Deep breath in. Please God give me wisdom.
Now exhale. Oh God, how do I reach him?
Again. Breathe in deeply, fully. I’m waiting God.
This has been my mantra for the week. Breathe in. Pray. Release the air. Pray.
Each breath has been a cry of my heart to gain insight into my son. This complicated, fragile boy placed in my care.
I pray, I ask: God, you did place him in my care. So I assume you trust me. You believe that I can raise him. You believe that I have enough wisdom and love and grace and patience to be his mother.
This week has brought great doubt to every area of my life.
This month has seen grief wash over me like the ocean waves rolling in with the evening tide. Oh the pieces of my heart that have been pulled under with each surge of anger that washes over this Boy Wonder. I’ve lost count of the times he has yelled in anger “I hate you!”. The wave that knocked me off my rock was to hear him scream “I hope you burn in hell and I live in heaven and I never see you again!”. I stopped in speechlessness and physically took a step back.
There has been a storm front looming over the horizon each day the past few weeks. Short bursts of anger. Name calling. Disrespectful comments.
Little by little gathering momentum, until unleashing in full fury upon our household in one fell swoop. Red faced. Sobbing. Hysterical high pitched screams. Ear piercing screams. Screams that cause the puppy and little brother to cower in the corner. Anger, frustration, terror.
I am emotionally exhausted. I am physically tired. I am spiritually drained. I go to my room and kneel to pray. I cry out in my mind, for I know that the sound of my voice could not be heard over the deafening screams coming from down the hall.
I cry in fear. I cry in desperation. I cry because it is all I know to do.
I am fairly certain there is an unseen battle taking place in my home: Satan is waging war for the soul of my son. An all out forces of evil attacking his young spirit, causing him to say irrational things. Things in my heart of hearts, I know he doesn’t mean. Things I know he will regret by nightfall. But words that pierce, words that hold consequence.
Thus, the battle wages down the hall in an adjacent bedroom….and in my mind as well.
How can God create this precious young boy with the incapability of understanding consequences…and expect us to raise him in a society that expects consequences?
I am not at peace.
My faith is being shaken, yet I am determined to search Scripture, to wrestle with God until I resolve this.
Two hours later, an exhausted, blotchy faced boy with swollen red eyes, lies listless in his bed, looking defeatedly into my eyes. With tears he whispered, “its’ not fair…Jesus lives in brothers heart but he won’t live in mine. I can’t hear his voice like you do.”
Oh God! He is listening to the theology we teach him. In his own way, he is not turning a deaf ear.
I held his trembling hand in mine and gently told him, “Oh sweetie, Jesus will live in your heart any time you want him to. But you have to ask him. You must be the one to tell him you are truly sorry for your sin. You must be the one to confess your sin, to tell God that you believe that He sent His only Son Jesus to die on the cross for you. I cannot ask for you. And I promise, when you do ask, God promises that He will never ever leave you. You will hear his voice. You will not always do good, but you will be able to try.”
This is not the first time we’ve had similar conversations. Boy Wonder has always said he doesn’t want to talk to Jesus. He doesn’t want to pray. He doesn’t want to confess his sin. So I’ve never pressed the matter. I have no doubt in my mind that I could have easily convinced him to say a prayer and be “saved” many years ago. But I’ve waited, wanting for it to truly come from his heart and not from copying me or brother.
Tonight, he did. Simple, mumbling & muttering, humbly he said “Jesus I am sorry. Please live in me.”
Oh God, let it be so! Let tonight be the beginning of a new path for this boy.
Will his FASD, his ADHD, his ASD be cured in the morning? No. In my wildest dreams I could only dare to hope for such a miracle.
What I do long for…what I hope and pray is that from this moment on the Holy Spirit will have the upper hand and will guide my boy. That the power of the Holy Spirit will be so great that Satan will now flee. That the demons that have plagued my son will be gone.
Weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.