I saw him twice in three weeks. Once he came over and played games with his younger brother. He was polite; his old self...said he was going to get more hours at his work place and train to become a manager. When he left I felt proud, hopeful, and more secure in the decision for him to move out.

Then I didn't hear from him for a week. I called to see if he would come by. He did, but when he stepped through the doorway I knew by the look of his eyes that we would have to visit another time. When he left I felt sad, angry, and more secure in the decision for him to move out.

And that's how it goes...for now anyway. I continue to pray. I love and miss him so much and at the same time I'm relieved that everyday of my life is no longer conflict-resolution due to teenage rebellion. My hope is in Christ. 

I was a prodigal daughter for over twenty-years. And now look what I'm doing. I can't write another person's story. I don't have control. The same God who never took His hand off of me is covering my son. He allowed me to get in over my head so that I would become willing to yield to Him. Sometimes I find myself wanting my son to cry out, but not experience the captivity that accompanies rebellious behavior. But then his story wouldn't be complete. I will continue to pray for him, but this is his fight. And it will be his victory. One that I will one day proudly tell you about.

I believe that. Even as my eyes spill the kind of tears that would surely form a puddle if they hit the ground.

"You are forgiving and good, O Lord, abounding in love to all who call to you" (Psalm 86:5 NIV).

"Father in heaven, prompt my son to call to you."