my papers:

“Love gives meaning to what you do, whether in a corporation, a community, a classroom, or a family” (209-210).

As I pause at this quote, I am convinced I don’t want to run ahead of working from a wellspring of love.

Heifetz and Linsky go on to say:

“The human enterprise is an experiment in love and community” (210).

and

“Any form of service to others is an expression, essentially, of love” (220).

I give to my children, day in and day out, teaching and training because Christ first loved me.

“Exercising leadership is a way of giving meaning to your life by contributing to the lives of others. At its best, leadership is the labor of love” (223).

I am on the right learning trajectory with my master’s in leadership and ministry only if I recognize leadership as a “labor of love.”

This perhaps was the most healing reality recently as I thought about my dad and how he led both in his life and in his death.

As I seek to grow and lead with integrity of heart and skill of hand (Psalm 78:72), I remain seated with Nouwen, staring a little longer at Rembrandt’s masterpiece, finding reprieve, knowing I am held in the Father’s arms as his beloved.

Only from this posture can I begin to lead and bless others.

Heifetz and Linsky’s concluding words reflect on this beautiful and intentional way of living: