There Are Few Things More Painful Than Silence
There are few things more painful than silence from someone you love.
A phone that never rings.
A text left unanswered.
A conversation that ended badly and never resumed.
Maybe it’s a child who slowly stops calling, a parent who grows distant, or a friendship that fades over time.
Sometimes the deepest pain comes when someone you love is far away.
I know that kind of pain firsthand from my relationship with my oldest son.
He was born when I was nineteen, and shortly after his fourth birthday, his mom and I split up, after which I got primary custody.
Like many young parents, I had my own brokenness, which limited my parenting in ways I didn’t realize. I sought healing through counseling, but the process was slow, and I know I hurt my son many times along the way.
When he became a teenager, we argued constantly. I was afraid he would make decisions that would damage his future.
So I tried to control him and our relationship in ways that would cause lasting harm.
We had many blowups over the years, some so intense that he would leave the house for a time.
But everything finally came to a head when he was eighteen.
During that time, he met a friend online while playing video games.
What I didn’t realize was that as we continued to argue, my son was quietly hatching an escape plan.
One day, I watched him drag all his belongings out of his bedroom in large garbage bags, walk out the front door, get into a car with a stranger, and drive away.
He was gone for about a year, and for the first time, I began to understand what it might have felt like for that father in Luke 15 to watch his son disappear into a far country.
During that year, my son cut off all communication with me.
He would not answer calls or respond to text messages.
I missed him terribly and kept wondering if I would ever see him again.
Honestly, there were moments when I didn’t know whether he was dead or alive.
Eventually, in the middle of winter, he became homeless in North Georgia and desperate enough to call me.
I dropped everything, got in the car, and drove to pick him up and bring him home.
And when I saw him, I was overwhelmed with joy.
I hugged him tight and didn’t want to let go.
Through tears, I apologized for all the fighting and told him everything was going to be okay.
There were no lectures.
No scolding.
No “I told you so.” Just love and celebration.
A Pain Many People Know
Maybe you have experienced something like this too.
Unfortunately, we see versions of this story play out all around us today.
Parents divorce and relocate, and suddenly a child is hundreds of miles away from one parent who once tucked them into bed every night.
A mother and daughter clash during the teenage years, and when the daughter turns eighteen, she moves out with her boyfriend and rarely comes home.
A father and son butt heads so often that the son eventually stops calling altogether.
Teens get hooked on drugs and slip into addiction, leaving parents awake at night wondering whether their child is dead or alive.
Adult children argue bitterly with parents, and holidays end early with slammed doors and silence.
Sometimes the estrangement is explosive and angry.
Sometimes it happens quietly and slowly over the years.
Regardless, if you love your child, whether they are six, sixteen, or sixty, that distance can tear you apart.
Many people know the ache of missed holidays, unanswered calls, and awkward conversations, or the painful feeling of becoming a stranger in their own child’s life.
And you don’t need kids to know this pain.
Everyone knows what it feels like when someone they love grows emotionally distant, and most know what it feels like to be the one drifting away.
What follows below focuses on parents and children, but it can easily be applied to all kinds of relationships that have become strained or painfully distant.
Leave the Porch Light On
As we try to navigate these situations, the parable of the Prodigal Son in Luke 15 is helpful.
You may remember the story.
A young man demands his inheritance, leaves home, and squanders it in reckless living. When he finally returns in shame, his father runs to meet him, welcomes him home, and celebrates his return with extravagant grace.
While we tend to interpret this parable by focusing on the rebellious son who wandered away, we mustn’t forget that it’s also about a father who lost his son, a father who woke up each morning wondering whether his son would ever come home.
From this perspective, it teaches us something important: when someone we love is far away, Christian love keeps the porch light on without trying to control their journey home.
There is something deeply comforting about seeing a porch light on when you arrive home late at night.
It means somebody is expecting you, waiting for you, and wanting you there.
It means you are not walking into an empty space.
You are walking into a place where you are known, welcomed, and loved.
Even before the front door opens, the light itself becomes a sign of hope, belonging, and grace.
I think this captures the father’s heart in the parable.
He doesn’t hunt his son down or force him to come home.
He cannot control his son’s feelings or the decisions he makes.
Nevertheless, he refuses to stop loving him.
He refuses to stop hoping.
He refuses to turn off the porch light and to close the door on their relationship forever.
One thing I learned in the heartache of missing my oldest son is that long-distance love requires a different kind of faithfulness.
You cannot rely on proximity or convenience.
You must choose patience, persistence, and hope even through deep discouragement.
There were moments when I wondered whether he was better off without me, and the emotional distance felt heavier than the physical one.
Even though I had to let my son go, I also had to choose every day to be a father, to call and text, and to prepare my heart for any possibility of reconciliation.
My responsibilities didn’t end when my son walked out the door. I didn’t stop being his dad when he drove off. I had to find a way to let go and hold on at the same time.
Love Is Not Control
The father in the story of the Prodigal Son also knows what it’s like to be in this bind of letting go and holding on.
