A rope that’s called Hope

A quick word before I withdraw for the night. I was thinking today that I never, ever in a million years thought that I would be the mother of an addict. I am not telling you anything I should not say, for my healing-up son admits this himself.

As I have gotten brave over the years to give words to our struggle, what I’ve learned is that so very many people have struggling kids, kids who’ve gone off the rails and are making terrible choices. In the heat of battle, it’s easy to lose sight of the big picture. It’s easy to get lost in the fog of war, and it’s hard to see hope and life past this chapter.

Here’s the thing. God has a wonderful, wild, and colorful history of using messed-up folks. Peter, for one, comes to mind. Moses, too, ’cause he killed an Egyptian. David himself had a dark, awful season, and then there was Rahab, a prostitute.

Each one of them was someone’s kid, all of them made a whale of a difference, and every single one (can you even believe it?) made it into the Bible forever.

Now. Do you still think God can’t use your messin’-up kid? Do you still think he can’t make a difference? Do you see how her story could further God’s work in a chapter or two down the road?

Offering a handhold on a rope that’s called Hope,

Rhonda, the small, caffeinated American mom