How does a believer grieve? Susan Vandepol, lost her husband due to a work related accident. She stood by his bed with her young children as he passed away. Now she’s a grief counselor and the author of Life After Breath.
The latest landmark court decision distressed many believers. Our world changed, drastically. In light of that, how shall we live now? Cynthia interviewed Denise Shick of Help 4 Families, and Pastor Dane Skelton for answers. Listen and be encouraged.
Mothers with a prodigal child often detest Mother’s day. Janet Perez Eckles offers hope. Learn more about Janet at www.janetperezeckles.com
How can you help the mother of a prodigal? One mother answers:
I never expected to find myself in this plight. Ever. The news blew my world into tiny shards. I poured my soul into my children. I gave all I had, and then more. When we revealed the bad news, I felt as if I’d released hot air from an overinflated balloon that threatened to pop. Afterwards, I came to church bleeding, bruised, and broken. Fellow believers tried to show they cared but didn’t know how. So what does the mother of a prodigal need?
Please don’t give me a pep talk. My mind shuts down after the first sentence. The energetic words feel like a baseball bat flogging my soul. I crave gentleness. Please don’t tell me to love my child. It’s like tossing my shattered heart into a food processor. I wouldn’t hurt so badly if I didn’t love so deeply. Those words make me feel charged, accused, and sentenced, when I committed no crime.
Please don’t give advice unless I request it. Mothers can’t tell the entire story. Besides I’m too emotionally exhausted to do that anyway. I can’t and won’t explain why recommendations won’t work. Pat answers don’t help. Formulas are a bit unwieldy because my situation is unique.
Please understand my grief. I do have hope, but no guarantees. God is all powerful, but he also gives people freedom to sin. The Lord doesn’t always fix problems this side of heaven, and I’m trying to live now. That’s hard enough.
On the other hand…
Please let me talk. At times I feel like I’m going to explode, and if someone lets me share, it lightens the burden. Once I fill you in on the latest, a hug is great medicine. Offer your love and remind me you’re always ready to listen.
Please pray for me. Assure me you’ll continue to lift our family to God. That touches me deeply.
Please let me cry and encourage me. Rub my back while I weep your shoulder. I feel vulnerable and out of control. Tell me I’m still a valuable part of God’s church, and I have something vital to give. Remind me that I bear no guilt.