the prodigal son

I was reading Dieter’s book the other night when I came across a chapter recounting the parable of the Prodigal Son. And I paused for a moment because something in me knew it wasn’t just happenstance. To come across that story during the final nights of Ramadan felt like a message from God, a divine reminder wrapped within the text on those pages.

The message of that parable feels inseparable from the soul of Ramadan: it is never too late. You’re never too far gone. Even if you’ve wandered off trek, even if you’ve lost your way, the path back is never closed. The doors are never locked. God’s mercy doesn’t expire, and his love is not constrained by the depth of your mistakes. There is no such thing as being too broken, too late, or too distant. You’re not alone. You never were. You never will be.

If you carry the desire to change (even just the smallest, faintest spark of it) you should know that it matters. Know that it counts. Even the smallest turn of the heart, the quietest shift in your intention, makes echoes that reverberate. A simple, single move can become the start of something massively transformative.

Ramadan, again and again, becomes that sacred space; a time when the soul softens, and the heart leans toward God almost instinctively. A time when habits are broken and born & reborn again, when intentions are rewritten with trembling hands and watery eyes. It brings to the surface a yearning we often unknowingly bury beneath distractions and routines. And yet, even in this month, there are moments (many moments) when I, and others, still often struggle.

There are days when commitment feels heavy. When the weight of past choices makes hope feel out of reach. When you look at yourself and wonder if it’s even possible to strive further. But the truth is this: there is no pit so deep that God cannot descend into it with you. No distance too vast that his mercy cannot bridge. He doesn’t linger far away, waiting for perfection. He meets you exactly where your heart begins to turn. Even in our mistakes, even in our doubts.

So turn. Turn now. And just hold onto that turning. Let it be your offering, however small. Even if you don’t feel ready. Even if you don’t feel worthy. You are being carried more than you know. No matter the challenge. No matter how far you’ve wandered. No matter the odds. God is with you – closer than your own jugular vein, more compassionate than you can comprehend^{[Qur’an 50:16][Psalm 103:8-10][2 Corinthians 1:3-4][3 Nephi 22:10]}. His grace is not earned by perfection; it’s drawn to sincerity. To the heart that aches; the heart that stumbles; the heart that still dares to reach.

Personally, for me, there are times, especially in difficult times, when I picture a hand resting gently on my shoulder. Not to push, not to pull. Just to remind me: You are not alone. Steady, reassuring, and unseen, yet somehow more real than everything else. That image and that feeling gives me the strength to take another step.

Maybe it will for you, too.

Maybe your return begins with a single prostration. Or a simple prayer in the dark. Maybe it’s choosing silence over sin, or reaching for the company of hearts that remind you of God. Maybe it’s simply longing for something better. Even that longing is enough. Even the desire to desire more is still a beginning.

There is still time.
There is always time.

So act.
Even if it’s just a step.
There is always a hand on your shoulder ready to guide you through every obstacle.