First, he must let his son go.
He doesn’t lock his son in the house.
He doesn’t manipulate him into staying.
He doesn’t try to control his choices.
He knows love and control are not the same thing.
This is an important lesson for all of us, especially for parents of teenagers and adults.
When things go sideways and our kids push us away, we often try to hold on more tightly, even as we second-guess everything we’ve done that led to the fallout.
But if we want a good relationship with the other person, it’s important to understand the difference between being responsible for our part in a relationship and trying to control every outcome.
Sometimes the people we love must walk roads we would never choose for them, and that reality can break our hearts.
Second, even as he lets his son go, he finds a way to hold on in love.
No doubt the relationship is damaged. His son not only rebelled but indirectly communicated one of the most harmful messages anyone could hear: “I wish you were dead!” As the son walks away, the father is heartbroken, unsure if he will ever see him again.
And yet, love remains.
The father didn’t pout from a distance, forcing the son to come back groveling.
He didn’t tell himself and others a self-righteous story in which he was the victim and his son was the villain.
He kept his heart open and the porchlight on.
And while it’s not explicitly stated in the story, the Father’s extremely gracious response suggests he probably used the time his son was gone for serious reflection.
When my oldest son ran away, I spent that year taking a hard look at myself and at how I had contributed to his unhappiness and the conflict in our relationship. This prepared my heart so that when he came home from Georgia, I could listen to his pain and make amends.
I opened my heart and resisted the urge to become defensive or explain everything away.
I tried to put myself in his shoes.
As he shared how I had hurt him, I acknowledged my role and sincerely apologized.
I also asked what he needed from me moving forward and what changes would be necessary to rebuild trust.
Now, that conversation did not magically fix everything.
We still argued, and he eventually moved out again and asked for space.
Honestly, we are still not as close as I would like us to be.
But that moment of making amends became an important step toward healing because it created the possibility of a different future.
It opened the door to more honesty, more understanding, more love, and eventually more closeness.
Whether it’s a child, a spouse, a sibling, or a friend, part of leaving the porch light on is being rigorously honest about our role in the estrangement, listening to the pain we caused the other person, making amends, and renegotiating the relationship’s boundaries to reestablish trust.
Leaving the porch light on also means softening our hearts enough to listen to someone who has hurt us and who reaches out to apologize.
When Reconciliation Doesn’t Happen
I wish I could tell you that if you keep the porch light on in these ways, your loved one will come home.
But that’s not how life works.
Some relationships remain broken.
Some people never return home.
When this happens, we’re forced to undertake the long, hard work of grieving while resisting any impulse toward hatred or bitterness.
We grieve and we pray.
We grieve and we entrust the other person to God.
We grieve and we ask the Holy Spirit to help us find peace.
And we continue doing our own spiritual and emotional work so that grief doesn’t turn us into hard, cynical people.
We see this at the end of our parable.
The son hits rock bottom and begins to make his way home.
“But while he was still far off,” his father saw him and, filled with compassion, ran to his son, threw his arms around him, and kissed him.
The most important words are “while he was still far off,” indicating that the father was watching for him on the horizon.
He didn’t stop loving his son.
He didn’t stop hoping for reconciliation.
He left the porch light on, kept his heart open, and refused to become bitter.
This is part of what Christian hope looks like.
Not pretending everything is okay.
Not denying the pain or the problems.
Not guaranteeing that every relationship will be restored exactly as we want.
Rather, Christian hope is refusing to let heartbreak turn into resentment and cynicism.
It’s a hope that keeps the porch light on.
God Still Leaves the Light On
While this parable sets a good example for us, it’s not just about loving people who are far away.
It’s about how God loves us when we are far away.
Spiritually speaking, we’ve all been the prodigal.
We’ve wandered, drifted, resisted grace, and tried to build our lives on our own terms.
And yet God keeps watching for us to appear on the horizon.
God keeps loving and waiting.
While we’re still far off, God moves toward us.
That’s the Gospel.
The porch light of grace is still on.
God has not locked the door.
God has not given up on you.
God has not stopped loving you.
And it is this truth that ultimately grounds the meaning of the parable and gives us an example to follow.
Our goal as Christians is to love others as God has loved us, and to freely give what we have been generously given–grace upon grace.
Keep the Porch Light On
So, if someone you love is far away today, don’t lose heart.
Keep the porch light on.
Keep your heart open.
Leave room for grace.
And trust that God is still at work in distant places.
Because while someone may be far from you, they are never far from God. And by grace, God is never far from you.
Continue the Journey
Faith is not just something we believe. It’s something we practice.
If this article was meaningful to you, I invite you to take the next step by exploring the companion 5-Day Devotional, designed to help you reflect on Scripture, deepen your faith, and put these ideas into practice throughout the week.
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Pastor Mark Reynolds is the author of the forthcoming book What Christians Do: Living Like Jesus in a Divided World (October 2026), exploring practical ways Christians can embody the character and teachings of Jesus in today’s world.
Pastor Mark Reynolds 