What is a teenage boy to do with a mother who refuses to enter into a religious debate? Turn the Popsicle stick cross on the fridge upside down--that will get a rise out of her! But it didn't. Instead, its become one of my fondest memories.

I never said a word to Christopher about that cross. I knew he was the one who turned it upside down everyday and he knew I was the one who quietly turned it right side up. This went on for months. Meanwhile, storms were brewing and just around the corner was a temper that kept me on my knees for the remainder of his high-school years. Lots of prayers were offered up and lots of asking for forgiveness for all the times I lost my temper over him losing his.

Spiritual warfare was in order. I knew I couldn't talk to him about the Bible. I also knew/know that the word of God does not return void. What's a mother at her wits end to do?

I got small pieces of paper, wrote Scripture on them, and then hid them in his room; under his mattress, in his pillow, I wrote them on the back of the canvas's he had painted some very dark pictures on. I even wrote on the bottom of his shoes.

When he went to school, I worshipped God in his room. Once he was asleep, I quietly slid an open Bible into his bedroom. He was surrounded by the word of God and had no idea. I prayed and I prayed, but by the time he had graduated from high-school, our relationship was so strained that he would barely speak to me. My heart was broken. I feared my efforts were for naught.

Fear: False-Events-Appear-Real

Flash forward: At age twenty-one, Christopher once again adored his mother and yielded to his mysterious attraction to the word of God.I'll never forget the day he asked to borrow my NIV Bible. He still doesn't attend church, but he reads his Bible everyday and freely receives my humble answers to his tough questions, which are welcomed. And he gives.

Many Christians attend church every Sunday, but don't read their Bibles or part with a portion of their paychecks to help others. I'm so proud of my son. His brother, Matthew, is still finding his way. He is nineteen. I don't see him as often as I would like, but I believe in the power of prayer. It's easier now to place him in God's hands each day. I have since asked God's forgiveness for doubting the power of His word just because my son's "God search" didn't happen when I thought it should have.

So mamas, fight the good fight for your children! Prayerfully consider which Scripture would be the best medicine and don't give up. "Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things (that's endure, not enable). Love never fails...." (1 Corinthians 13:7-8 NKJV)

I was in my thirties before I returned to Christ. And now look what I'm doing! Trust me, no one in my family saw this coming when I was a teenager.

"For as the rain comes down, and the snow from heaven, And do not return there, But water the earth, And make it bring forth and bud, That it may give seed to the sower And bread to the eater,
So shall My word be that goes from My mouth; It shall not return to Me void, But it shall accomplish what I please, And it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it." (Isaiah 55:11 NKJV)

Ahhh...Christopher, the oldest of Zach's two brothers, who just five years ago, was seventeen and very good at it. My older sons were not introduced to God when they were young. By the time I had re-dedicated my life to Christ, they had formed some very worldly opinions about life in general, beliefs they had developed observinging me during their formative years. (I'm still waiting for a church to offer classes for that one.)

They didn't try to deter me from my new-found faith. They just didn't want anything to do with it. I never forced them to go to church. Instead, I faithfully studied my Bible morning after morning, and did the best I could to parent them God's way. I understood early on that I could not make my children love the Lord. 

And that's the way it went for a long time. Until it didn't. Christopher was beginning to show signs of curiosity. Unfortunately, he didn't ask questions for humble answers. He asked questions to start arguments. In retrospect, maybe he was longing for some kind of outward display of the private battle he was having in his own head about Christianity.

Read Part 2 on Tuesday, Jan. 5, 2010.
 

I saw him twice in three weeks. Once he came over and played games with his younger brother. He was polite; his old self...said he was going to get more hours at his work place and train to become a manager. When he left I felt proud, hopeful, and more secure in the decision for him to move out.

Then I didn't hear from him for a week. I called to see if he would come by. He did, but when he stepped through the doorway I knew by the look of his eyes that we would have to visit another time. When he left I felt sad, angry, and more secure in the decision for him to move out.

And that's how it goes...for now anyway. I continue to pray. I love and miss him so much and at the same time I'm relieved that everyday of my life is no longer conflict-resolution due to teenage rebellion. My hope is in Christ. 

I was a prodigal daughter for over twenty-years. And now look what I'm doing. I can't write another person's story. I don't have control. The same God who never took His hand off of me is covering my son. He allowed me to get in over my head so that I would become willing to yield to Him. Sometimes I find myself wanting my son to cry out, but not experience the captivity that accompanies rebellious behavior. But then his story wouldn't be complete. I will continue to pray for him, but this is his fight. And it will be his victory. One that I will one day proudly tell you about.

I believe that. Even as my eyes spill the kind of tears that would surely form a puddle if they hit the ground.

"You are forgiving and good, O Lord, abounding in love to all who call to you" (Psalm 86:5 NIV).

"Father in heaven, prompt my son to call to you." 

