It’s still early morning here in North Carolina. There’s a heavy layer of fog sitting just inches from the black top in front of my country home. It’s quiet…peaceful. As I sit on my front porch listening the birds chirping, I am thankful for such a peaceful place and the opportunity to have such a wonderful home and life. All is right with the world.
The morning didn’t start out this way. I have a son that went from being the sweetest kid on Earth to an angry, resentful teenager over night. Last school year I spent two hours a day on the road getting him back and forth to school so he could stay with his friends after we had a house fire. This year, he has to go to his own school because the school board won’t allow him to go outside his district…that somehow became my fault.
He has suddenly decided he has to have chains hanging from his jeans in order to survive. I spent hours last night searching for jeans that were suitable and the proper hardware to decorate them adequately. The bolt cutters wouldn’t work. He now hates me and wishes he could die.
He keeps his hair in front of his face and I can barely see his beautiful brown eyes. I can’t remember the last time I heard him laugh. He was always such a happy child. I’ve heard many say this happens when they turn 13. I watch for signs of things to really be concerned for but other than that, I give him space and try to understand he’s going through a ‘phase’ and he’ll return to me. At least I pray.
I wait for any opportunity that he might open up…that he might share just a bit of his day with me. Good or bad. I leave the door open in case he needs me though I never bombard him with questions or mandates. I try to be gentle and allow him a little distance in order to find his way though I would never let him get too far.
When he’s gone, I go to my Father and plead on my son’s behalf for his safety. I beg God to encamp His angels around my son and guard his heart and his actions. I plead for his forgiveness and stand in the gap as his advocate reminding God that this is the very thing He sacrificed His son for…not that He needs reminding.
Then I can’t help but to think…we, even as adults, do the same thing to Jesus. We turn our backs on him. We demand that “In God We Trust” come off our money and prayers be taken out of schools yet we wonder where He is when tragedy strikes. We wonder why He didn’t intervene. We go weeks, months, or perhaps longer without speaking to Him. Without sharing even the smallest details of our lives with Him. Yet we fall to our knees when our lives are on the line. We muddle through our day to day lives without caring how it hurts Him to see us distance ourselves for no good reason. And in all this, I find hope. Hope in knowing that as many times as I’ve run back to my Father and fallen on my knees begging Him to take me into His arms once more, that my son too will return back to the gentle nature he was given. That He too will find his way back to where he belongs and that just as Jesus has repeatedly done for me, I will do for my son. I will be here when He returns.