call me pasturescott

Praying Your Prodigal Home

In light of my most recent posts, I thought it might be beneficial to re-share this from not so very long ago. While there’s some age to this material, no doubt its insights and encouragement are timeless. I pray it will be as meaningful to you as it has been to Sandy and me. Our prayers are with you as you wait on the front doorstep for your miracle.

Peace.

HOW I LEARNED TO PRAY FOR THE LOST
“This is the result of my search for the right way of praying for the unsaved. I have found it to produce amazing results in a very short time.
After more than 20 years of fruitless praying, it seemed that there was no possible chance for my loved ones to ever return to the faith. But after only a few weeks of the type of praying that I have outlined here, I have seen them studying the Bible by the hour and attending every church service possible. Also, their whole attitude toward Christianity has changed, and all resistance seems to be gone.
I have taken my place of authority in Christ and am using it against enemy. I have not looked at myself to see if I am fit or not; I have just taken my place of authority in Christ and have prayed that the Holy Spirit may do His convicting work. If each and every member of the Body of Christ would do this, what a change would be made in this world!
Believers everywhere are burdened for the unsaved or backsliding loved ones. However, many are praying in the spirit of fear and worry instead of faith.
This has caused me to seek for definite light on how to pray, feeling the need of praying the right prayer and also the need for a definite promise or word from God on which to base my faith when praying for the unsaved. Praise God — He never fails to give such needed help!
Perhaps because the salvation of some seemed to be an impossibility, the first verse of scripture that was given to me was Mark 10:27 – “With God all things are possible.”
The next scripture verse had occupied my attention for some time, but it took on a new meaning: “(For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strong holds;) casting down imaginations [speculations] and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ” (2 Cor. 10:4,5). This shows the mighty power of our spiritual weapons. We must pray that all this will be accomplished in the ones for whom we are concerned; that is, that the works of the enemy will be torn down.
Finally, I was given the solid foundation for my prayers — the basis of redemption. In reality, Christ’s redemption purchased all mankind, so that we may say that each one is actually God’s purchased possession, although he is still held by the enemy. We must, through the prayer of faith, claim and take for God in the name of the Lord Jesus that which is rightfully His. This can be done only on the basis of redemption. This is not meant to imply that, because all persons have been purchased by God through redemption, they are automatically saved. They must believe and accept the Gospel for themselves; our intercession enables them to do this.
To pray in the name of the Lord Jesus is to ask for, or to claim, the things which the blood of Christ has secured. Therefore, each individual for whom prayer is made should be claimed by name as God’s purchased possession, in the name of the Lord Jesus and on the basis of His shed blood.
We should claim the tearing down of all the works of satan, such as false doctrine, unbelief, atheistic teaching and hatred, which the enemy may have built up in their thinking. We must pray that their very thoughts will be brought into captivity to the obedience of Christ.
With the authority of the name of the Lord Jesus, we must claim their deliverance from the power and persuasion of the evil one and from the love of the world and the lust of the flesh. We should also pray that their conscience may be convicted, that they may listen and believe as they hear or read the Word of God. Our prayer must be that God’s will and purposes may be accomplished in and through them.
Intercession must be persistent — not to persuade God, for redemption is by God, but because of the enemy. Our prayer and resistance are against the enemy — the awful powers and rulers of darkness. It is our duty before God to fight for the souls for whom Christ died. Just as some must preach to them the good news of redemption, others must fight the powers of darkness on their behalf through prayer. Satan yields only what and when he must, and he renews his attacks in subtle ways. Therefore, prayer must be definite and persistent, even long after definite results are seen. And we must pray for the new Christian even after he begins to be established in the faith.
We will find that as we pray, the Holy Spirit will give new directions. At one time I was interceding for a soul and began to feel that my prayers were largely ineffective. Then the Holy Spirit inspired me to begin presenting that person to God in the name of the Lord Jesus. As I obeyed this leading, praying, ‘I present so-and-so to God in the name of the Lord Jesus,’ I felt that my prayers were gradually becoming more effective. It seemed that I was drawing that person from deep within the very camp of the enemy. Then I was able to proceed as usual, claiming every detail of that life for God, using the power of the blood against the enemy. This is true warfare in the spiritual realm. Thank God that our spiritual weapons are mighty and that our authority in Christ is far above all the authority of the rulers, powers and forces of darkness, so that the Enemy must yield. But it takes faith and patience and persistence.
Missionaries on foreign and home fields can resist the enemy in their districts, communities and schools by using the power of the blood of Jesus against the powers of darkness, sin and unbelief. With the authority of the name of the Lord Jesus they can demand the enemy retreat. Note that ‘it is the spirit that quickeneth the flesh profiteth nothing’ (John 6:63) and that ‘the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life’ (II Cor. 3:6). Therefore, we must constantly seek the motivation of the Holy Spirit in our hearts, in our faith, in our prayer and in our testimony. It is most important also that we confess our own sins and have them forgiven.
The enemy will use every possible means to silence our intercession and to block our attack against him. We must not only understand our enemy, our authority in Christ and how to use our spiritual weapons but also how to wear the armor that God has provided for our protection. Thus equipped and protected, we need not have any fear. But let us always remember that we have no power and no authority other than that of Christ.
‘Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in Christ’ (II Cor. 2:14)
‘Greater is He that is in you, than he that is in the world’ (I John 4:4)
— L.M.
(The writer has asked her name be withheld)

