My Prodigal Son 3/27/2020
After waiting not so patiently for years, God blessed me with my husband and his two sons. At a time when I thought everything was hopeless and the world was stacked against me, God opened a door and when I walked in, life as I knew it, changed. Gone were the days of things hoped for. Gone were the days where I prayed for healthy relationships and Godly influence. Instead, what God gave was more than my spoken prayers, better than my hopes and more rewarding than anything I could have ever dreamed. Yet, with this amazing blessing, came new trials and would prove that our attempts, although genuine, are often futile and God alone is in control.
My son, grafted through marriage, was a happy kid. Smiles were the basic wardrobe and laughter the expected response from those around him. He was quick to strike a pose, pivot and pose again—all for the purpose of instigating laughter. Almost always without fail, his task was achieved. This contagious, happy go lucky persona was his trademark. Yet, life would change him. My lighthearted young man began to disappear, laughter ceased, and the chaos and torment of drugs began to plague our blended family. What began as peer pressure at eight-teen had turned into an ongoing frenzy to feed the demon that tormented beneath. He was lost. Oh, we tried everything in our power to break the grip of this crippling heroin demon. We screamed, we cried, we hugged and then a moment of clarity would peek through and we, as parents would feel that “maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of a new start”. But, then the demon ‘s grip would tighten again, and the process would repeat itself. Rehabs, thefts, jail, clarity, and repeat. The cycle was detrimental to family bonds as fear, exhaustion and anger seemed to drive even more distance, giving more hunger to the beast that demanded nothing less than-everything.
There is no pamphlet on how to help a loved one beat an addiction. What works for one, may not for another, and so the cycle of torment continued, and our experience as parents became heart breaking. It did not matter what roadmaps we placed in front of him, or blinking neon signs of what to avoid, the tunnel of darkness spiraled out of control. We tried to provide all the answers, but we failed. We failed not because we did not love him, or not because we did not have good advice, we failed because we are human. You cannot force a mind to pick the greater good -for God’s word indicated that he gave all men -free will. Many times, this means that loved ones watch from the sidelines with sadness, grief and anger—waiting.
I was reminded that long ago in the Garden of Eden, Eve had a roadmap of what was allowed, and what was forbidden. Of all the land, of all the goodness, Eve yearned for something that was wrong. She wanted something that was not allowed, she wanted something that she could not have.
For my son, the drug use became more and more prevalent. Jobs lasted at most a week, often less, family visits were strained with conversations pleading for rehab, and counseling, and yet always ended the same. “Tomorrow I will go.” Tomorrow seemed to be the endless timeline of promises and the grief of each promise forgotten. On one such day, the reality became brutally clear when we got a call indicating that Daniel was on the streets begging for money. Having not known where he had been in a while or how he was, we only had one choice. My husband rushed to go see his son and sadly found him. Holding a cardboard sign, embarrassed, begging, and high. He spoke but a few words bringing sadness as he asked his father to “please go”. Food was offered up and denied. Rehab was offered up and refused. Walking away from your son, knowing there is nothing you can do brings a feeling of—hopelessness, and helplessness seemed to hover beyond the sidewalk visitation.
A few months later we found out that he had been arrested some two thousand miles away and was awaiting a trial with a predicted sentence of one year in jail. Sad to say, we prayed for him to be convicted. How could we pray for such a thing? After months of not knowing if he was ok, and nightmares of his death that seemed to plague rest, --Jail was in the very least an answer to prayer. We knew where he was at and with that came some peace.
My son left home at eighteen and became someone I did not recognize. A thief, a liar, an addict. The addiction stole more than the value of things—it stole the essence of who he was. It deprived him of his family, it killed peace and birthed chaos, it shattered bonds, depleted two children of their father, and a father of his two children, and it ultimately led for the waiting of the unbearable—his death. But God was not done with my son. He was given a sentence of one year. There was little contact for the first few months, but as the emails started to come—something was different. This lost boy, the addict, the son who never spoke of God as his savior was suddenly quoting scripture, praying for us, and asking for forgiveness. At first, I thought, “it’s just because he is in a bad spot right now”, and yes it may sound cynical, but the truth is I half expected some remorse once the drugs were no longer in his system. Yet his emails never lost their faith. He talked of change, he talked of his children, he spoke of being on the right track and having clarity. Hope was emerging.
The year moved quickly and now his letters indicated he wanted to come home and he would need our help. I knew that we had to help him, although I was wary of the many times before. I was scared of our life being turned upside down again. I feared the impact on my other children. I did not trust him mainly, because I did not know him anymore. As we waited for the final weeks of his sentence, more and more my thoughts diverted to the story of the prodigal son. I knew what God was telling me, but even still, I was afraid. He had to come here, he had no where else to go. I know. But still. Fear crippled me. I was petrified that the cycle would start all over. I remembered how helpless we felt watching on the sidelines and I did the only thing I knew to do and that was to—pray. He arrived on his twenty-sixth birthday. His dad greeted him at the door, while I busied myself in the kitchen. I didn’t know what to say. I was paralyzed with fear. What do you say to someone gone for so long? In the days that followed, Daniel became my dedicated lunch date through various doctor appointments and shopping sprees to help get the essentials he needed. Fear was losing its hold on me and addiction had lost its hold on my son. We had several conversations where we both cried. We cried at what was lost, we cried over the sincerity of a particular moment. Tears of guilt, regret, remorse, were replaced with hope and thankfulness. I cried because I began to see my son from long ago—only better. God had his soul, his mind and his will. Just like Eve in the garden, life after the bitten fruit changed, so it shall be for Daniel. Life will be different—because its better— Better because there is God. The devil has his weapons—fear, anger and addiction are to name just a few. But the bible says, “No weapon formed against me shall prosper and every tongue which rises against you in judgment, you shall condemn. This is your heritage of the servants of the Lord and their righteousness is from me, says the Lord.” Isaiah 54:17 Ten Months clean because Daniel sought God and God wiped out the weapon of desire. God fixed what we could not.
My prodigal son came home.
