While I Wait

 

My prodigal came into the house and went to his father’s small study and sat on the couch. I waited a few minutes before going in to where he sat. “Where have you been?” I asked. He said, “I’ve been praying,” and he began to weep. “I’m so sorry for getting us into all this.” I knelt on the floor in front of him, hugged him fiercely, and said, “We only want you to be saved. It doesn’t matter what it costs.” And as I began to pray out loud I heard his voice cry out to God as well. And then, with the feel of him in my arms and the prayers of God on our lips, while I was thinking how beautiful it was to hear him pray again, I woke up.

I woke up in a warm bed, with my dear husband of over forty years beside me, surrounded by the blessings and provisions of God, but with a prodigal sized hole in my heart. This wasn’t supposed to happen to us. Not because we’re special, but because we served God with all our hearts. Good people don’t have prodigals! Committed Christians are guaranteed their children’s salvation, right? While there are no perfect parents, we tried very hard to model a Godly lifestyle before our children. We were careful to try to balance pastoral and ministerial duties with family time. Observing other ministerial families around us led to the theory that if we involved our kids in ministry and did not let them feel pushed aside, they would always feel loved and wanted and would always serve the Lord.

It’s not something you say aloud but many times I would mentally note a problem in ministerial homes, to which, in my simplistic way, I would attribute their children’s delinquency. We evangelized for many years and had the opportunity to observe all types of family dynamics. Sometimes the pastor spent too much time with church affairs and not enough with the family. Or the wife resented the husband’s commitment and time spent in ministry. Family problems, financial problems, abuse, mismanagement, and even flagrant sin – we have seen it all. And yet, I also remember the times we fellowshipped with wonderful, sincere people who would tell us of a child who walked away, or of one who was rebellious no matter how they tried to remedy the situation. These were good people who didn’t deserve the heartache their children were inflicting upon them.

My husband has often stated that the call of the world will come to every child, no matter their family background. We can teach them what is right and we can model every Godly precept we know, yet nothing insulates them from that call. I used to comfort myself with the knowledge that my kids had not followed the siren call of the world and although I knew they faced struggles, one of them becoming a prodigal never even factored itself into my imagination.

For years, through many situations, we were held up as a model family who walked in unison, serving God excitedly and happily. We all worked hard for the advancement of the kingdom of God. Naturally, we had trying times and faced situations that were hard, even terrible! But as a family, we could mourn and laugh together, and we always felt we could get through anything because we had each other. And then, a child walked away and my world shifted. Shaken to the core, I questioned every foundational truth I had ever known. And like a loving father, God was patient with me as I went through the stages of grief and despair, to acceptance of the plan and purpose of God.

I didn’t get there in a day, or a month. Honestly, it took about a year of intense mourning to shake off the oppression, and to begin to praise God again. It has been a journey of discovery of what is in me. It’s really very little to do with my prodigal. I discovered that God loves me enough to ask, “Will you serve me no matter what?” My answer is, “I will.”

While I Wait

In the solitude of silent agony, I wait
not for flashes of knowledge or spectacular deeds
not for empty words or pop culture creeds
but for the still, small voice.

In the garden of hope, I wait
for in the soil of despair are planted seeds of trust
trust in the Word and the One who is just.
and if I dig up the seed to see if it grows
I’m not putting my faith in the One who knows.

So I water the seed with tears of prayer
not giving in to the voice of despair.
As a spider’s thread, so fragile, yet strong
faith doesn’t give in though the wait is long.

Your voice is so easy to miss in the clamor of panicked loss
till I make my way back to the foot of the cross
to listen for the still, small voice.
For if the voice I hear is Yours,
I can wait.

Lanette Kinsey