By Mary Hughes
In times of turmoil and great personal anguish, I used to find it difficult to sleep. In the deep of night, my mind would scramble from the very present troubles going on in my life to nightmarish visions of possible outcomes, the peace-stealing "what-ifs."
I remember a particular season of my life when the nighttime threatened to devour me. Our nineteen-year-old daughter had moved six-and-a-half hours away, determined to live her life the way she thought suitable. Her idea of suitable and ours were as distant as the miles between us. She wouldn't listen, and her father and I could not acquiesce. Our relationship with our daughter was on the verge of fracturing.
During the day, I battled despair by praying and keeping busy. In the silence of the night, however, I was bedeviled by negative, consuming thoughts. My mind became a battleground, a place where I waged war with my daughter's rebellion. Yet even in my imagination, I was unable to construct a happy ending.
Then, one day, I recognized that I had to quit trying to control the situation and completely release my daughter into God's hands. I finally came to terms with the fact that my struggle to control things was futile. Her father and I had done everything we could; we had said everything that could possibly be said, and none of it was working. I couldn't wage war with my daughter or with myself anymore. I opened the palms of my hands toward the sky and released my precious girl's life, her future, to God. It was then that my wrestling finally ceased.
I decided from then on that I would thank God for what He had in store for us and our daughter, regardless of the pain we were feeling or the outcome. And, oddly enough, in the midst of it all, I was able to see some of my own rebellion and ungodly attitudes. My eyes had been opened. Where I had once prayed for God to change my daughter, I began to pray for Him to change me instead.
It is by God's grace and His grace alone that our daughter found her way back. Because of His work in our lives, our relationship has not only been restored, but it is beautiful and authentic in a way it was not before. We know, however, that things do not always work out that way.
When trouble comes -- and it has and will again -- I remember the time I lifted my palms to God on behalf of my daughter, and I lift them up anew. I pray and ask God to guide and change my heart and attitudes where I err. I hand over my troubles and my feeble attempts to fix things. It is in this place of prayer that my burdens and troubles move from my open palms to the shoulders of a loving God more than capable of handling every situation.
And it is there I find sweet rest.
In times of turmoil and great personal anguish, I used to find it difficult to sleep. In the deep of night, my mind would scramble from the very present troubles going on in my life to nightmarish visions of possible outcomes, the peace-stealing "what-ifs."
I remember a particular season of my life when the nighttime threatened to devour me. Our nineteen-year-old daughter had moved six-and-a-half hours away, determined to live her life the way she thought suitable. Her idea of suitable and ours were as distant as the miles between us. She wouldn't listen, and her father and I could not acquiesce. Our relationship with our daughter was on the verge of fracturing.
During the day, I battled despair by praying and keeping busy. In the silence of the night, however, I was bedeviled by negative, consuming thoughts. My mind became a battleground, a place where I waged war with my daughter's rebellion. Yet even in my imagination, I was unable to construct a happy ending.
Then, one day, I recognized that I had to quit trying to control the situation and completely release my daughter into God's hands. I finally came to terms with the fact that my struggle to control things was futile. Her father and I had done everything we could; we had said everything that could possibly be said, and none of it was working. I couldn't wage war with my daughter or with myself anymore. I opened the palms of my hands toward the sky and released my precious girl's life, her future, to God. It was then that my wrestling finally ceased.
I decided from then on that I would thank God for what He had in store for us and our daughter, regardless of the pain we were feeling or the outcome. And, oddly enough, in the midst of it all, I was able to see some of my own rebellion and ungodly attitudes. My eyes had been opened. Where I had once prayed for God to change my daughter, I began to pray for Him to change me instead.
It is by God's grace and His grace alone that our daughter found her way back. Because of His work in our lives, our relationship has not only been restored, but it is beautiful and authentic in a way it was not before. We know, however, that things do not always work out that way.
When trouble comes -- and it has and will again -- I remember the time I lifted my palms to God on behalf of my daughter, and I lift them up anew. I pray and ask God to guide and change my heart and attitudes where I err. I hand over my troubles and my feeble attempts to fix things. It is in this place of prayer that my burdens and troubles move from my open palms to the shoulders of a loving God more than capable of handling every situation.
And it is there I find sweet rest.
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