Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Grandparenting with Grace: Finishing strong with hope for a prodigal

 Here are the final recorded cries of a mother's heart over a rebellious child. My crying has not ended. I have no idea when it will end. I can only pray and trust that one day God will be honored and glorified through the brokenness of our family.

Life can really knock a person down.
Before the first round it gets tough.

Beyond my reach
     As if dead,
May as well be,
     I cannot touch
That wandering child
    So far from our home.
Freedom worn-
     A ball and chain;
Thought to be a prize,
     Instead a weight.
Weighted down by rebellion-
     The destroyer of youth.
All innocence gone; given
      In a frenzy of impulsive lust
For all one can experience.
      Not ready, but ready thought.
When will it end? 
       Where will it end?
And will there be anything left?


     Help me to remember that You love her more than I.
But then, I’m at a disadvantage; You know the outcome.
I can only trust and pray.
                                Each day.
                                           And pray
                                                   Oh, pray—all day.
Do You cry as I?  Does it break your heart as mine,
To know she is running from You too?
I can’t catch her, But You can.
So do!  Please hold her fast!
So some day she’ll return; to You, to us
                                                           At last.

What’s Out There?

What’s out there in the shadows, unknown in the dark,
So attractive?
Who wants your company, but fears the day?
Evil lives in the recesses of the night.
He lays in wait to catch you unaware and draws you near,
 Until his hold is clasped about you so tight that the light is out of reach.
Turn and flee!
Get away while there’s still time.
Before the Dark swallows your very soul
And leaves you raped, ravaged
And for dead,
In the dark hollow of your mind
Without a flicker
Of Light for hope.

Where did it all go wrong?
Who wrote this chapter of my life’s book?
It’s written all wrong!
I didn’t want it to be lived this way.

The chapters are all mixed up
With some one else’s story.
Can we crumple up these pages and begin again?
I’ll write it how I want it to be read.

It will be more comfortable, easier to follow.
Like a Fairy Tale
Without an evil witch or dragons.
But then, what will be the plot
And who will want to read it?

Okay, continue on.
But I’d rather it be less than one hundred pages.
I’m impatient and want the happy ending.
                                 Besides, the story hurts while it is being written.


The other day you stood handing out roses and it made me think………

You are a rose-
A beautiful young lady,
But when I’m with you, I can only feel the thorns.
They prick and draw blood,
Injure my soul.

Did you know that there are thorn-less roses?
With breeding and care:
A flower so beautiful and delicate
One which does not injure or hurt
Does not draw blood and leave wounds
It grows and unfolds slowly to maturity
Carefully tended by the gardener
Until it is cut loose from the branch and presented to the world
Beautiful and confident in its radiance 
To be placed among the best of the flowers
Ready to unfold on its own
To capture hearts and make a most positive impression
Taken from the branch too soon—
The petals will not unfold to show all it can offer of its inner beauty and rich fragrance
Taken too late and the fragrance is past its best
The petals fall before they can be enjoyed for their beauty

We were only trying to tend your inner beauty and radiance,
To cut you loose at the correct time,
So you could unfold on your own confidently, positively, and fully,
Into a beautiful and complete rose
Surrounded by fragrance.
But the elements of life have invaded our garden.
The insects of hate destroyed all we had accomplished.
Now we cannot see you among the flowers;
Our plant has been hit by blight
And only through constant attention, hard work, and patience
Can it be restored miraculously to its state of pure beauty.
But, God is known for His miracles
And He began our garden.
We’re waiting for our miracle.

The pain is indescribable;
There is an ache within my heart.
This grief that has a hold on me
Is tearing me apart.
There are no easy answers,
No place to lay aside
This burden I must carry
Until in His arms I can abide.
The road that I will travel
Has many times been trod.
And when all take the long route
Our Lord must think it odd.
For the peace that passes from Him
Is only a prayer away,
And if we pause a moment,
A moment every day,
To give the burden to Him
With Him it would stay.
Then in grief’s place we’d find His peace,
And a gentle quiet rest.
We’d learn what He has planned for us
Is always
What is best.