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A final note. Our heartfelt thanks to Carey Childrey, a long-time friend and mentor, for sharing a copy of this marvelous message with us. Within weeks of posting this – knowing others needed its encouragement also – the Father ran to meet our own prodigal and welcomed him Home.

Can’t wait to share in the fatted calf with you, son.

Beyond the Clouds: The ‘Graham’ Posts

How will the dead be raised? What kind of bodies will they have?…And what you put in the ground is not the plant that will grow, but only a bare seed of wheat or whatever you are planting…God gives it the new body he wants it to have…Similarly there are different kinds of flesh—one kind for humans, another for animals, another for birds, and another for fish…There are also bodies in the heavens and bodies on the earth. The glory of the heavenly bodies is different from the glory of the earthly bodies…The sun has one kind of glory, while the moon and stars each have another kind. And even the stars differ from each other in their glory.
– Paul’s first epistle to the Corinthian believers (Chapter 15:35-41, NLT)

Once upon a Sunday night, my little boy was staring out the passenger window and looking into the evening sky. He was silent for several minutes.

“What’cha thinking about, buddy?” I asked.

He turned to me and I saw the most serious expression on his sweet boyish face.

“Dad,” he began, “you know when the clouds go away they become stars?”

“They sure do, buddy.” I smiled at my prodigy.

My boy.

Sigh.

Oh, the insufferable ache!

Fifteen or so years later, give or take, I’d be looking into his casket; face, neck, hands and arms – every exposed place – just covered with tattoos. Innocence erased. Boyish wonder swallowed by a life that had stolen away too many spring-times and summer adventures and given only harsh winters in return. My little boy far afoot. A young man who tried to grow up way too fast and far too free.

Looking back, I’ve said some pretty hard words in my years of life and ministry…but nothing I’ve ever had to say compares to this:

My sweet boy died from a heroin overdose; cold, alone and homeless.

This is not the eulogy Sandy and I would have imagined on that morning we laid eyes on our little boy for the first time. Chattanooga seems so far away…

Surely not this tiny bundle?

This same little boy who, on the way home from church on Sunday, with family settled in for the quiet ride, begins singing “I Love You, Lord” word for word – and in perfect pitch – from his little fastened-in car seat? And, oh, did I mention he was only 18 months?…

This same little charmer who sidled up next to his mama and bravely watched a drama depicting the five missionaries who spilled their life-blood in Amazon sand and were added to the hallowed list of martyrs, at which he looked up at her with fiercely honest eyes and remarked, “that’s what I want to do with my life!”…?

My little third grader whose girlfriend Stasia ‘broke up’ with him, then later, on the playground, told her best friend he broke up with her, which led to that friend pushing him down and calling him a “stuck-up ***-hole”, then mocked him, saying, “aren’t you going to cuss back?” and our Gravy Train picking himself up, brushing himself off and replying with a sense of bravado, “Nope. I’m a christian”, to which she then called him a “stupid christian” and he just smiled…?

