Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Samantha had always had a powerful independent streak. She was cooking meals by herself when she was eight years old. She hated having me there supervising, choosing, instead, to do it all by herself. This was her nature.
Though my husband and I were concerned about her living in Toronto, She was excited about it. She would be attending a church where she had some friends; she could be a witness to so many people; she was ready to conquer the world. But it didn't quite work out that way. Before the year was up the world had caught her in its grip.
Our firstborn, our pride and joy, the one who had given her heart to the Lord when she was only four years old was now away from the fold, wandering in sin. And our only son was out there, too. My heart was breaking. I didn't want to go on living.
The beautiful five bedroom house we had built was a worthless pile of sticks to to me now. It wasn't a home. Every room was a reminder of the hopes I had cherished for my home and had lost. I began to hate it.
I even resented my husband for any part he might have played in causing two of our children to stray. It was easier to blame him than to admit I was a failure as a mom. I was a mess.
I didn't want to go to church that Mother's Day. I didn't want to receive my rose for being a mother. Why should they honor me? But I went. That's what you do on a Sunday morning.
The minister hadn't gotten very far into his sermon before I started weeping. I'm a crybaby at the best of times; I couldn't stop myself. I knew people were looking at me but I couldn't stop. All the talk of perfect mothers didn't help at all.
I had tried to be a perfect mom, hadn't I. I had dedicated the past twenty years to my children. What had I done wrong?
People were watching me probably wondering why I was crying? Then, ever so gently, I felt a nudging in my spirit. "Do you know why you are crying?" that still small voice asked. "Is it concern for your wayward children, or is it something else?"
Of course it was concern, wasn't it? I loved my kids. But slowly, as I opened my spirit to listen, I began to see what was controlling my tears. I did love my children with all my heart, but the emotions that were overpowering me had nothing to do with love. They were all about self: self pity, self righteousness, and above all, pride.
I had thought I had it all together, I had expected to be the perfect mom with the perfect children, but it hadn't happened that way, and I was mortified. I remembered all the times I had been asked to pray for someone else's wandering child and I had thought, "If they had spent the effort raising their children right, they wouldn't be having this problem."
I was crying again but this time for a different reason. "Oh, Lord God, I am so sorry. Forgive me for my horrid pride. Fill me with your compassion for other moms and dads who are going through this. And please, Lord, don't ever let me be judgmental again."
I was spent, I was broken, but the Lord accomplished something in my life that day. And grandually he showed me that he was at work in my children's lives too. My son still has more to go through before God can use him as He has planned, but he will use him.
My daughter is serving the Lord now. (listen to her singing her song At a Lose for Words ) Her story will be the subject of another blog.
Because of the problems we had with our own son, my husband and I entered the Christian School ministry, reaching out to other people's children, and young souls have been saved because of it. God has a purpose in everything.
"In everything give thanks for this is the will of God concerning you."
For the next post in the series go to Wrong Direction Part 1
For the previous post go to Broken Mom Part 1