Category: Children

Light In Room 426

Why am I at the Shepherd Center these four weeks?

I may not know the full answer to that yet, but I do have an idea.

I just prayed with one of the nurses here in my room, asking God to give her and her husband wisdom to know how to proceed with their adopted daughter. Nine years ago, a little girl was brought into their home who had horrific baggage (later learned) and tendencies. So violent was her Type 2 bi-polar disorder (the worst classification) their own daughter had to sleep with two locks on her door, as she seems to be the burning core of Cassie’s (not her real name) hatred.

This morning, Cassie bounded down the steps of their home walked straight up to her mother, and threw her arms around my nurse friend and told her she loved her. Totally unsolicited.

It had never happened before. In nine years.

This gallant adoptive mother broke down as she shared that, in her heart, she knew Cassie is experiencing a major breakthrough and on the road to healing. I could see years of fear, hysteria, hopelessness and exhaustion just melt away with those wracking sobs and a face that suddenly lost its lines and looked young again.

On this same day she found out that a Medicare-underwritten program has finally accepted their daughter after months of waiting and wringing of hands. After months of crying out for God to heal the pain in the home and torment in their daughter.

Then, this:

“I love you  Mom.”

Can you think of four better words?

So my friend is torn. What if this is God’s witness to her that their daughter, after endless therapy and new medicine–not to mention the steady stream of prayers–is showing a monumental turnaround? What would it mean for them to put her in the program?

If they do not drive Cassie the hundred miles to a new rehabilitation center, they will receive no financial assistance for any of their daughter’s future therapy.

I didn’t have a word for my friend, but instead turned to the Word on behalf of my friend. “Dear God, you promised that if we lack wisdom, we can ask of You, and we have the assurance that You will pour out such wisdom without restraint, without guilting us or remonstrating us for lack of faith…”

With heads bowed in this room, we agreed that the Father loves Cassie and has an incredible plan for not only her but for my friend, her husband and their other daughter. We prayed with boldness knowing that God would lift whatever fog or gauzy mist shielded the Johnson’s (not their real name) eyes that they might see He who is true Wisdom, Jesus the Christ.

She wiped her eyes and hugged me and told me her dad had phoned her this morning and used the promise of James 1:5 for those who lack wisdom in their conversation also. The Word had given His word after all. Her eyes were wide with expectation, relief and settled confidence that all would be well.

As I finished that last sentence, my nurse friend just passed my room with a beaming smile. This is why Jesus has come into the world, to set captives (like Cassie—and hurting families) free.

15:20

“And he got up and went to his father. But while he was still far away, his father saw him and was moved with pity for him and went quickly and took him in his arms and gave him a kiss.”

–First century parable from the lips of Jesus

Long about noon on Saturday a father and son will meet in a giant bear hug far from the horizon that once separated them.  And Mom will be there too, just the right touch needed to make a three-corded strand.  Perceptive onlookers might catch a glimpse of something arcane and otherworldly in this simple tapestry: a family wrapped, cinched and secured in the keeping power of the Strong-Armed One.  I’d call that an unbreakable family bond.

The son is, at long last, coming home.  Gone will be the rags and fetters of the far country and, though the memories of depravity and hellishness will linger, the air will be gloriously cleared of the demons that enslaved and harrassed. 

I noticed a subtle nuance about that story this afternoon.  I found in my Bible, the NASB’s translation of Luke 15:32 to be, “this brother of yours was dead and has begun to live…”  The translators took the verb anazoo and made the distinction in it’s aorist tense that a process or action has begun that, if it continues, will certainly end in a completed action or effect. 

That’s pretty technical sounding so let me dumb it down for you and me.  When I have told others of our son’s return, I (a) do not refer to Graham as a “prodigal” because he no longer wears that moniker by the grace of our Lord, and (b) advise them not to expect our boy to exude an ethereal glow and matching halo.  The boy has begun to breathe again the new air of the liberty by which Christ has set him free.  He is just now beginning to lay hold of that for which Christ has taken hold of him. 

Like me (and you), he will not have “arrived”.  He might break our hearts again.  (I sure wish there was a verse 33 in that chapter so we could see how it plays out six weeks, six months or six years from the banquet!)  He might revert.  I pray not, for the scriptural phrase “a dog returning to its vomit” is not such a good thing.  It’s deadly, in fact. 

