Grandparenting with Grace: When did I stop hoping/praying?

 Today I visited my own neglected blog and read through these writings from years ago; I wonder when it was I lost my hope. When did my faith crisis begin? I don't believe it occurred suddenly, but creeped in stealthily like a thief in the night.This thief with his lies has stolen my hope and my joy. I am struggling, holding on by only my raw and bleeding fingertips to a rocky ledge of despair, not only in grief for this lost daughter but for so many of my broken dreams and mangled expectations. My life feels dry and my soul thirsty. I know the answer is to cling to Him, but it feels like clinging to Him is akin to that rocky ledge and I'm bleeding. It's hard to hang on alone without trust in my belayer. Even with my climbing harness on, I cannot go it alone. I need to know I'm held in His hands (reminded, encouraged). "Belayers (Christian friends) need to be watchful and alert for any dangers as well as pay attention to the climber so that the rope is allowed to feed smoothly when the climber is leading, climbing, or lowering. Many climbing accidents happen because of inattentive belayers, who drop the climber by not paying attention."   Belaying is a Sacred Trust

I know Jesus is my Rock; and I am clinging- but I am bleeding. I've been bounced around; I've slipped and crashed against this mountain in life and I'm feeling so alone. My belayers are focused else where and have left me hanging. My cries echo back to me hollow. I'm slipping-even as I'm trying to hang on.

 Christians do you know that-

Belaying is a Sacred Trust

  Grab the rope and help another fellow human who is struggling to make the climb.

Wearied By Life

Wearied by life's long climb to broken dreams

and trapped on the precipice of despair

is my soul backed against the cold hard

crumbling wall of total abandonment.

A lonely cry of anguish uttered;

resounds,

     echoing...reverberating...

through the valley of lost hope.

One wrong step will send

 the loose fragments of lost dreams

 clattering down the hillside

of a life half lived.

My life falters on the edge of its necessity.

Back from the rigid canyon walls of time

the echo of time past taunts me--

accusing me.

What of priceless value has been achieved?

What of timeless treasure has found

a path from the abyss of days now gone

and into the anguish of the present moment?

What will advance bravely into a future of yearning?

Is there nothing?

Then how can I?

 © Copyright 2010

And yes all things are possible with Him, I will continue hanging onto to that promise.

A mother's prayer's from Many years of hoping

Following is the beginning of the brokenness of a mother's heart as I cried out to God. There is despair, pain, anguish, and hope in these words/prayers of mine. I believe God hears. Although I believe He is working, at times --after so many years-- I lose hope. I am working on regaining my faith and hope in my God who promises me only good things in the end.

All is written by me and is protected by copyright . 

THE CRY OF A BROKEN HEART

 

JULIE ANNE OLSON

Poetry and prose for parents loving a child through rebellion

These poems are dedicated to my precious daughter, and to all the brokenhearted parents who are loving, or have loved a prodigal child.  May you find comfort in knowing others do share your pain.  May these words give you hope and a place of rest for your burdened heart.

Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.

Matt. 28:11

There is always a place called home,

And if we’ve lost our way in the darkness,

We only need to look to the Son.

You are loved.

          (Written for the Senior yearbook, October 1998)

 

Who are you? I don’t know you any more. Sometimes I catch glimpses of the girl you used to be, but you’re changing into a woman, a different person, a stranger.  I’m afraid some day I won’t be able to recognize you in any way.  That frightens me. 

BELIEF

There was a time I believed in love.

Then my daughter told me she hated me

And I lost that belief.

There was a time I believed I was a good mother.

Then my daughter told me she didn’t want me to be her mother any more

And I lost that belief.

There was a time I believed I could be happy.

But my heart is broken because my daughter is now gone from me

And I lost that belief.

I don’t believe in anything any more.

I never wanted money

 Or fancy cars to drive.

I have no need for jewelry

Or the fashion trend to buy.

I’ve only wanted simple things-

Most nature can provide.

To hear a songbird’s clear sweet song

Or watch the setting sun.

To feel a puppy’s rough wet tongue

Or enjoy a child’s laugh.

A richer life no one can find

Than one that’s filled with these.

A quiet simple kind of life

With pleasures bound to please.

My soul aches.  My heart cries.  Part of me has died.  The child I once cherished no longer exists.  Someone else has moved in and my daughter is now lost.  Where can I go to find her?  Will she ever return home?  No one ever told me it would be this hard or it could happen this way.  I had hopes, they’re ashes now—dreams, but they’ve been shattered.

I gave her life; she took it and ran

Away from me.

I’m not what she wants me to be.

I’m not what I want me to be.

Am I at all near to what God wants me to be?

I tried not to think of you today.

It didn’t work; the thoughts came anyway.

All I ever wanted was for you to have a good life and be happy.

I wanted to be a part of what you became and where you went-

To stand in a corner and applaud your arrival at you.

I loved you, maybe too much, or, perhaps not enough.

Do you know which?  Tell me; I’d like to know.

 

A continuation of the writings from those beginning years of heart break. (It's been 16 years now and I am still waiting and praying.)

It hurts!  It hurts!

I just want it to stop.

This pain in my heart.

This knot in my soul.

It hurts!  It hurts!

I can’t be a part of something she doesn’t want to share.

The pain won’t stop!

I cannot hide.

Sometimes it’s so intense

I wish I would just die.

My heartache won’t cease.

I can’t get away!

I cry!  I scream!  I pray!

No matter, it won’t go away.

Go away, go away, go away.

Wish I could, but there is nowhere to go

To escape the pain.

It follows me, haunts me,

Day after day.

How can one live with rejection?

Christ didn’t—

He died because of it.

I now know how he felt.

Sometimes I’d like to trade this rejection for death.

But there was victory after Christ’s death--

In the resurrection.

I’m waiting for the victory.

It’s been promised.

So I will live,

If only for His victory

And the resurrection of a life lost

That will again be found.

I had a daughter once, but she went away,

Told me she didn’t love me—I wasn’t her mother any more.

I am slowly beginning to believe it.

She never calls or writes.

It’s like I never existed for her.

But wasn’t it just yesterday

I held her to my breast and satisfied her cries?

Why can’t I comfort her anymore?

Why does she need things I can’t provide?

Maybe it was all a dream

And I never really did exist for her.

I WANTED

All I ever wanted was to love you.

To brush your hair,

Hear you laugh,

Kiss you goodnight.

Enjoy your friends,

Give you hugs,

Watch you become an adult.

I never wanted you

To hate me

Or feel unloved.

Or, hurt you in any way.

I guess wanting isn’t enough.

No one ever showed me how to do these things

And I have failed.

But I so wanted…..

I wish I knew if you ever cried—

Or needed me.

I wish I knew if you ever even—

Thought of me.

You see, you’re on my mind—

Every moment.

I even dream of you.

Did you know I miss you?

But when I see you—

I don’t even know who you are.

I remember a different girl—

One with smiling eyes

And laughter.

You were so excited about life then—

What you were doing,

Where you were going.

When I look at you I don’t see her any more.

Do you know where that girl went?

I’d like to talk to her.

You see—

I love her and have so much to share with her

.

If you see her—my girl—

Could you tell her

to come home?

 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?

Lord,

     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!

 Scream!

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.

Quick!

                                 Besides, the story hurts while it is being written.

Roses

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

Inside---Beautiful

My heart;

Quiet…

Gentle…

A spirit

Pleasing to God

My prayer...

 

Lord

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.

Unimportant,

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

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