Fine, since you’ve twisted my arm I’ll tell you.
I’m mad. Mad that my son no longer loves God the way he did when things were simpler. Mad that his ADHD and Asperger’s has stolen the joy from him and now he’s always. ALWAYS. Glass-half-empty.
I’m sad that the boy who used to love to say grace and prayers each night is now the boy who doesn’t see a reason to pray “because God sees him all day anyway.”
And I’m mad at myself because I let it happen. (I’m sure it was one time when I was busy falling asleep on the couch from busy-ness and didn’t tuck them in. Or when I was busy with me. Or busy with his sister. Or maybe it was a Tuesday. Who knows when. But it happened.)
And I’m mad at myself because I don’t know how to get it back. I don’t know how to get back that sweet boy who loved God and loved life and loved.
And Sunday, on the way home from church, when my boy asks, “mama don’t you have anything on the radio besides church music?” And I have nothing to say. Because I am stunned into silence. Because “only church music” isn’t so bad in my book.
So I’m praying and wondering and frustrated and desperate to snatch back my small child from the demon of negativity that has him in his clutches. And I pray.
Because I have.no.idea.how.to.be.a.good.mother. Good engineer? Yes. Good chauffeur? Yes. Good advocate? Yes. But good mothers would keep a watch on their children’s spiritual life and guard that sheep as soon as they leave the fold. As soon as they wander. As soon as the wolf entices.
So tell me, moms of boys with glasses half empty. Moms of boys whose babies once loved Jesus. Moms of daughters who slipped out of the sheep fold in the middle of the night. Mom’s of special needs glass-half-empty, mad-at-God boys. What now? Why can’t we just go back to folded hands and saying grace and church music in the car?
Tell me he’ll be ok. But I need you to mean it because you’ve been there, not just because you just want me to hear it. Tell me we’ll get back to that place. Tell me to be diligent and keep going and stay strong because one day my grace-sayer will come back and will love God so greatly that others will know Him through the joy bursting from my son.
Even when I lose patience. Even when the way is steep. Even when the path is narrow.
Remind me that God alone is my hope, and with Him, all things are possible. Even this.