You mean, that brave little guy?

My precious seven-year old who told me he wanted to be an astronaut when he grew up, and when I jokingly asked “you don’t want to be a preacher?” (I never pushed this on him), honestly replied, “I’ll be an astronaut who goes to church and loves the Lord”… Him?

Our darling first-grader, holding the ‘S’ sign for his Christmas program and standing ramrod-straight and belting out the all-too-famously encouraging Advent passage of Luke 2:10,11 loudly and proudly? Surely not him?…

The very Gra-Gra Scott who changed his “when I grow up” dream a year later and told us he wanted to be THREE THINGS: “a father, a ‘ski racer’, and a husband”, then proceeded to inform us with utter sincerity “I won’t even kiss a girl before I’m married, and if she asks me to dance, I’ll say ‘uh-uh, not until I get married!’”… Not, for the love of Pete, him?

Our little ‘Bubby’ who would not be silenced on McDonald’s playgrounds, telling other little boys and girls about his True Love Jesus, and Sandy getting a couple different stare-downs from appalled mothers, to which she could only smile and shrug, and the day our little guy actually “led a little African-American playmate named Terrance to Jesus”…?

Him? Dead of a heroin overdose at twenty-four, all alone in the back seat of a car?

Our precocious nine-year old who walked in on Mommy and Daddy one morning in Clearwater, Florida, then ran out giggling and telling Grandmother about what he saw?

Not my ten-year old little shadow who lamented to me one day he didn’t have a best friend, then me saying “sure you do, buddy, tell me who you’d rather spend your time with more than anyone else on earth” and hearing him say, “you, Dad”…?

Him?

Oh, dear God, no…please…

But…yes. The very same.

I have an entry in my journal, dated July 1, 1999, when Graham was not yet ten, where I’m crying out to the Father for the soul of my son who was struggling with his young faith. He was in an unsettling phase of questioning everything about God, along with a bent toward the far country. I find myself drawn to a single phrase that apparently reflected the fear I held for my child:

Dear God, I beg you, do not let my son run in rebellion…

The prayer was a daily plea until the end of his life. You’ll find it in every form all over my journals. I pled for the Lord to keep our son from drugs, pre-marital sex and a prodigal life. I wanted him to go to his wedding day a virgin. I begged God to make my son “a man You would write about.”

Over and over…

and over…

again.

How we wish for better endings. Sigh.

And yet…

December 16, 2013 was not the end of the story. While we were planning to see him at Christmas for a visit, the Lord gave us something worth eternally more. His body came home to us, but our son made it beyond the clouds. We gladly trade in our sorrows for the Father’s grander story for Graham.

Among those whom we shared a hug with in the five-and-a-half hour long receiving line at Graham’s viewing was a blind man who sees things mere mortals can never see, a friend, arm-in-arm with his wife who guided him to me. Tom handed me a note and told me to give it to Sandy later. He said it was “hefty and robust” and she needed to know what God spoke to him.

Later on that night, home and still reeling from the impending chore of burying our only child the next day, I unfolded the note, read its contents, and silently broke. The words told my wife that “one day you will see your son, running to you, skin gleaming.”

For all these stories and recollections of our Gra-Gra, Father, we thank you. Thank you for allowing us to be his on-loan parents. Each and every memory is its own separate “star” in an evening sky clouded right now by heartache, questions, grief and wish-fors. Even some regrets.

But, in the end, when the clouds roll away, there is nothing left but a brilliant galaxy of truth, lit by the unarguable proof from our Father that the same tattooed shell we saw in that casket is right now and forevermore adorned with everything his crying heart on earth hoped for: real peace, real hope, real answers, real freedom…real life.

You were right, son. When the clouds go away, they turn into stars. Tonight we’ll look up and ‘see’ you shining and feel you running toward us with skin gleaming.

And we’ll be okay.

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Gone: The ‘Graham’ Posts

Graham s t r u g g l e d, this much is true. The big story of his life is not that he was a drug user and died of a heroin overdose. The truth is, Graham, though enamored with the lure of the far country, never let himself go too far afield from the mercy of Christ.

