Sometimes talking to your own child feels like you’re speaking to a heart-hard stranger. It hurts.
I long to gather that straining grown-up face in my two hands, gaze into those unfathomable eyes and whisper, Come back.
When did the precious little one whom I crooned to sleep and wrapped in my heart come become so distant? What happened to create a chasm of awkwardness and strained space, when once I was the one to whom all secret confidences were childishly whispered and trusted?
I don’t know how to process this. But I do know this: The Lord has ordained that every circumstance will travel through His miraculous filter of grace so carefully that what rushes out the other side is only for my profit, my good, my maturation.
So I pick up the phone to greet that cherished voice that’s pushing hard against intimacy, and in the midst of the churning in my stomach, the pounding heartbeats of disappointment, I press through, trusting.
Startlingly, as though I am viewing through a magnifying glass, I discover the growth. I can glance back over the past few months and recognize that where once I was weak, I’m gaining strength. I don’t fear that which previously caused my knees to tremble. I am facing the giants of what if and moving past them, watching their power over me crumble. The Goliaths have arrived, but I am no longer afraid.
The hurting runs deep, like an underground river, rushing, tumbling and cascading through the hidden places of my heart. How do I let go of cherished hopes and dreams, watching free will take its course, without allowing the impact to cripple my soul? How do I move forward, believing all things, enduring all things?
I throb with an aching that may briefly reprieve but never fully retreats.
I’ve tried various methods of coping. Anger, self-pity, forgetfulness, busyness, control, entertainment, despair… each has taken its turn, and in the end I am always left empty, back to the ache. Which leaves me running to the only option left, the choice I should have embraced from the beginning but in my willful foolishness, I purposefully neglected: confident, victorious, believing prayer.
My child belongs to the King of the Universe. I dedicated this child to the One who never sleeps, who never falters, who will never let go. Years ago I gave permission to the One who is Faithful, even when I am faithless: Have Your way. This life is yours. It has been created to bring you GREAT glory. And in spite of all that the enemy, man, and even the very self of my child can do, one thing remains: God is faithful. He is good. He is at work, and will continue to bring forth His purposes for His glory. My child has a destiny which was crafted before the foundation of the world, and the mighty power of the Spirit is at work, hidden, to bring that destiny to completion, bringing my child to glory.
I MUST choose to tenaciously believe these things, declaring them unfalteringly over myself and that precious one, believing them with my whole being.
Because I need to see it, know it, I scribble across my bathroom mirror the mighty words of Psalm 27:13 & 14:
“I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living! Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the LORD!”
Each time I approach the sink and encounter those words, I no longer see myself reflected in the glass but catch instead that treasured face, words of truth emblazoned across the forehead.