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Tag: hope

When Hope is Hidden

  We’ve all been there.  You might still be there.  Today.  This minute. I am. You’re hoping for something, but you can’t even begin to comprehend how it will ever come to fruition. You want to have hope.  You need to have hope. Hope itself is something […]

Monday Mondays 8.15.16

Um, first of all, Happy Anniversary to me!  And my husband, without whom it would not have been possible… 😉  Seriously, life’s been a roller coaster and I couldn’t imagine it without someone who has my back in it all.  When you get married and […]

A Letter to my Adult Prodigal



To my Beloved Child,

There are always two sides to every story.  Two perspectives, if you will.  Before you read anything else, know this:

I love you. I will always love you. Until the day I die, nothing will change that, and I do mean nothing.  That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.  It’s something you may not understand now, but one day, you’ll get it.  You may not be inclined to trust or believe me on much these days, but at some time in the future it’ll make sense.

Right now though, from your side, through the lens of your world, my love for you probably feels like this:

Disappointment.  You think that because you’ve made choices I strongly disagree with, you’re the disappointment, not your actions and behaviors.  Nope, sorry again.  I’ve never been sorry that you were born.  Or that you are my child. (Okay, maybe that one time when you were 5 weeks old and I hadn’t slept all 5 weeks, I might have fleetingly wished those 9 months lasted 11 instead.)  YOU are not the disappointment. Seriously though, I am upset that the values we tried to impart to you have meant so little in your life lately.  It saddens us that everything we tried to teach you, you’ve pretty much thrown out the window.  Putting Christ first, the importance of family…  It’s baffling that the child who saw so much of the world in black and white has let culture define a world where there’s only grey.  No good or evil, just… “do what makes you happy.”  Not, “do what’s right.”  This brings me to….

Sadness.  We raised you to believe that actions have consequences, and unfortunately, some of the choices you’ve made will have repercussions.  It’s one of the hardest parts of being a parent – if not the worst part – letting those consequences happen.  I’m just sad that you’ll have to feel the pain of those ramifications.  If I seem to look at you with sadness, that’s why. I know those choices will cause you heartache at some point.  It hurts me when you hurt and I can’t fix it like I did when you were 3.  The society we live in tells you that things will be fine if “you do you,” but honestly?  It doesn’t work that way in the real world.  People are people and not everyone can be happy all the time. Sometimes one person’s happiness means someone else’s sorrow.  Not always, but… enough.  Regrettably, because not every joy can be shared by all, you might feel…

Condemnation.  Because children always look to their parents for approval, when I disapprove, you feel condemnation. You sometimes feel guilt even when you believe you’ve done nothing wrong.  (That’s a God-thing by the way, you just don’t recognize it yet.) It’s also a variation on the classic “My mom only had look at me and I felt her wrath” thing.  You probably hear it in my voice when you tell me something you know will bother me.  You see it in my eyes.  Read between the lines of my emails and texts.  You want praise and instead you feel judgment.  I’ve always been a “heart on my sleeve” kind of person, so it’s been hard for me to hide the sadness and disappointment.  Together, those feel like one giant ball of condemnation to you, though, don’t they?  Guilt is a very powerful emotion, and much of the time, we feel it because we know we’ve made mistakes.

So what do you do?

Keep us all at a distance.  Like the toddler who’s caught with chocolate all over his mouth and a cookie in his hand, yet insists he didn’t get into the cookie jar, you think that if you don’t have conversations, won’t come home, or don’t want us visiting you, you won’t feel our apparent judgment.  You’re probably playing up the “what if’s” in your head more being absent from us than if you let us into your life.  All those nights as a teenager when you were late coming home, the “what if’s” were always worse in my head than reality.  What if you crashed your car?  What if you had a flat tire? What if you met someone who sucked you into doing harmful things?  Those never literally came to fruition, so my guess is, you think the worst of us and it’s easy to make us the bad guys instead of recognizing that you are sinning.  Yes, I’m going to say it: sinning.  But you know what you’d learn if you were around us?  That we own up to being sinners ourselves.  We’re not any better than you, and we’re not any worse.  Our sins may be different, but a sin is a sin, and a sinner is a sinner.  The only real difference is that we know and try to take responsibility for our sins.  We know that there’s only one hope for our sinful nature – Jesus Christ, who died so that your sin – and mine – would be erased.  You don’t want to have that conversation because you’ve turned your back on Him.  And once you’ve turned your back on Him, it’s oh, so much easier to turn your back on everyone that loves Him – and you – as well.  When you don’t have conversations with us, it’s easy to…

Judge and condemn us. I may not have been the best mother, your father, the best father.  I know I didn’t have all the answers.  My mistakes were more numerous than the stars. And you probably don’t want to hear that I “did the best I could.” But everything I did as a parent, I did only with hope and love for your best. Yes, you might have done __________ differently, or you don’t like the way I __________.

