A New Job

A job offer.  A new chapter.   And I can’t even begin to guess what lies ahead.  And yet I can.  Guess.

My mind chases rabbit trail’s as I lay awake.  Will my Prodigal be able to keep this job?  Make a go of it?  Will he be able to wake up?  Get to work on time?  Focus?  Will he become stressed and start using again?  Like the last time.  And the last.

The questions pool in puddles paralyzing.  Cavernous in my Mama’s mind.

But I don’t know…and that’s a good thing.

So many times I’ve thought, “if I only knew…”   (the coulda, shoulda, woulda’s doing their thing….burrowing bottomless in my brain)  “I could do something…”

But other times I’ve thought, “if I only knew…” (the consequences…the outcome) and I think…know….I would have sprinted senseless, and run far, far away.  Parting from the pain pressing in.  Of the imminent danger and disaster that lay ahead.

God protects us.  Protects me.  He only gives me enough mind manna for the day.  No more.  No less.  Just enough knowing….

I want answers.  But not if they’re not the answers I want.  That my Prodigal gets well.  That he succeeds. In Life.  In Sobriety. Walking with God.  

And that, my friends, is the conundrum. 

Because in the knowing comes the No-ing.  Because sometimes we don’t like what we know.

So we say no to God.  To His will.  To His design for my Prodigal’s life.  His design for my life.  If I know what lies ahead…I may say no.  And prevent the purpose of God’s perfect plan from playing out.

In obedience I submit.  I lay it down.  I lay my prodigal down.  I lay my will down.  I lay my need to know down.  At the foot of the cross.

A Few Good Days...

A good few days.  I’ll take them.  Be grateful for them. 

Prodigal Papa’s birthday was this week and we were able to rally for a dinner out.  Even the Prodigal. 

No drama.  No confusion.  No hassle.

Halloween heralded in our granddaughter’s first understanding of "trick or treat" and excitement rose over her Minnie Mouse costume and the advent of a candy coup.  Everyone showed up to cheer her on.  Even the Prodigal. 

No drama.  No confusion.  No hassle.

Thursday night family dinner.   Low key…Take out food.  The gang was all here.  Even the Prodigal. 

No drama.  No confusion.  No hassle.

I can’t begin to remember when, in recent memory, that this has happened.  A feeling of normal.   Three times in one week.  A feeling of good. 

A rare occurrence to be sure in times of late.  A way of life that used to be the norm…to be expected.  Yet now one that feels out of place.  Out of touch on most days.

The mistake would be to assume that this will continue.  I know better.  Life doesn’t work that way.  Not with an addict.  Some might say that I’m being pessimistic.  Not living in full trust.  I am.  But my trust is in the One not the one.

In His time…all things are made new….

And so I thank God for this week in review.  This week that brought our family some earthly peace.  Family peace.  Prodigal peace.

Another One...

The phone rings and my stomach tightens.  

This time…not our Prodigal...but another family stricken by the disease.  A family friend…a young mother lays in bed in ICU at a hospital, her organs failing as the addictive substance threatens to take her out.  A kind woman…smart and educated…lays bare to the secret addiction she’s been nursing for 5 years.  More questions than answers.  The beginning of knowing just now rearing its ugly head.

And again I feel the punch.  To the gut.  The flashback to the beginning.  The knowing of the road this family is about to travel.  The determination in their voices that they will be able to fix this.  They will stop at nothing to get her help.  The right help. They will get to the bottom of this.  The best treatment. Doctors…psychologists…nutritionists…they will stop at nothing.

My body tenses…the chills making the hairs on my arms stand on end…sensing the similarity of stories that we all share.  The addicts and the family’s that love them.  The undying desire to fix the problem.  Cure the disease.  Conquer the demons. 

I extend my sympathy….my hurting heart…to the mama of the mama.  I offer love and hugs and the promise to pray.  The offer of support but the respect of privacy and anonymity.  

My type-A personality wants to jump in…tell them what they should do.  Tell them the mistakes that I believe we made.  Give them information…too much information.  But I pause…and I pray…as they will need to walk this road on their terms.  In their own way.  One day at a time.  So instead, I say nothing.  I exchange audible words for powerful prayers.  Knowing that God is the only one that can lead them through this journey that has only just begun….AND….that this young woman will have that same decision to make…Does she want to get well….

The Prodigal's Sister

If one thing sears my soul in this season of prodigality it is the destruction…the toll…it takes on the family.  My heart hurts heavy at the ruin that lies at the feet of this disease.  How it can take living…loving…lively people and lay them out lame, limping, and lost.  Too many families have lived this tragedy.

The night before I left on my trip, too tired for words, we had our Thursday night family dinner.  Day after the surgery.  Minus the Prodigal.   I probably should have canceled.  Knowing that my brittle bones and burned out brain were bleeding empty.  But I wanted the continuity of the one constant.  The connection.  Selfishly I needed to see my daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter.  To touch base with some fragment of normalcy.  To hug them tight.  To share in silence the events of the past week.

When my daughter arrived with our granddaughter I could feel tension.  Prodigal Papa was home and we sat on the floor in our family room in the midst of toddler toys.  My sweet daughter…strong…sanguine…self-assured, spewed sadness.  Scarred silly from all that she has endured.  Her heart that is so giving…heaved heavy hurts that had built to this place of overflow.  Her hidden concerns over our marriage, our lives, flowed forth like a flood.  She let the words wade in and out…as we sat accepting the tide of emotion.  The pent up frustration she felt.  The impact her brother’s disease has had on her life.  As a sister.  As a daughter.  As a married woman. As a mother.  Her largeness of loss.  The optimistic, glass half-full attitude, all but gone. 

But the line that scabs of sadness was when she said, “I want my Mom back.” I type these words with trembling hands, the emotion as fresh as if they were just uttered.  I sat motionless.  Unable to speak.  Without an ability to “fix” what is unfixable.  This faith-filled young woman, fallen.  Flat.

Speechless, we hugged. What could I say.  What could I do.  Helplessness filled my eyes.  So weary was I that I could offer little to console her.  She, too, an innocent victim of this damaging disease.

This memory I took on my trip.  Packed it in my suitcase of sadness.  Of regret.  Another failing grade to add to my cache.  My precious daughter whom I could not protect.  Who I’ve hurt by being drained by my Prodigal’s ongoing drama.   To the point where she’s crying out to be heard.

As I return home to my family…my reality…I have no solutions to be offered.  Just to keep on keeping on.  To take each day as it comes…one day at a time.  To do my best and let God handle the rest.  To continue to lay my Isaac down.  To love my daughter well.  Cherishing each moment we share.

The lesson being…I can’t fix my son – He has to want to get well.  I can’t make the pain go away for my daughter – this is her story, too.  I can only surrender to my God and let Him carry my burdens…my failing grades…and bring victory in His timing.