If someone were to ask me what have been the least and most painful memories of motherhood so far, I’d say they’d both involve labor. Labor pains, though excruciating were the least painful compared to laboring in prayer for my son’s soul during his late teens and twenties. For more than a decade, the enemy had a firm grip on his heart while many nights my own heart was weighed down by exhaustion and at loss for words. Sometimes I was unable to create even a single sentence prayer.
I struggled with self-blame, wondering where I went wrong. One day he was worshipping the Lord with his guitar and then slowly he slipped out into the world. Months would go by that I wouldn’t hear from him. I labored in prayer for many nights, fasted, and made all kinds of promises to the Lord for my son’s return.
One night, I woke up at 3am and I knew my son was in trouble and needed prayer. I desperately pleaded with God, that if I was about to get a “bad” phone call, let it be from the county jail saying he was locked up and not the city morgue asking me to come and identify his body. I rationalized that at least in jail he was not harming himself or others.
Another night I woke up again, sometime around 3am and my son was heavy on my heart. I gave everything I had and prayed that if it took for the Lord to take me home for my son to “wake up”, then I was ready to go. The next day I created a living will and then waited for God’s will to be done.
Those nights of laboring in prayer were painful but later became beautiful memorial stones.
Jeremiah 31:16 was the promise that I held onto, “This is what the Lord says: ‘Restrain your voice from weeping and your eyes from tears, for your work will be rewarded.’ declares the Lord. ‘They will return from the land of the enemy.’ “
What I didn’t realize was that my prayers were producing miracles I’d never witness.
It took just over 10 years, but my son did return from the land of the enemy and I’d hear of stories where he could have died, but something happened that saved him. There were a couple very specific prayers that were answered too. My labor was not in vain.
I still wondered what exactly was it that made him decide to return to the Lord and then one day he told me that it was witnessing my consistency in my walk and not giving up on him. (I was glad he told me that over the phone because I ugly cried in silence.)
I didn’t realize he was even watching my life.
When I look back at all the miracles God did through my desperate prayers, I realize a couple of things.
The first was that His love for my son is so much greater compared to the amount of love my tiny heart could ever produce. The second was that this was a 10-year trial that I endured and persevered, which refined my character and produced a steadfastness and maturity. The Lord grew me spiritually inside in a way that was noticeable to my son externally.
So, for every miracle performed, including those unseen, I will praise the Lord and memorialize them in my heart.
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