Tuesday, May 04, 2010
For the last few weeks I had been listless, struggling just to go on from one day to the next, living in a fog of depression. The tone of my normally upbeat nature had begun to shift the day I knew for sure that our only son was not serving the Lord.
Bruce Jr. was a miracle baby. After the first two girls, I was thankful for a two year break, but then I began to crave another baby. Not just any baby, I wanted a boy. Every time I would see a baby boy I would want one so desperately. This went on for two more years but the doctor didn't have any answers.
"We could try giving you hormone pills," he suggested one day. I shook my head emphatically.
"No, Doctor," I looked him straight in the eye. "I'm on pretty good terms with the Giver of Life. If He wants me to have a baby, then I want one, but if He doesn't, then I don't." He was a Christian and understood my resolve. I went home with no more answers, but I had peace.
Nine months later, Bruce Jr. was born! My miracle baby! He started smiling before he left the hospital, and by the time he was a month old he was laughing even in his sleep. Nobody could argue the fact that he was a gift from God.
I would stand over his cradle sometimes as he slept and my heart would just be overflowing with love and gratitude for this soft bundle of blessing. I would stand there praying for him and for his future, and I would beg the Lord for the wisdom to teach him to serve God. I would even ask God to take my baby right then and there if He knew that he would not live for Jesus. I knew that the heartbreak of losing a baby to the arms of God could never be as devastating as losing a son to the world. And so I begged God to spare me that heartache.
In my heart I always believed that our son was destined to be a preacher. We had dedicated him to the Lord, and even before that, when I was yearning for a son, my desire was to give him back to God. I taught him the Bible, and occasionally we would see how the Lord would use his childlike innocence to speak to someone's heart.
But we began to see problems after he started school. We had looked into sending him to a Christian School but that didn't work, and at the time we hadn't even thought of homeschooling. We believed that as long as we did our best to teach him while he was at home, God would protect him while he was in school. I even started helping out in his classroom so I could get to know his classmates.
But before I had even started helping out in his grade three class, the problems had begun. Bruce always wanted to be accepted, but he had a learning difference that made reading and writing difficult for him. Bright, well adjusted students don't usually choose friends who are still struggling to read in grade three. But there were always students who didn't care about scholastic ability as long as they could have a fun time. These were the ones who befriended our son.
Had I known what I know now, I probably would have taken him out of school, but I don't even know if that would have changed his direction. I only know that, by the time he was fifteen, he was going his own way and I was a heart broken mom.
The Bible says that all things work together for good to them that love the Lord, and in every situation we are to praise Him, but how was I to praise Him in this? And how could it have happened?
I did eventually understand, but it took some real brokenness.
For part 2 of this story go to: Broken Mom Part 2