Big Shoulders

     God has big shoulders, bigger than I can imagine.

     As some of you know, my youngest son struggles with a variety of issues, including substance-abuse and all the related problems that cascade from it. Some parents rejoice at weddings, graduations, and grandchildren. We rejoice over a chore properly completed. I find innocuous decisions evidence of a long hoped for turn. At a time when I expected to move into a more relaxed stage of parenting, I must adopt the familiar persona of a drill-sergeant, treating my son as I would a recalcitrant soldier. I tread carefully when talking with siblings and other family members lest I poison their relationships with my frustrations and anxieties. I draw heavily from God’s abundant supply of joy. Recently in a fit of pique my son stormed off disappearing for a couple of days; returning to knock at the door and stand abjectly on our front porch. Oddly, I took the short duration as a good sign.

     So there we stood on the front porch a disconsolate son and testy father. As always in these moments my mind wandered to the story of the prodigal son found in Luke, the parable father, my father, and now I faced the same challenge. As the evening son colored the billowing clouds in the Southeast apricot, gold, and orange, I struggled to find words that meant something, words previously unsaid, words that might carry weight, words that might influence or touch. I know this path very well, every pothole, ditch, smooth spot, defile, chasm, and hairpin turn. I’ve been here many times before and I do not find the view encouraging. This is a dark place.

     As I stood there on the porch my reality shifted, presenting a new, disquieting perspective. A father and son no longer stood on the quiet West Texas porch; instead to brothers stand jaws clenched faces hard and set. I over estimated my spiritual maturity. I do not deal well with repeated insults or infractions, assuming incorrectly that I’m the offended party. Like the older brother in Luke I find a dismal hard core of resentment in my heart. Why should I go in and rejoice with my family? How will I put this offense in “the depths of the sea (Micah 7:19)?”

     This is no longer about my son’s spirituality. That struggle is between him and God. I may help by setting appropriate boundaries and creating an environment where God is glorified. If the color and character of my life somehow reflect the Holy Spirit’s leavening influence I might be of use. This does not mean that I enforce no standards; however, I do so understanding my own spiritual poverty. Focusing on my perception of my son’s offenses against me leads me to anger and resentment. Remembering my own repeated offenses and God’s gracious forgiveness leads to compassion. Now this is more about how I let God conform me to His shape. Will my story end with me on the front porch, refusing to join the party? Perhaps, with patience, God will lead me gently home, home to join the party.