Prodigal Mother

The text came this morning as I dressed for the day:  "Call me when you get a minute."  It was my husband.  Immediately, I began to wonder about possible emergencies from our two parishes.  I had spent the night with our two younger children, both of whom were still sleeping peacefully upstairs, so I knew that they were okay.  Perhaps my husband had misplaced the mapquest directions I had given him for our meeting spot today... 

We planned to meet our oldest son for lunch, and meet the son and wife that he claims to have. ("Claims" is the word I use, because his mental illnesses have made telling the truth a challenge, and he has claimed falsely to be married before.)  But we were to meet today.  Today is his birthday.  I made a cake this weekend-  the first one I have made in 15 years for him- to celebrate his day of being born.  It sits in the back of my car even now, heart-shaped, and frosted with ooey-gooey pecan caramel icing on German chocolate cake.  It's what he asked for, and I smiled-- also his father's favorite.

It's been 15 years since I gave him a cake because he has not lived in our home since just after his 15th birthday.  Abused in his birth home, he became an abuser, and had to spend time in detention centers.  First, he was in a therapeutic placement; later in a juvenile facility.  Since turning 21, he's been in and out of jail repeatedly, usually involving assault charges-- sometimes towards women.  Because my physical health has improved, I was willing to begin building a relationship with him again, and it seemed quite timely that our reunion was planned for the day after I preached about the Prodigal Son.

But the call came to my husband's cell phone last night, shortly before midnight.  An inmate at a county jail was trying to reach him.  He didn't get the message until this morning- hence, my text message.  And, sure enough, when I checked the online data-base, our son is in jail, and his birthday cake will not be eaten by him yet again.  We have done this before.

As I drove through the foggy morning, I made a choice not to give in to the "poor me" mentality that was beginning to pull me towards a "pity party".  I prayed:  "God, show me whatever it is I can learn from this."  When I pray like this, and honestly mean it, I am ALWAYS given clarity.  The clarity that came this morning is this:

• This is not personal.  This has been our child's pattern in the 22 years we have known him.  He sabotages the good things in his life because he doesn't really believe he deserves them.  (God, plant Your love deep in his heart so that someday he may know that he is worth loving.)
• It IS personal. God is protecting my heart from deeper pain. If I had met the child that may or may not be my grandson, I would not have been able to keep from falling in love.  That's just who I am.  It's not time yet to make that commitment of love.  Maybe there WILL come a time, but it's not now.
• I have been blessed beyond belief!  My two younger children are the delights of my heart.  They do not have to DO or BE anything other than who they are already.  They don't have to "make up for" the heartache of their prodigal brother, for they are enough-- just as they are.
• I may be surrounded by "prodigals" (brother, son, friend...), but I can always choose to show grace and forgiveness.  I can choose to celebrate those days and moments when they wander home.  I can choose to cling to hope and not despair.  I can choose to give the burdens of worry over to God, remembering (as the new Danny Gokey song says) Who it is that has carried me this far.

I will serve the heart-shaped cake tonight to two children and a husband who also deserve to know how much they are loved.  Maybe we will sing, "Happy Birthday" to our prodigal. We will say a prayer for him and perhaps shed a tear.  And I will cherish the memories of a little boy who is still searching to find his way in this world.  I trust that God will carry him all the days of this life.