The
other night, well past midnight, I roamed my house. In yet another battle with sleeplessness,
though thoroughly tired, I paced. Of course, in the quiet of night it’s a great
time to listen and to pray. Admittedly, I’d rather be sleeping.
As
I sat in the rocking chair in the front room, I closed my eyes. I was praying
for my son. Sometimes the words to pray don’t come easily, those are times when
I depend on the groaning of the Spirit of God, whether audible or not. Those
are the times I yield myself to how He wants to pray, through me. Those are
generally the most passionate and emotion-filled prayers.
With
a flutter of my eyelids, I melted as the front porch light, creeping through
the slats in the blinds, illuminated our American flag waving in the breeze.
When
our children are young, we presume we can, or are at least supposed to meet
most of their needs. We love them and teach them, we nurture them while watching
them teach us so much more. We hold them. I miss holding them most.
My
heart aches for the hearts of my children. Their grown up struggles are so much
harder than that to which their childish concerns could ever amount. Perhaps
because with age comes wisdom I didn’t have as a young mom, and I realize that
it’s not my job to pave their way through life. I can’t show them their purpose
or their path. They need to discover that on their own. Something given to us
is sometimes less appreciated than something we work for ourselves.
Our
children see our flaws more often than anyone else, perhaps even better than
our spouse. They see when we don’t even realize they’re watching. And of
course, they’re observing our shortcomings through the innocent eyes of a
child, I’m quite sure that adds facets to who we are to them that we don’t even
know about.
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No
matter what I’ve done or how they see me, they’re all grown up now. I’ve done
my part is messing with their view of reality.
Now,
they struggle within their own hearts. Life is between them and God and their
reality of God. It was always their own journey. My hope is that someday the
struggles end and they’re at peace and can share their peace through just being
who they are.
I
can’t pray my will over theirs, I can’t pray for the path I want them to choose
– that may not be the road God has planned to take them down.
I
can only pray God’s perfect will over them and trust Him to complete the good
work He’s begun in them.
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That
beautiful flag waving on the front porch may be part of the reason my son is on
the other side of the world. But, my heart has to trust that it’s all part of a
greater plan, the plan of God Himself.
Do
I get all choked up and cry? Absolutely. But, praise God for His peace, which
passes all my human understanding and teaches me to hope and stirs up
supernatural patience and trust within me.
I’m
so blessed and glad and honored to serve the Almighty God of the universe and
to know that I know that I know that He’s in control. There’s no greater joy
than to know God and trust Him completely. Anxiety comes from feeling the need
to do life on my own or worse yet, from trying to control the destiny of
another.
Thank
You, Jesus for Your sweet, bountiful peace. Thank You for Your unconditional,
never-ending love. Hallelujah!
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