When everything goes dim and muddy, how do you find your way out. Things may never become clear and crystal, you may have to crawl your way over the finish line. Other writers extol the virtues of never giving up on one's prodigal, while yours is in the next room, not okay. I fear I may not live to see him be okay, so maybe he won't ever be. And that one fact can steal every future joy and hope away from my heart. I believe he came to know God, but i'm not seeing any fruit, any evidence. But I do see some changes and that might be a seed for hope. Even if I never see it grow to fruition.
There are writers who get to glean wonderful things from their lives and share it eloquently and succinctly. I think I tend to write like I feel...confused, muddled, bewildered at times. And my process is to talk it out, or write it out. Therefore I become wordy and unclear. All I know to do is write from my heart, get it out, look at it, or hear it.
Things have transpired between my prodigal and I that have wounded us both, wounds we won't ever forget most likely. How does that make the Father's heart feel I wonder. What does He think of these two wounded people, crippled in their own ways, who can't believe enough in Him to put things aside, put Him first and get on with healing? Everyone who knows me knows how I love this kid. That there's a soft spot for him in my heart. When others would be done, or at the least turn away, I open my figurative arms and take him in, yet again.
Nothing I can say can keep me from sounding like a mom with blinders on. Like I don't see the things that others see. Like I have this Pollyanna view of him that turns every frown upside down in some wierd "Joker" style vision. Not true, I see, I know, but my love for him is deep and wide, and forgiving and constant. Some say I enable, i'm not sure. Does my Father enable me when He still loves me and reaches down to pick me up yet again?
All that said, this child, my child, is a man now. He has a man's decisions to make. And I am finding it more and more feeling right to release my opinions and judgments. He needs to make his way kind of on his own. My years are numbered. Bad health choices are taking their toll, every day is a gift, whether I have one more day left, or 20 more years, all by the grace of a loving God.
The one thing too, that this man doesn't realize is that there's a whole clan of cheerleaders rooting him on. Sad that he sees them as critics and judges.
This really didn't start out to be about him, but unless I know that he is following Christ with his whole heart, the unrest will not leave. I fear that life will simply be a series of letting go, giving him to God over and over until I am Home.
It's just life at the moment. The realization you have at a certain age that many dreams will never come true, the ugly truth about certain choices you've made and consequences you cannot avoid. All that said, there are other truths. The joy that both children give, and grandchildren. The love that you feel in the circle of your family...blood and not blood. And the most precious, mysterious, blissful blessing of this man, this union that is so powerful, the love in it is unutterable. The blessings of waking every single day, hearing the birds sing, enjoying every average day for what it is, a gift. Nothing is guaranteed but Christ. And in this muddled, misty space, Christ is over all and when I'm in His presence, I know everything will be alright...in Him.