I had told both my children, from the time they could talk, about Jesus. I had taught them that with God all things are possible, that there was nothing they couldn't accomplish on their own with God in their hearts. I gave them a Bible when they were old enough to read, and explained to them that if they never read any other book, that it would be the most important book they would ever read in their lives.
I taught them that Mama wasn't perfect; but that God was, and that there would be times in their lives when Mama couldn't be there, but God always would be. True to my word, I had to send them to their father to live just as they were entering their pre-adolescent years, due to life circumstances that forced me to act in their best interest.
Even then, I never denied the power of God, I had just not learned how to embrace it at the time.
My oldest son had now just reached his 30s. He was a bit of a wanderer. He chose to live on the streets among the homeless and the destitute. It was not a lifestyle that I would have chosen for him, but understanding his need for independence, I prayed for him daily, that God would direct his paths, and that the path he was on would somehow lead to Him.
He had been the “problem child”. Ironically, it was my oldest child that taught me how to give it to God to take care of. I learned through him that I had no control over my children's future. Only God could direct their paths. All I could do was teach them that God was there.
My son kept in touch with me on Facebook, occasionally sending me antidotes of his experiences on the road. I was always delighted and grateful to God when he would let me know that he was at a food co-op, or a church that catered to the homeless. I was equally encouraged when his friends would inform me of how much he had helped them with witty advice and encouragement for their souls I knew God was working in his life, and was with him on the roads he had chosen, in spite of how rocky they were.
I prayed that one day he would learn to love God the way I did, that the lessons he learned brought him closer to the Great Father of us all. I liked to believe that he was on the right path, in spite of himself. I had no doubt that he believed.
My youngest son was the more sensible one when he was a child. He had always made good grades in school, and had always tried to do the right thing even when no one was looking.
As he got older, he went through phases of depression and burnout. He began to ask questions about whether God was actually there for him. I worried about him, as he became more negative in his opinions, and his questions became more intense about God's purpose in his life.
He was now in his mid-twenties, and was suffering from mental difficulties that no one saw coming. This made him angry and distant, and his hatred for God had grown to professed disbelief.
I did the only thing I knew to do. I put his name in the “Prodigal Box” at church and I prayed daily for him as well, that whatever it took, God would direct his paths also, and would teach him to love Him.
As a mother, we can only teach our children how to learn and leave the rest to God. I was fortunate to have home schooled both of mine during their younger years. I found that I could not say, “Go ask your teacher,” when they would barrage me with questions. My response became, “I don't know all the answers, but I will help you learn how to find them for yourself.” Now that they were older, I praised God that I had done the right thing, as I witnessed how they were searching for the answers to the questions they had. Even more so, I praised God that He was, indeed, directing their paths, even if it seemed that the paths they were on were not the ones I would have chosen for them. I felt helpless not knowing where they would end up, or even if they would find the answers they sought, but I trusted God was in control -- and He was showing me that He was.
Even in my wayward younger years, I wanted to make sure that my children understood that God existed. I wanted them to know that there was an eternity, and that the most important decision in their lives would determine where they spent it. I could not make that decision for them or I would have. I could only teach them what I knew, and continue to pray that God would direct their paths.
As they grew up and went out on their own, I wondered if I had done enough, and I prayed fervently that I had. They wandered away, searching, grasping at straws, much as I had in my younger years. And, I could do nothing but watch.
My children, whose very lives had been the greatest source of my heart-aches, had turned out to be the catalyst for the greatest love I had ever known. Only in looking at them, could I truly understand the Father's love for me. Even in their wayward ways, I could never stop loving my children, or feeling the need to pray for them daily. As much as I wanted to do for them, I only had the ability to wring my hands and trust that God was watching over them, and that He alone could step in to save them from themselves.
The one thing that bothered me more than anything, however, was that I had nothing to leave my children, should the day come that God called me home. I prayed for a solution to this problem, and kept trusting God that He knew what was best, both for me and for them.
