More than ever, I cry this: Let God Arise. Let His Spirit flood this house again. Let it take captive the hearts of my children...and my husband.
Really, he needs God most.
And I cry in anguish. Nothing less because of the misery of my child. His anxiety and emotion trap him. What can I do for him? How can I help him?
Lord, when will YOU help him?
I sit with my journaling Bible, and feel lost. How can anyone be lost with the Scriptures at their fingertips? But I read and weep and wonder if any words can soothe my heart right now.
Of course, God shows up in His Word and I read this:
I beg the Lord, "What I can possibly do for my son?" And the Lord uses His children to teach me how to raise my own. If you know this passage from Psalm 78 at all, it is an equipping of the future generations by the teaching of God's works. It's the touchy subject around here, and the struggle to go to Church each Sunday, and to pray, and to pass on to my children the works of God, and to give my children a chance. And in moments like tonight with my son, I feel as though I've cowered enough that the foundation is crumbling beneath us...this house is falling.
How easy it is to remember the bad stuff, and how difficult it is to recall the glimpses at God's hand in our lives. And then to put it in words without sounding foolish and superstitious. But I must continue on. For the sake of my children. I am thankful that at least I have Scripture, to remember others' encounters with God. Tomorrow, I awake to celebrate the biggest remembrance of His goodness. May my children, my son, find the hope in that.
Oh how I want the power of the Resurrection to come down on this home. How I want the Earth to shake, and God to Arise before the very eyes of my children. And my husband.
To wipe away the sorrow, the doubt, the anger.
To make us whole again. To heal us in all this brokenness.