Sometimes up the road from me I see a couple of pot-bellied pigs that are house pets. Call it a lack of compassion, but I can't picture myself hugging hogs.

We raised pigs when I was a kid. Bristles, feeding slop to greedy oinkers, boars that were mean, sows that sometimes accidentally crushed their babies, and stinky, muddy pigpens are what I remember about swine.

Pet pigs? As far as I'm concerned, pigs are best when butchered, served as barbecued pork, hacked into ham and bacon, or stuffed into sausage casings. Kermit the Frog can cuddle Miss Piggy. I'd eat her.

So I know how down-and-out the prodigal son in Jesus' parable of Luke 15 was. He was swilling swill with swine. It was pigsty, under-the-bridge, cardboard-box living -- until the wayward son chose to go home.

The prodigal's papa must have been a Texas cattle rancher because he welcomed Junior home with kisses, a robe, ring, sandals and a fatted calf. Prime rib and T-bone steaks for Junior. Ah yes, it was a Kodak moment for the beef industry! I think, though, that as Jesus told this part of the parable, he got teary-eyed because he'd lived through enough endless eons of eternity with The Papa to understand that Papa's heart is a whole lot bigger than Texas.

Unable to bridle your anger so you bristle at people? Injuring your children with your impatience, criticism or neglect? So greedy that you're never satisfied? Living in a stinky, muddy pigpen created by your mistakes?

If you're in a pigsty, Papa sent Jesus to rescue you. Jesus looked down from the cross and saw you in the pigpen. He saw you in the middle of your bad choices. He saw you in the whirlpool of life that you may not have asked to live in. He saw you when you were molested. He saw when you were the innocent victim, and he saw when you were guilty as sin. He saw your sins.

And Jesus chose to hang on Calvary's tree so you could come out of the pigpen, live a godly, productive life and someday join him in paradise. He went to the cross for you -- for your defeats, your depravity, your depression and your desperation. You can choose to accept him, his forgiveness and the new life he's offering you. He can take you from the pigpen to his palace. He can take you to his Father's house eternally, and he can give you a better life now.

In the words of a Jeff Ferguson song: "It doesn't matter who you are. It doesn't matter where you've been. It doesn't matter what you've done. Jesus is softly calling. But because of who he is, because of where he's been, because of what he's done, you can start all over again."

It's a choice. It will take your effort, too, but God wants you to live outside the pigpens of this world. You'll undoubtedly do a lot of soul-searching, repenting and changing. Starting over is rarely easy. Getting honest about who you are and what you've become when you've been living a lie is hard work, but God will help you, if you'll just ask him.

How do you walk out of a pigpen? Admit you've got a problem -- to yourself, to God and to others he'll put in your life to guide you. Pray and embrace good changes. Sincerely seek help -- like the prodigal son -- from those who have the wisdom and means to help. Repent and don't look back. You may have wandered through a wilderness and wondered who you are, but Jesus knows you, loves you so much that he died for you and holds out new life in his hands to you. Reach out and take it.

June Seabaugh is a member of Christ Church of the Heartland in Cape Girardeau.