My health was good, except for being overweight and out-of-shape, and an occasional gallbladder attack that reminded me that my health needed attention. I learned to eat healthier. And, my job at the restaurant allowed my body to heal from the beating it had received from working many hours at the hospital earlier.
I taught them that Mama wasn't perfect; but that God was, and that there would be times in their lives when Mama couldn't be there, but God always would be. True to my word, I had to send them to their father to live just as they were entering their pre-adolescent years, due to life circumstances that forced me to act in their best interest.
Even then, I never denied the power of God, I had just not learned how to embrace it at the time.
My oldest son had now just reached his 30s. He was a bit of a wanderer. He chose to live on the streets among the homeless and the destitute. It was not a lifestyle that I would have chosen for him, but understanding his need for independence, I prayed for him daily, that God would direct his paths, and that the path he was on would somehow lead to Him.
He had been the “problem child”. Ironically, it was my oldest child that taught me how to give it to God to take care of. I learned through him that I had no control over my children's future. Only God could direct their paths. All I could do was teach them that God was there.
My son kept in touch with me on Facebook, occasionally sending me antidotes of his experiences on the road. I was always delighted and grateful to God when he would let me know that he was at a food co-op, or a church that catered to the homeless. I was equally encouraged when his friends would inform me of how much he had helped them with witty advice and encouragement for their souls I knew God was working in his life, and was with him on the roads he had chosen, in spite of how rocky they were.
I prayed that one day he would learn to love God the way I did, that the lessons he learned brought him closer to the Great Father of us all. I liked to believe that he was on the right path, in spite of himself. I had no doubt that he believed.
My youngest son was the more sensible one when he was a child. He had always made good grades in school, and had always tried to do the right thing even when no one was looking.
As he got older, he went through phases of depression and burnout. He began to ask questions about whether God was actually there for him. I worried about him, as he became more negative in his opinions, and his questions became more intense about God's purpose in his life.
He was now in his mid-twenties, and was suffering from mental difficulties that no one saw coming. This made him angry and distant, and his hatred for God had grown to professed disbelief.
I did the only thing I knew to do. I put his name in the “Prodigal Box” at church and I prayed daily for him as well, that whatever it took, God would direct his paths also, and would teach him to love Him.
As a mother, we can only teach our children how to learn and leave the rest to God. I was fortunate to have home schooled both of mine during their younger years. I found that I could not say, “Go ask your teacher,” when they would barrage me with questions. My response became, “I don't know all the answers, but I will help you learn how to find them for yourself.” Now that they were older, I praised God that I had done the right thing, as I witnessed how they were searching for the answers to the questions they had. Even more so, I praised God that He was, indeed, directing their paths, even if it seemed that the paths they were on were not the ones I would have chosen for them. I felt helpless not knowing where they would end up, or even if they would find the answers they sought, but I trusted God was in control -- and He was showing me that He was.
Even in my wayward younger years, I wanted to make sure that my children understood that God existed. I wanted them to know that there was an eternity, and that the most important decision in their lives would determine where they spent it. I could not make that decision for them or I would have. I could only teach them what I knew, and continue to pray that God would direct their paths.
As they grew up and went out on their own, I wondered if I had done enough, and I prayed fervently that I had. They wandered away, searching, grasping at straws, much as I had in my younger years. And, I could do nothing but watch.
My children, whose very lives had been the greatest source of my heart-aches, had turned out to be the catalyst for the greatest love I had ever known. Only in looking at them, could I truly understand the Father's love for me. Even in their wayward ways, I could never stop loving my children, or feeling the need to pray for them daily. As much as I wanted to do for them, I only had the ability to wring my hands and trust that God was watching over them, and that He alone could step in to save them from themselves.
The one thing that bothered me more than anything, however, was that I had nothing to leave my children, should the day come that God called me home. I prayed for a solution to this problem, and kept trusting God that He knew what was best, both for me and for them.
My health was good, except for being overweight and out-of-shape, and an occasional gallbladder attack that reminded me that my health needed attention. I learned to eat healthier. And, my job at the restaurant allowed my body to heal from the beating it had received from working many hours at the hospital earlier.
No comments:
Post a Comment