If I had to count how many times I've asked you to pick up your shoes, I may run out of time before I die. Every where I'd walk, your shoes were there. I've tripped over them, I'm pretty sure I have thrown a few pairs away in anger after almost breaking a leg because of them.
Today the thought of your shoes came to me. Mainly because i didn't see them in the foyer. I didn't trip over them, nor did I yell up for you to come and get them. They have gotten much bigger then they once were. What could once fit in the palm of my hand and bring me so much joy, now sits in a foreign land.
I looked at my phone a few times wishing you'd call. There were no missed calls. No text messages came through, there was no sign that you were thinking of me. I looked out the front window every time a car drove by, hoping that you we're going to decide to surprise me. Each time was met with disappointment, because the shoes never showed up in the foyer.
While the rest of the world celebrated the joy of being a mother, I was painfully reminded that there was brokenness in the midst of our home. The absence of shoes in the foyer was a reminder that we are broken. It doesn't matter why, or even how we've reach this level of brokenness, all that matters is that you're not here, and your absence is louder that any noise you've ever made.
Truth is, I thought I did all the right things. I raised you in church and taught you how to love God. Our home was always a refuge to those in need, and therefore I thought you'd always know that it would be a refuge for you. Love abides in our home, and yet your absence makes me wonder if enough of it still abides.
As I pray I ask God to lead me on what to say, for the pain of your absence often silences the words that want to come out. What does a mother do when her child is gone? How does she hold on to the hope that once lived so vividly in her midst?
Dear Child, tonight I pray for your shoes to show up in my foyer again. I pray for God to fill you with His Holy Spirit and renew your right mind with Him. I pray to trip over your shoes while walking in the door. I pray that God would allow your foot steps in our home again.
You see my hope is not dead, for if God is for me that who can be against me. This battle that we are fighting is not against flesh and blood, but against principalities of darkness. I am not defeated in your absence, yet I am reminded of the plans that God has over your life. I am reminded of the promise that once live with in my womb and I speak life into every thing that comes your way. I speak life into your thoughts and your path. You may not be in my foyer, but God has you in His sights and knows exactly where you are.
So while I'm waiting for God to bring you home, I will lift my hands and worship Him in advance. You see, God knows how much the absence of those shoes hurt, and therefore I know that He has already begun to devise His plan for how they will get home.
I don't know if I mentioned it, but today is Mother's Day, and I declare that shall be the only mother's day, that your shoes are gone from our home.
Love,
A mama who's waiting.........
Today the thought of your shoes came to me. Mainly because i didn't see them in the foyer. I didn't trip over them, nor did I yell up for you to come and get them. They have gotten much bigger then they once were. What could once fit in the palm of my hand and bring me so much joy, now sits in a foreign land.
I looked at my phone a few times wishing you'd call. There were no missed calls. No text messages came through, there was no sign that you were thinking of me. I looked out the front window every time a car drove by, hoping that you we're going to decide to surprise me. Each time was met with disappointment, because the shoes never showed up in the foyer.
While the rest of the world celebrated the joy of being a mother, I was painfully reminded that there was brokenness in the midst of our home. The absence of shoes in the foyer was a reminder that we are broken. It doesn't matter why, or even how we've reach this level of brokenness, all that matters is that you're not here, and your absence is louder that any noise you've ever made.
Truth is, I thought I did all the right things. I raised you in church and taught you how to love God. Our home was always a refuge to those in need, and therefore I thought you'd always know that it would be a refuge for you. Love abides in our home, and yet your absence makes me wonder if enough of it still abides.
As I pray I ask God to lead me on what to say, for the pain of your absence often silences the words that want to come out. What does a mother do when her child is gone? How does she hold on to the hope that once lived so vividly in her midst?
Dear Child, tonight I pray for your shoes to show up in my foyer again. I pray for God to fill you with His Holy Spirit and renew your right mind with Him. I pray to trip over your shoes while walking in the door. I pray that God would allow your foot steps in our home again.
You see my hope is not dead, for if God is for me that who can be against me. This battle that we are fighting is not against flesh and blood, but against principalities of darkness. I am not defeated in your absence, yet I am reminded of the plans that God has over your life. I am reminded of the promise that once live with in my womb and I speak life into every thing that comes your way. I speak life into your thoughts and your path. You may not be in my foyer, but God has you in His sights and knows exactly where you are.
So while I'm waiting for God to bring you home, I will lift my hands and worship Him in advance. You see, God knows how much the absence of those shoes hurt, and therefore I know that He has already begun to devise His plan for how they will get home.
I don't know if I mentioned it, but today is Mother's Day, and I declare that shall be the only mother's day, that your shoes are gone from our home.
Love,
A mama who's waiting.........
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