She is so tired. It is a kind of tired that no amount of sleep or rest can alleviate. It is a kind of tired that surpasses physical and even mental fatigue. It is a tiredness of soul—a tiredness that comes from wondering, and grieving, and not knowing how to save her son from the drugs the enemy has bound him up in.

She kneels alone on the floor in her bedroom closet. This is where she came when the fear and the uncertainty and the panic started to creep into her heart again. She came here to pray, though she doesn’t know why she chose this particular spot. Perhaps it is because she needed to be in a place that felt small and safe and secluded.

As she prays, she absentmindedly traces her finger along the outline of the cigarette burn in the carpet, and in between the praying and the crying, she wonders why the previous owners thought this would be a good place to smoke a cigarette. She presses her finger deeper into the center, feeling the roughness of the melted carpet and strangely, she finds a kind of comfort in it. Here, in her bedroom closet, with the door closed, and the door to the bedroom closed, she leans in to the only hope she has. She leans into Jesus.

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She knows that Jesus understands her fears, and she knows she can trust Him. More specifically, she knows she can trust Him with her son. She remembers the five words He asked her to pray over him just last week, “Do whatever it takes, Lord.” And she remembers the comfort she felt. She remembers the peace that washed over her when she submitted to His promptings and gave up her perceived control, and surrendered him to the Lord.

She knows she can trust Him with her son, but sometimes, her fears try to fight their way back into her heart. Sometimes she feels like she will give in to the despair. But when those feelings come, like they did today, she chooses to remember that He is in control and she is not. But more important than that, she remembers that her greatest weapon—her only weapon in her fight for her son—is prayer.

She has prayed so many prayers, and she will continue to do so, but with the prayers, come the tears, and she is sick to death of crying. She suspects though, that the tears will continue to fall for a while yet.

Right now, here in the closet with the cigarette burn in the carpet, she believes she is still in the middle of it. But actually, she is still only in the beginning. She hasn’t yet been plunged into the depths of what will come. She hasn’t come to the place where she has no idea where he is. She hasn’t yet come to the reality of the deception that bombards her son. She hasn’t seen the lengths the enemy will go to try and steal him. She hasn’t come to that place yet.

But she will. She will cry a lot more. She will taste fear. She will come face to face with lies right from the pit of hell. She will learn to fight harder than she ever thought she was able.

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But here’s another thing she doesn’t know yet: Jesus is using all these prayers to build the foundation of the work He is doing for her son. And He is also using all these prayers to strengthen her in ways she cannot yet see. These prayers are accumulating, and even though she can’t see it yet, they are pushing through the darkness and paving the way to the Light. She doesn’t know this yet, but she will.

All she knows at this point in time, right here in the closet with the cigarette burn in the carpet, is the promise of His goodness and the promise of His faithfulness. And that is enough . . . because Jesus is enough.