And the sheepdogs of God’s hesed didn’t leave him alone either.

He was in and out of drug rehabs, in and out of jail, but those don’t tell the whole story. He was so doggone lovable, fun-loving, and compassionate. He did the best Matt Foley in a “van down by the river” routine you ever saw. Graham always befriended the outcasts and underdogs. He was a good friend to many.

Graham sharing a bible study with a group of our ‘millennials’ while on court-ordered probation with a recovery ministry

There were demons. He fought them off, they came back. He couldn’t shake free of them; he felt trapped. The boy was mad at God; he didn’t hate him. In retrospect, our son was mostly angry at himself. My theory stands that some of the courser tattoos he wore on his body were a shadowy reflection of how he felt about himself on the inside. Though we had many heart to hearts during this time he was never quite able to tell us what it was that made him so angry.

We went through years of counseling, disciplining, his running away, rehabilitation programs, getting calls from jail, worrying we’d get “the call” in the middle of the night, pleading with him not to destroy himself; a vicious cycle of shame, defeat, and regret. He tried, oh how he tried! Things were never worse than when we had to turn him out. He’d ask for money, we couldn’t. For his own good, we’d tell ourselves. He phoned us to ask if he could crash a few days; his friends had grown tired of him and kicked him out. For a time we’d oblige but he always brought the demons with him and we couldn’t take it anymore.

It was killing us and taking a toll on our emotional and spiritual well-being. Every day was a battle. Every day was a cryfest. Things would get so bad we’d have to send him off to “anywhere but here.” Can you imagine watching your only child slumping down the driveway with a backpack thrown over his shoulder, not knowing where he was going but only knowing you’d done everything you could to save him?

Heavenly Intervention

One blessed day Sandy and I very clearly heard from our Abba Father. The comfort we received from him was too deep for words here. The gist of the message was,

You’re tired. You’ve done all you can do. I know you love Graham, but let me be his Father now. Take your hands off, and allow me to take over. Do you trust me to parent him your place?

From that moment on, we never fretted nor wrung our hands in exasperation again. it’s like the cool breeze of heaven blew through the front door of our house, going from room to room, and recycling through and through, driving out the despair and gloom and replacing it with his Presence. The putrid atmosphere that had been so prevalent in our home was gone.

A New Plan

About six months before Graham left us for Minnesota, he was still hanging out in Atlanta, staying with friends. One morning as I was reading the Bible, I sensed the Lord impressing strongly on my heart to lift the sanctions against our son. “From this moment on,” I heard in my spirit, “you and Sandy are to respond to all of Graham’s needs. Whenever he calls for a place to stay, open your home. If he asks for money, give it to him, no questions, no strings.”

I’ll admit it sounded strange. I thought you were taking over as his Parent, I prayed. Aren’t we going to just reopen old wounds? Nevertheless, in spite of my uneasiness, I said yes.

Perhaps that same day or shortly thereafter, Graham tried my cell. I answered, remembering the Lord’s direction, and greeted him warmly. He was surprised, and even more surprised as he managed to eke out a request to front him some cash, and I said sure, totally fine, where can we meet up?

He asked maybe one other time for some money, and, again, we were happy to meet his request. We never asked what it was for — it was never very much — and he must’ve wondered who these people were and where are my parents!

Gra asked to stay with us the last couple of days before he left for Minnesota. He wanted us to take him to the airport and we happily agreed. Sandy made up the couch and we blessed him however we could. Mother and son took a day for shopping; he needed a new set of clothes for the colder north. God blessed us in those far-too-quick hours, to enjoy our boy’s company for one last time.

This is our last morning together. When Graham left on his 8:59 a.m. flight to Minnesota, we never saw him again.

Gone

Early one Monday in December, we got “the call.”

Actually it was a message on Facebook from Jill; she asked me to call as soon as possible. Something happened to Graham. She didn’t have much information, but we needed to pray, pray, pray. Sandy was finishing her late night shift at UPS and I was alone when the message came through. I found Jill‘s number and called right away.

