It’s me. We met back when I was a teenager in a moment of grace. I felt it and I knew something had changed. Not that I was healthy then. No, there was still work to be done. You had bigger plans, more to do and more preparation.
The years haven’t been easy. We’ve had ups and downs, miracles and nightmares. We’ve survived hard times and created more hard times. We’ve started this family, the four of us, and we’re trying to make it and not let things slip away.
This morning, we need something from you. It’s about Carter.
You know him, our oldest. Our sensitive one, the early riser, the one who never really quite fit in.
The worries started a few years ago. We tried to shrug it off, to chalk it up as “just his personality.” We hoped he would grow out of it. We assumed it would fade as he grew into years of security and personal identity.
It did not.
Right now, today, he’s in the middle of a relapse of his anxiety and worry, in a hole deeper than he’s faced before. His mind churns like storm water. His heart is heavy. His eyes are longing. He’s in the middle of changes that seem so big they cannot be overcome.
We need your help.
Friday night, after a few long hours, I was putting him to sleep. Through tears he yelled and pleaded,
I pray all the time about this stuff that God would take it away and nothing happens. If he’s really out there, why doesn’t he do anything?
The cries of a child, an innocent soul. So I ask you, not for me. I’m almost forty years into this and you know I’ve got enough scars. I ask you for him.
Where are you?
For this child. For this boy whose life is still so far ahead of him. For this child with so many gifts and such potential. For the moment his heart is so heavy that he cries out to you.
And nothing changes.
Here’s a great opportunity. We don’t need a Lazarus moment. We don’t need water into wine or feeding five thousand people. We don’t even need you to walk on water.
I need you to help my son’s heart, to quiet his mind. To calm his soul and let him know everything will be okay.
I’m typing this through my own tears. Whatever it takes, please help him. He deserves it, he needs it. He’s done nothing wrong.
I ask for your grace. I’ve screwed up as a dad more than once. I’ve not given him what he’s needed. I’ve been emotionally absent more than I should and for that I’m sorry.
All time exists for you in a moment. You know the plans you have for him and for us.
Please, today, right now, please give him peace. Let him know you are there and things will work out. Let him know he doesn’t have to be owned by his fear.
Let him know he is stronger than he thinks. Help him to be excited by life again.