Once again our prodigal had aggravated me. My natural reaction was to raise my voice and assign a consequence. Instead, as he stormed out of the house, I went to his room, gathered his scattered dirty clothes and headed to the laundry room.

Doing his laundry was his job, not mine. But today it was mine. And as I threw each shirt and shorts into the washer, I said, “My son, I bless you.” “Josh, I bless you.” I don’t know if he felt blessed, but it did wonders for me.

Why did I do that?

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