All we have is today. 

And 15:20.

And verse 32.

And that’s got Mom and me giddy from the word go.

And go we will.  To meet our son on a hillside of grace, restoration, reconciliation and…

JUBILEE!      

Finally, let me end with this captivating story found in Philip Yancey’s book, What’s So Amazing About Grace?  The details might not mirror ours exactly and while it is about a young girl rather than a teenaged boy, you’ll see why I’ve done it.

A young girl grows up on a cherry orchard just above Traverse City, Michigan. Her parents, a bit old- fashioned, tend to overreact to her nose ring, the music she listens to, and the length of her skirts. They ground her a few times, and she seethes inside. “I hate you!” she screams at her father when he knocks on the door of her room after an argument, and that night she acts on a plan she has mentally rehearsed scores of times. She runs away.

She has visited Detroit only once before, on a bus trip with her church youth group to watch the Tigers play. Because newspapers in Traverse City report in lurid detail the gangs, the drugs, and the violence in downtown Detroit, she concludes that is probably the last place her parents will look for her. California, maybe, or Florida, but not Detroit.

Her second day there she meets a man who drives the biggest car she’s ever seen. He offers her a ride, buys her lunch, arranges a place for her to stay. He gives her some pills that make her feel better than she’s ever felt before. She was right all along, she decides: her parents were keeping her from all the fun.

The good life continues for a month, two months, a year. The man with the big car–she calls him “Boss”– teaches her a few things that men like. She lives in a penthouse, and orders room service whenever she wants. Occasionally she thinks about the folks back home, but their lives now seem so boring and provincial that she can hardly believe she grew up there.

She has a brief scare when she sees her picture printed on the back of a milk carton with the headline “Have you seen this child?” But by now she has blond hair, and with all the makeup and body-piercing jewelry she wears, nobody would mistake her for a child. Besides, most of her friends are runaways, and nobody squeals in Detroit.

After a year the first sallow signs of illness appear, and it amazes her how fast the boss turns mean. “These days, we can’t mess around,” he growls, and before she knows it she’s out on the street without a penny to her name. When winter blows in she finds herself sleeping on metal grates outside the big department stores. “Sleeping” is the wrong word–a teenage girl at night in down town Detroit can never relax her guard. Dark bands circle her eyes. Her cough worsens. Continue reading 15:20

From the Mouths of Babes…

Our church just completed ten full days and nights of round-the-clock prayer leading up to the Global Day of Prayer on Pentecost Sunday.  In the spirit of what these days have meant, I thought I'd share some prayer humor–from the perspective of little children:

UNANSWERED PRAYER?

The preacher's five-year old daughter noticed that her father always paused just before he delivered his sermon.  One day she asked him why.

"Well honey," he explained, blessed that his young daughter was so observant about spiritual things, "I'm asking the Lord to help me preach a good sermon."

"How come He doesn't do it?" she inquired innocently. (Ouch!)

BEING THANKFUL

A pastor asked a precocious little boy, "Your Mommy says your prayers for you each night?  Very commendable.  What does she say?"

"Thank God he's asleep."

TIME TO PRAY

A minister asked a little boy if he said his prayers every night.

"Yes sir," the boy replied.

"And do you pray to the Lord in the daytime?"

"Naw," the child responded, "cause I ain't skeered in the daytime!"

THE BLESSING

My wife invited several people to dinner one evening.  Just before the meal, she turned to our six-year old daughter and said, "Would you like to say the blessing?"  "I wouldn't know what to say," our little girl said shyly.

"Just say what you hear Mommy say."

"Okay…" she said, then bowed her head.  "Dear Lord, why did I invite all these people to dinner?"

BEWARE OF TRASH

One pre-schooler prayed: "…and forgive our 'trash baskets' as we forgive those who put trash in our baskets." 

SAY A PRAYER

Little Johnny and his family were having dinner over at Grandma's house.  Everyone was seated around the table as the food was being served.  When Johnny received his plate, he began eating right away.

"Johnny, wait until we've said the prayer," his mother said.

"I don't have to," he replied around a mouth full of food.

"Yes you do, young man," his mother insisted.  "We always pray before our meals at our house."

"That's our house," Johnny reasoned.  "But this is Grandma's house and she knows how to cook!"

What say you pray with your children tonight?  You never know what gems they'll come up with!