I couldn't imagine my friend losing control. Loving God and her family was her highest priority. I was accustomed to seeing her every few weeks then 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 revealed the reason for her disappearance. Which turned out to be 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. When a smile is too difficult to maintain, we Christians often withdrawal for fear that we might be seen hurting.

My friend struggled to reconcile a situation that had taken place in her family. She and her husband attended church, loved God 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 resumed, 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 empathized with her and felt compelled to confess 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. And he never denied smoking when I inquired.

"Yep, I'm high." He'd say.

He didn't care if I grounded him or took privileges away because the severity of cystic acne robbed him of a social life. He spent most of his time alone playing an acoustic guitar, and I often wondered how something so beautiful could pour out of someone so angry.

Eighteen was the toughest age of all. By then he'd 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). 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.

In a flash, he 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 said to Michael, "Christopher would never hurt me. There was no need for you to intervene."

"I wasn't afraid HE was going to hurt YOU. I was afraid YOU were going to hurt HIM."

By the end of the story, my sweet friend's tears had turned into the type of inappropriate laughter that comes 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). 

Q4U: Have you "lost it" with a loved one recently? Apologize. Ask God to forgive you. Amend your behavior. Move on.

This morning, during my quiet time with God, I listened to an old favorite: Be Still and Know, by Steven Curtis Chapman. The first time I heard it, I'd just returned from a meeting with my oldest son's high-school counselor, regarding his transfer to a smaller, self-paced school.

Christopher was not an easy child to raise. God knows of the challenges he faced growing up in the midst of family dysfunction, but his temper took it to another level altogether. I was emotionally and physically exhausted. We arrived, and I fled to the restroom for a small reprieve from his rebellious attitude. I looked into the mirror and whispered to a desperate woman, "Don't cry."

The meeting went well. Papers were signed. Christopher would finish out the day and begin a new school the next. I cried all the way home. Once inside the house, I turned the radio on; "Be Still and Know" was playing.

I was too broken and exhausted to be angry. My knees buckled, and I sat on the floor, slumped in a puddle of tears. Me and my pain, humbly positioned to receive peace that surpasses all understanding.

Be still and know that He is God
Be still and know that He is holy
Be still, O restless heart of mine
Bow before the Prince of peace
Let the noise and clamor cease

Be still and know that He is God
Be still and know that He is faithful
Consider all that He has done
Stand in awe and be amazed
And know that He will never change
Be still

Be still, and know that He is God
Be still, and know that He is God
Be still, and know that He is God

Be still; Be speechless

Be still and know that He is God
Be still and know that He is our Father
Come rest your head upon His chest
Listen to the rhythm of His unfailing heart of love
Beating for His little ones
Calling each of us to come
Be still, Be still

I didn't stand to my feet that day, with all the answers. Rather, I stood with what I needed most: validation, comfort, and peace. It took time for our family to change. But change, we did.

At age twenty-four, Christopher is a son who loves his mother. We're honoring to one another. 

We made it after all.

Are you exhausted? Broken? God gives peace freely to those who come to Him.

What's a teenage boy to do with a mother who refuses to enter into 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, it became 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 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 he would barely speak to me. Heart 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.