I get it.

I was a child myself before I was a parent. I’ve likely shared some of the same frustrations as you about my own parents at one time or another.

I remember once when you were 14 or so, and your younger brother was doing something that you felt was dumb.  Just… dumb.  Something like watching a certain cartoon series, or thinking that Captain Underpants was the coolest, and you couldn’t understand why he thought whatever it was was so great.  I remarked to you that only a few short years ago, you’d felt equally about that very. same. thing.  “But,” you replied, “I know so much more now than I knew then.”


I probably wouldn’t make all the same choices today knowing what I know now.  How they would have affected us.  Affected you, and your brother and sister.  Many I might still make.  But I didn’t have the information available then that I have now.  So holding my feet to the fire because I made decisions based on what limited information I had then that perhaps hurt or caused unhappiness to you is pointless.  I hope you can understand this point, because someday, you’re going to look back at these choices you’re making now, and realize that you didn’t have all the best knowledge then either to make the most informed choices for the rest of your life.

But hey – the good news is, God will use it anyway.

“So shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.”  Isaiah 55:11

Right now though, these are all just words to you.  One day though, you’ll understand.

Until then,  I’ll keep waiting, watching, hoping and praying.

I love you.




A Tumormonger

A Tumormonger

Life, as the saying goes, usually happens while you’re busy living it. Meaning that often, challenges arise when you least expect them.  For instance, you can probably tell in the picture above that all is not quite as it should be. This is a picture of […]

…but I have prayed for you, my Prodigal Son

…but I have prayed for you, my Prodigal Son

Sometimes… it’s just horrible being a parent. Not because your children are awful.  Although, admit it, sometimes they are. And not because you don’t love them.  Because you do, more than you love yourself. Or especially because you feel like you’re not a good parent.  Again… don’t […]

Nothing Shall Separate Us…

Nothing Shall Separate Us…

Romans 8 - 38-39 Have you ever had a day where everything seems to be going along swimmingly, and then the next minute, it just isn’t?  You thought perhaps it was going to be an okay day, but in the course of conversation, a figurative bomb is dropped in your lap.  And you just sit there and stare at it, paralyzed and unsure what to do with the information… That happened to me yesterday.  I was talking on the phone with someone when they shared something that just eats at my very core. The kind of thing that makes me question decisions I’ve made – and prayed about – that I thought were in the best interest of my family, Now… well, I’m just at a loss.  I’m just sitting here… numb. Heartbroken.  Lost in a raging and turbulent sea of emotions and questions. Sometimes there are no words to speak, but my mind swirls with them nonetheless.

I don’t know anything, and yet, I do.

I know that there is a God who is bigger than anything and everything. Bigger than my problem.  Bigger than my heartache.  Bigger than the questions.  Bigger than the possible outcomes that I see.  In fact, the solutions that I imagine –  in my very limited scope of view – are probably so inconsequential to his divine Plan and Purpose that just how big He is, would blow my mind.

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places.

Ephesians 6:12

I’m only really seeing things in the physical realm.  But I know that what’s going on is part of a larger, more intense struggle than I could ever envision or endure.  I mean, I can’t fathom it, and the minuscule portion of the battle that I’m personally dealing with is just. so. hard.

I wasn’t made for this.  

I can’t handle this.

How many times have you heard someone speak those words?”  Or you have said them?

Because I never thought about it until today…

I truly can’t handle this.

I honestly wasn’t made for this.

But my God was, is and will be.

And so I rest in that.  Or at least try to rest in it.  I am, after all, a work in progress.  I still struggle against this battle, because while it is being fought in the spiritual realm, it overflows into the tangible arena of my earthly life, so I must still deal with its effects all around me.

I can’t handle it.

But I don’t have to handle it.

That’s my peace, my assurance, my confidence, my joy, and it’s my steadfast hope.