For The Mom With Wadded Tissues In Her Hand

Beautiful Teacup
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Every dream wrapped up in those wadded tissues. The reservoir of hope was at dangerously low levels. Tears fell as she held the phone in her hand. Please Lord, let him be ok. Trying to disguise her sadness and choked-up responses as she spoke to her son.

A Mother’s heart aching for her son to be ok. She knew He was drifting in His life. Wandering so far away from everything she taught him and had prayed over him. She wanted him to have peace but his trajectory would only lead him further away from it.

She swung between concern and despair. She verbally said she trusted God but struggled knowing God was actively involved. There was so much water under the bridge. It seemed the more she prayed the further He got.

The hardest part was the canyon it seemed was between them. The God she served seemed to be the irritating factor. Reminding her prodigal son with her presence, not one spoken word that God was wanting his attention. He could feel it, it didn’t need to be said.

She often wondered what to say in their conversations. She couldn’t remove the elephant that appeared in the room as they spoke. As time went on more distance emotionally separated the once close Mother and son.

Words that once spilled so easily now seemed difficult and awkward. This Mom knew that God was bringing transformation to her son and the more He pulled away from her the deeper God was working. 

As much as she knew this, it would not remove the deep ache of having the relationship she had always anticipated having with her son. Tears soaked her pillow along with more prayers and crumpled tissues.

The Prodigal

The struggle in his lifestyle. Choices of various numbing agents to suppress how far He was from God. Drugs, alcohol, material possessions, money, people.

None of this would satisfy His search. He became angrier with every realization of how empty it was. Nothing was removing the ache from His life.

Bitter about life, He kept everyone at arm’s length. Especially the ones who reminded Him of God. The one He blamed for His pain and disappointment about life.

He intentionally suppressed what His Mom had always told him about God’s love. But the seed kept sprouting. It kept calling to Him. Even when He didn’t answer. Even when the knock on the door of His heart grew faint. It was still there.

The Mom of a prodigal child drags her own heart through torment as she re visits where she went wrong. What she could have done differently. She did her best and the choice to lay the struggle to rest would help her find peace. But could she release it fully?

Asking herself if God truly cares more than she does. Why does this ache feel inconsolable? Mentally she knows the truth even spiritually she knows God is working, but in the meantime her heart is heavy with grief.

The God you love and serve loves your kids even more than you do. God himself is the perfect parent and that doesn’t keep His kids close.

Do We Believe?

The real question is do we believe God that God will take care of them? If we lay them down will God pick them up?

What about the gap between when I lay them down and God picks them up? How many more phone calls will I get that break my heart?

When your child is struggling you carry them as if you might birth them a second time. It’s hard for Mamas’, but ladies, we can’t deliver them. Only God can. Albeit we give it our best shot. Doing every single thing in our power to do it.

It’s emotionally, mentally and spiritually exhausting. It robs you of peace keeping you preoccupied with worry and anxiety.

Your heart gets broken and re broken as you watch cycles circulate multiple times, telling yourself this must be the time it completely breaks and the light comes on. To no avail.

It’s right in the middle of this turmoil that God calls you, not your child but He calls out to you: to lay your head on his chest and rest. A deep rest. A letting go kind of rest.

To wrap the minute thread of hope you have held onto in his word.

That word. Whatever that word is that you have gripped onto over your child. 

Trusting the seed of that word means it’s growing even when we feel despair. It’s calling them home even when they seem like they’re on an island far from their roots and culture.

Our tears water that seed. Mama.. your tears are not wasted. Here’s our promise:

Bring back our captivity, O Lord, as the streams in the South. Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy. He who continually goes forth weeping, bearing seed for sowing, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.

Psalm 126: 4-6

 Listen what Isaiah 49:14-16 says to us,

But Zion said, “The Lord has forsaken me, and my Lord has forgotten me.” Can a woman forget her nursing child, and not have compassion on the son of her wound? Surely they may forget, Yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands; Your walls are continually before me.

God has chosen to tattoo your name and your child’s name on his palms. They are forever inscribed there. Everytime He lifts his hands in front of him, He sees you and your child.

Never to be forgotten. In your waiting know God is working. He hasn’t forgotten you or your child. We can rest and give it to God. We can choose to believe God loves them more than we do. 

Father, thank you for loving our children more than we do. For working behind the scenes even when things look the opposite. You leave the ninety-nine to go after the one. Thank you for helping us to lay down the burden and trusting you to redeem all things. Thank you for strengthening the hearts of weary Mamas, in Jesus name.

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