"The most important of life's battles is the one we fight daily in the silent chambers of the soul."

Thursday, July 07, 2016

For You, Son, I'm Praying




Rahel weeping for her children refused to be comforted for her children, because they were not.
Thus saith the LORD; Refrain thy voice from weeping, and thine eyes from tears: for thy work shall be rewarded, saith the LORD; and they shall come again from the land of the enemy.
And there is hope in thine end, saith the LORD, that thy children shall come again to their own border.

Jeremiah 31:16, 17

I remember my mother's prayers and they have always followed me.
Abraham Lincoln

"For you, son, I'm praying." I didn't have time for those words. At the age of 17, I was wild and wanted to do my own thing. So I hit the bottle and did my own thing. "I'll do what I dang well please," I thought to myself. I had a car, and I had a job. My senior year in high school had come and the weekend was mine. Driving fast and being wreckless with my car and my life. Burning down life's highway at full throttle with everything zooming by me. The more she tried to get through to me, the more I resisted. So Mama spent her nights burning a candle on her knees for her wayward son.

One night I came in half sober. Trying to sneak in and hide it from her. Stumbling in as quietly as I could I saw her light on. Mama was softly talking, kneeling beside her bed. Tears fell from her face to her folded hands. As I listened, she and Jesus talked it over. I knew right at that moment my restless days were coming to an end.

Mama prayed so many countless nights for God to watch over me throughout the years. Her bed left with the imprint of her elbows on it.

Even though she's just barely over 5 foot tall, her prayers carried the weight of a giant. When she prayed good things happened and life's were changed. Always in the back of my mind was her voice praying. Whereever I traveled, whatever I did, God carried that prayer to pull at or reassure my heart. As I stepped on her heart strings with grief, she played back the melody of a Mother's prayer.

It seems the fervent prayers of a Mama can crumble mountains big and small. God has a special fondness for Mama's tender prayers of love, I believe. You see, He had a Mama, too.
by
Lance Gargus

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