Be quiet inside, in your heart with the lasting charm of a quiet and gentle spirit which is so pleasing to God.  I Peter 3:4

My heart;
A spirit
Pleasing to God
My prayer...


You know all:
All the joys
All the pain
All the fears
All the loss
All the beginnings
And where it all ends

I look on as a stranger to a stranger and wonder ---why?
All I ever dreamed of is unattainable, vanished, not to be.

Uncared for…
It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
Oh, to trade places with my child.
I would have loved the nurture and love given,
So missed and coveted at one time.
A life invested, questions asked, eager encouragement.
But it all still remains unattainable.
But now from both sides—
Never given,
Never accepted,
Full circle—Rejection

Lord I never knew how to love
one who didn’t love me.
Thank you for teaching by
Your example on the tree.
            For that I had the need.

I hope for your return;
I am eagerly waiting for the day
I do not yet see.
But I know it’s coming
For I have prayed and been promised
The desires of my heart.

Romans 8:25 But if we hope for what we do not see, then
 we eagerly wait for it with perseverance.

Keep her safe….yet break her.
Hold her close…yet let her fall
Draw her near…as each step taken farther from You she strays.
Never let her out of Your reach…only show her where self leads.
Love her…even when she’s filled with hate.
Claim her as Yours…although You she has denied.
Bring her back home…You know where she belongs.

Does she never wonder how she got to where she is?
Lord, she’s some how lost her way.
Can she not retrace her steps back to You one day?
Tell her You are waiting, where the path taken—
She was mistaken.
You’re there to guide her back to where she used to be.
But only with a willing heart can she be enabled to see
All that You have planned for her-
As Your child she’ll receive.

I Thessalonians 5:18 Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

Do we thank Him for the answer to the prayer that we have prayed
Even though the answer given was strewn with pain along the way?
We ask to be made Christ like, yet shudder at the thought-
To walk the path that Christ walked when we are asked to bear our cross.

Do we thank Him for the heartache we live with everyday
Knowing we’re a sinner—
Ahhh, but a sinner saved!

Do we thank Him in the shadows when we’re in the Valley of Despair-
Where He shows us what is meaningful and our soul has been laid bare;
And all else that we had hoped for seems to wither in compare?

Do we stop to offer thank-yous for our pain along life’s way-
Knowing that His greatest work in us is done when our heart on Him is stayed?
 Or, do we only offer thank you when we’re where we want to be-
When we’re so full of what He’s given,
Or only on
Thanksgiving Day?

Do we dare, or even think, to give thanks when we are empty
And what lies ahead looks grim?
Do we take the time to stop and humbly give thanks
Just—for Him?

(Written and read Thanksgiving Eve 1998, Kost Church)


I’ve heard it said that there is a correct way to pray, a correct way to ask for forgiveness, and a correct way to forgive.  Does God not know the heart? Is a broken and contrite heart not the correct way?  If God gets so caught up in a particular formula for prayer and forgiveness- what happens when one’s heart is so heavy and hurting that the formula is forgotten?  Does that prayer go unheard? Is that cry ignored?
 No, God does not despise the cry of a broken and contrite heart.

Psalm51:17 The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit,
A broken and contrite spirit-
These, O God you will not despise. (NKJ)

A true heart.
A need for Jesus.
A plea for help in all weakness.

I understand it now;
I am being pruned to bear more fruit.
And how can one be pruned without it being at first
 a seeming hardship-
until the fruit comes forth?
  I’m yours Lord, prune away!

It’s hard to take that first step, but once it’s taken we are on our way.

Each day I’m hoping for a miracle,
And still, it hasn’t come.
Yet I’ve been hoping for awhile now
And pray as each day ends…
That God would work His miracle
 In this life that He has given.
A miracle of healing
To surround my broken heart;
A miracle of wholeness
And restoration for my soul.
Returning all that has been taken,
Or squandered in despair.
Adding more, much more, to fill my heart
And joy to sooth my soul.
The miracle is coming down
The question is not whether--
They only question’s when?

 © Copyright 2010

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