He yells. Challenges my authority. Whether because he is outgrowing the mother bond and relating more to his dad, or for the lack of discipline, I'm not sure. Is his anger my fault? Have I created this? I find it easy to blame myself.
He seethes. Pouts. Says things that scare me. His words hurt. They pierce my mother heart.
I calm myself. Seek strength from my Father. I hold him down to prevent him from running. From hurting someone or something. He yells more. Sets himself against my most precious beliefs. Challenges the very idea of God.
I wait and listen. He has said these things before. He knows they hurt me. When his anger subsides, so will his denial of God. I hope.
He is ready to listen now. I speak Truth with passion and kindness and pain. I say I cannot make him believe in God. But if he chooses that path, I cannot help him hope anymore. Whether his choice is right or not, the choice is his, but I warn him of the danger of a path without God. Without a loving Father. Without hope.
I remind him of things he knows but has momentarily forgotten. Of love and a plan for forgiveness. Of what faith will get him. His debt of sin has been paid. For moments like these, Christ died. He need not give up. The work of Christ is now within us. He has every reason to hope.
That's the difference between the path he threatens and the path I beg him to choose. Hope. Hope brings purpose. Hope calms anger. Hope speaks peace to fear. Hope gives courage and strength and determination. Hope changes everything.
My words are passionate and tear toned. For him and his soul. His eyes pool as well. His heart is once again soft. He hears with more than his ears and the anger is gone. His faith is restored. And because of Christ, I hope.
I found the above picture here.