The Porch Light on Maple Street

For eleven months, David Chen left the porch light on at his home in Portland, Oregon. His daughter Mei had walked out after a terrible argument, severing contact, ignoring every call. Friends told him to change the locks. His brother said, "She made her choice." But David couldn't do it.

He remembered teaching Mei to walk in that very hallway — his hands wrapped around her tiny fingers, her wobbly steps landing on his feet. He remembered lifting her to his chest when she stumbled on the driveway, pressing his cheek against her tear-streaked face. He had bent down a thousand times to tie her shoes, to wipe her chin, to meet her eyes.

Now she was gone, and something in his chest physically ached. "I can't just stop being her father," he told his brother. "I don't know how to do that."

So the light stayed on. Every single night.

On a Tuesday in November, Mei pulled into the driveway at two in the morning. The porch light was burning. The door was unlocked.

This is the God of Hosea 11 — the Father who taught Ephraim to walk, who lifted His child to His cheek, who bent down to feed them. And when that child wandered far, the Almighty's heart recoiled within Him. "I will not execute My fierce anger," He declared. Not because the rebellion didn't matter, but because He is God and not a man. His love is not a porch light that eventually burns out. It is an eternal flame that no amount of wandering can extinguish.