From the call, and subsequent messages, we learned that Graham was found with a needle in his arm, apparently of a drug overdose, and was not responsive at the scene. He was being taken to the University of Minnesota hospital in Minneapolis. Before we ended that initial conversation, I asked Jill to pass along any information she collected in real time, and I would do the same.

Immediately I called Sandy’s supervisor at work and asked him to get an urgent message to her. The message was our boy was in trouble and she needed to get home. It seemed an interminable amount of time went by before she called from her car. She explained she had only just then received the message. It seemed to bounce along several channels before it got to her, taking unnecessary time.

By the time she got home I had more information to share as it got to me in bits and pieces from Jill. Now we learned Graham was on some kind of “blood warming“ machine and the next 24 to 48 hours were critical. Meanwhile we were getting messages from the hospital to wait to hear from the attending cardiac ICU doctor. She should be calling within the next few hours.

My wife quickly showered then began calling around to airlines about getting a flight out of Atlanta as soon as possible. She was able to secure a flight early that evening and we were rushing around getting her packed and ready to go. All while waiting for the doctor to call.

Sandy, armed with a go-bag, jumped in the van and I got in the driver’s seat. She had not had anything to eat all day and I figured she might get sick before she got on the flight or in the air, so we stopped at a fast food place near the airport. The drive-thru line was wrapped around the building, so she jumped out and hurriedly went inside to order. She suddenly had no appetite and just ordered a drink, and then a quick trip to the ladies room.

While I was waiting for Sandy, the phone rang. It was Dr. Venugopal. I answer.

“Mr. Mitchell?”

“Yes?” I responded shakily.

“Mr. Mitchell, I’m the doctor in the cardiac ICU here at the hospital. You can call me Dr. V because my name is pretty long…”

I tell her okay.

“Mr. Mitchell, what do you know at this point?” she asked kindly, and I told her the little we knew.

“Mr. Mitchell, I understand your situation is that you’re in Georgia?”

“That’s right.” To that, Dr. V drew a ragged breath, then continued: “Mr. Mitchell…”

I’m ready, pen in hand. I pulled my moleskin notebook out of my jacket pocket. Can’t miss any of the details. It’s imperative I write everything down. All we knew from earlier hospital conversations was that Graham might be critical but he was still alive. Here was the person in the know. And she was getting ready to fill in the blanks for us.

“…If only there was some other way to do this…” she let out a huge sigh . “Mr. Mitchell, I’m so sorry, but your son is…gone.”

My hand, holding the pen, was shaking. This was so sudden, so unexpected. I vaguely heard Dr. V saying other words and, while she was talking, I put down my small notebook. I reached for a receipt from the cup holder, turned it over to its blank side and wrote a single word:

Songs & Psalms

Earlier, when Sandy finally got my urgent message, before calling me to tell me she was leaving work, she started the engine and the CD in her car player came to life. It played the first chords of a contemporized version of Amazing Grace, as if cued for the moment, with the added refrain of “…my chains are gone…”

Best we can figure, I was sitting at the dining room table the same time that was happening with Sandy. I had all kinds of thoughts and doubts and questions bouncing around in my head: Lord, I need some assurance here. I need to know my son will be okay… I’m not sure he’s ready to meet you just yet…what if he doesn’t pull through? I had to ask it: Is he going to be with you…?

Little did I know he was already there.

Once upon a time I’d been given a word for Graham: “as long as you’re looking for a way out instead of the way home, you’ll always remain a prodigal.”

The Father met my questions with a thought that passed through my head:

“Read.”

I opened my Bible to the place I had bookmarked for quiet time (as I hadn’t gotten around to it yet). Sandy, fittingly for her, got reassurance through a gospel song, I got mine through a scripture:

I couldn’t stop. The Father was opening up his heart to me and every verse was was telling the same gospel story: he once was lost, now he’s found. He once was chained, but now they’re gone. And when I got *here*, I was on hallelujah ground and raising my hands to the heavens:

Wherever Graham was, either on some table in Minnesota with tubes and wires all over his body, or already gone, we knew this: God told us through psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs, “the boy is mine; the devil can’t have him; his battles are over.”

Amazing Grace, praise God, his chains are…GONE.