By Olivia Oster 
Praying for My Son
Send a storm to stop him;
Let his friends throw him out.
May he drop to the deeps,
But gently, please,
Stubborn though he may be.
If it could only take three days,
How my mother’s heart would
Rejoice in praise.
From the hell you allow him,
Let him cry to you.
Is not Nineveh and mercy
Exactly what he knows
He needs—
A mercy on enemies
He fears You will concede?
Please let all the shade wither
If his is an angry soul;
Humble him and help him follow
Where you would have his purpose go.
May he never be satisfied
With the half-life he seeks;
Seek him; hunt him down;
Satisfy his gaping need.
This is a poem dedicated to all of the mothers whose children, like my middle son, are lost and running from the Lord. Perhaps Jonah’s mother prayed just such a prayer. Perhaps he came to her and told her what the Lord wanted him to do. Perhaps she saw his choice to do the exact opposite.
As my children get older, God is leading me to disentangle my heart from their choices. I am still their mom, still their supporter, still waiting at home with open arms, a smoothie, clean sheets, a chocolate cake to celebrate, but many of their choices are theirs alone.
When my children were younger, I can remember being absolutely furious when moms of older children said, “It’s so much harder when they’re older!” I wondered if the sleepless nights, the endless cleaning, the baths and meals and seat buckles and exhaustion just faded from their minds.
Now I understand.
It is so very, very difficult when children are young and need you for everything.
When they are older, the stakes are higher.
Mothers must watch their children fail: wreck cars, start addictions, enter terrible relationships, leave excellent relationships, and so much more. We must pray with faith, wait with peace, and keep ourselves healthy and available.
I see you, mother. I know you feel out of control sometimes.
The Lord is faithful.
The Lord is faithful.
The Lord is faithful.
Praise the Lord.
by Melinda Tarcon 
by Lauren Eberspacher 