My middle son is a senior this year...was. His graduation ceremony was yesterday morning, but he chose not to participate. He did graduate, but no cap and gown, no family in town, no parties, no dining out. No plans to attend college. Instead, he's moving out.

I spent the entire day crying my eyes out. I mentioned the reasons for his rebellion in an earlier blog on codependency. (I begin speaking of him about half-way down the page.) As a grieving mother, I don't have the energy to repeat the story.

In the midst of my tears, I found myself wondering if I had only done this or that differently maybe he would be making better choices. But that type of thinking is a bottomless pit of guilt and condemnation. Then I tried some good old fashioned anger toward God Himself. When my son was still taking Pre-AP courses, I was in the middle of therapy for multiple years of sexual abuse, his older brother had a temper that required constant attention, his little brother was still just a little guy--requiring little guy attention, and my husband, was still relapsing on occasion.

It was too much on one mother's plate. In all fairness, I can see where at times, he must have felt invisable before us all. Ouch. And I can't go back and change anything. To change all of that, God would have to change my past. And then I remembered that in spite of my past, my husband's past, and the mistakes we've made as parents, we have an amazing testimony of God's unfailing love and of His ability to take a dark story and transform it into a God story.

And in that moment of truth, the love of God overcame my fear and regret and filled me with hope. My son's story is being written. True, if I were authoring it, he would be going to college this fall. But God in His graciousness, hovers over my son and his free will to make poor choices, ever ready to redeem it all the moment He's called upon by the choice-maker.

Meanwhile, to all the grieving mothers out there who want so much more for their children than how their lives appear, I am right there with you. Praying, hoping, believing. Praying, hoping, believing, and crying when I need to.

The truth is, nothing I did right for my son adds any value to who I am in Christ, and nothing I did wrong can take away from it--leaving no room for self righteosness or condemnation. That is the grace of God. And each day I humbly ask for my portion.

My Bible remains open to Isaiah 65. Verse 23 is my anchor Scripture:

"They shall not labor in vain, Nor bring forth children for trouble; For they shall be descendants of the blessed of the Lord, And their offspring with them.

Keep the faith ladies. We're in this together.

She's one of those women you can't imagine losing control. Loving God and her family was always her highest priority. I was accustomed to seeing her every few weeks when she quietly vanished from my life. I thought of her often, left messages, but still no contact for almost a year.

Then one day she called. And in the midst of inquiring what the other had been up to, she began to reveal the reason for her disappearance. She had experienced a long season of what I refer to as "high maintenance parenting"--sleepless nights followed by stressful days filled with conversations that leave you too drained to remember your own name much less keep up good appearances.

And if there's one thing I've noticed about Christians, it's that when a smile becomes too difficult to maintain, we often withdrawal for fear that we might be seen hurting.

My friend struggled to reconcile what had happened in her family. She and her husband attended church, loved the Lord, and provided a good home for their children. But they were not immune to teenage rebellion, even as Christians. She told me of the night her son was arrested and of his return home. In spite of everything, rock bottom had not yet arrived, his verbal attacks on her began again and a gentle woman finally snapped. She hit him.

"How did this happen?" she asked. We aren't violent people. Things like this don't happen in our home." Tears of confusion, shame, and regret accompanied her confession. I told her how deeply sorry I was for all that they had been through and felt compelled to share about a time when I lost control. 

My oldest son, Christopher, was hard to parent throughout high school. I did everything I could to keep him from smoking pot; to no avail. He wasn't the type of kid who would deny it either. If he was high he would say, "Yep, I'm high." He didn't care if I grounded him or took privileges away because the severity of cystic acne had stolen his social life. He spent most of his time alone playing an acoustic guitar and I often wondered how something so beautiful could come out of someone so angry.

Eighteen was the toughest age of all. By then he had mastered the pushing of every button I had. He wanted the freedom that accompanies adulthood, but with none of the responsibilities. A combination that would soon lead to my emotional demise, at least for a moment anyway. I don't remember what he said, but whatever it was, it invoked one of those, "this is my house" meltdowns. I charged into his room, stepped onto his bed, and began pulling posters off the wall.

He quickly stood nose to nose with me and after a few verbal exchanges I dare not repeat, I grabbed the collar of his shirt. I won't sugar coat it. I fully intended to separate my  firstborns head from his shoulders and ask God to heal him later!

The next thing I knew, my husband, Michael, was pulling me off of him. Hours later when we had all calmed down, I told Michael that I knew Christopher would never hurt me and that there was no need for him to intervene. To which he responded, "I wasn't afraid he was going to hurt you. I was afraid you were going to hurt him."

By the end of my story, her tears had turned into the kind of inappropriate laughter that can only come from pain coupled with pure exhaustion. Grace had gently placed her feet back on the road to human frailty by prompting me to confess something I preferred to keep to myself. 

No casualties to date in either family. God is still in control.

"...for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, being justified freely by His grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus..." (Romans 3:23-24 NKJV).