Softness, joy, kindness, and just a hint of mischievousness peeks out of the deep blue of his eyes. Sandy hair blithely caresses his forehead, while his casual grin captivates my heart. My hand gently wipes the fallen tear from the glass of the photo frame as I place it back in the box, closing the lid. How many tears tell the story of suffering in seasons of silence?
Though taken more than thirty years ago, it remains my favorite photo of my son. One of the few portraying his sweet, sensitive, kind nature, I return to it as a means of anchoring my heart when grief overwhelms my days.
Sadly, not long after that picture was taken, he suffered an unspeakable trauma while we served on the foreign mission field of Albania. One that claimed the boy in that photo, but not all at once; a slow fade, it would be another twenty years of addiction and self-destructive behavior before the truth forced its way free.
suffering in seasons of prayer
Over the years my prayers felt much the same: a slow fade. Zealous at first, full of determination, armed with scripture, I stormed the throne of God. Confidence in God’s soon answer to my prayers for my son, my faithful intercession recruited friends, family and often strangers.
The tremendous support and comfort of notes, phone calls and quick visits assuring me my son’s name bombarded God’s ears regularly, sustained me many months. Until, slowly the notes waned, calls and visits stopped and our family’s situation became “awkward”.
Looking back over twenty-five plus years, I fidget. Hotness rising in my cheeks, my eyes scan the floor, like so many other times over the years as I sat with yet another revelation. Many would say God was actively answering my prayers, but all I saw was the endless unravelling of pain.
A crisis of faith forced a clearer view upon me.
Join me over at my good friend, Dawn Ward’s blog, Faith to Flourish for the remainder of my story of suffering in seasons of silence. Learn how my crisis of faith taught me more about God’s love for me than any other season of my life.