Inspired by: Reckless Love
📍 Boise, Idaho | October 7, 2023
It began with a slammed door and a silence so thick it became part of the house.
The Jackson home—once alive with laughter, the smell of cinnamon rolls, and football games blaring from the living room—had fallen into an uneasy quiet the day Tyler walked out.
Twenty-two, full of fire and fists, Tyler Jackson had left Boise vowing he didn’t need anybody, least of all the man who raised him.
His father, Mike Jackson, didn’t chase him that day.
Not because he didn’t care.
But because he knew—some battles can’t be fought with raised voices. Only with love.
A love that would have to bleed a little.
A love willing to wait.
A love reckless enough to look like foolishness to everyone else.
But waiting didn’t mean doing nothing.
Every night, after closing up the little hardware store Mike owned, he would grab his jacket, a flashlight, and an old Polaroid photo of Tyler—the one where he’s seven years old, holding a trophy twice his size, smiling like he owned the world.
Mike would drive the side streets. The alleys. The rougher parts of town where the neon signs flickered and hope seemed to sag under the weight of forgotten dreams.
He wasn’t hunting a criminal.
He wasn’t searching for a runaway.
He was looking for his son.
Family told Mike he needed to move on.
“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found.”
“Maybe he’s made his choice.”
Even his pastor, as gently as he could, suggested that sometimes love meant letting go.
But Mike just smiled in that sad, stubborn way of his and said,
"Love doesn’t run away. Love runs toward. Always toward.”
October 7, 2023.
The night that changed everything.
A cold front had moved in, dragging the clouds low and heavy over the city. It wasn’t raining yet, but the air tasted like metal, thick with the promise of a coming storm.
Mike was driving along I-84, headlights cutting through the early darkness, when he saw it.
A figure.
Just ahead on the shoulder of the highway.
Hunched over. Backpack sagging. Shoes flopping with every step like they were about to give up.
Mike’s heart seized.
He pulled the truck onto the shoulder so hard the tires kicked up a spray of gravel and dust.
Didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t think.
Didn’t care who was watching.
He ran.
Boots slamming the asphalt.
Breath clouding in the cold air.
Heart thundering louder than the cars rushing past.
And there—illuminated by the sweep of the headlights—stood Tyler.
His face was thinner. His eyes hollowed out by too many nights alone. His jacket was torn at the elbow, and his hands trembled—not just from the cold, but from the crushing weight of shame.
For a split second, Tyler froze.
He had rehearsed this moment a thousand times.
All the apologies. All the excuses. All the ways he could explain the unexplainable.
But before a single word could leave his cracked lips—
Mike wrapped him up.
Arms like iron.
Hands rough and familiar.
A chest that smelled like sawdust and coffee and home.
And Tyler—who had spent the last year telling himself he didn’t need anyone—
collapsed.
Sobbing. Gripping his father’s jacket like a drowning man clutches driftwood.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry. I messed it all up. I don’t deserve to come home.”
Mike pulled back just enough to look at him—eyes brimming with tears—and said:
“Son… you were never coming home because you deserved it.
You’re coming home because you’re mine.”
No conditions.
No lectures.
No 'I told you so's.
Just reckless, unrelenting, arms-wide-open love.
The Lesson
The love of God isn’t logical.
It’s not safe.
It’s not reserved for the cleaned-up or the well-behaved.
It’s the love that leaves the ninety-nine to chase the one stumbling along a highway shoulder at midnight.
It’s the love that doesn’t flinch when we’re dirty, broken, and ashamed.
It’s the love that runs faster than fear and outlasts every failure.
It’s reckless—not because God is careless—but because He cares so much He refuses to let anything stand in His way.
Not distance.
Not pride.
Not our worst mistakes.
Bible Verse
Luke 15:20 (ESV) —
“And he arose and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him.”
So the next time you hear “Reckless Love”—
when you hear the lyrics “There’s no shadow You won’t light up, no mountain You won’t climb up, coming after me…”—
don’t just sing it.
See it.
A Father.
Boots pounding the highway.
Tears streaming down His face.
Running.
Always running.
After you.
Because you’re not just loved.
You’re recklessly, relentlessly, eternally loved.
Amen.
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