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.
