Be Strong & Courageous

When you see someone you love hurting themselves, what is your natural instinct? It should be to stop them and to show them another way, right? But what do you do when that person won’t stop, when that person won’t change?

Many times John told me that he did not want to do the things he was doing or be the way he was as far as his addiction. He would be broken hearted over the hurt he had brought to his dad and me. He would be broken hearted over the life he was living. Yet time after time he would go to rehab and get clean, only to relapse again.

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On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand

Anyone could understand why my heart would be broken. To have lost my only child? Of course my heart is broken. And I want it to heal, but will it ever be the same?

I have a porcelain bluebird figurine that belonged to my mother. At some point in that figurine’s life it got broken. She’s no longer here to ask about it, but it looks like Momma tried to glue it back together as best she could. But just like with our hearts, once porcelain is broken it’s never put back together exactly the same. Every Spring I pull out that little bluebird to display somewhere on a table in our home, and I am reminded of my mother and how, I am sure, she tried her very best to make that figurine look as though it had never been broken.

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The Blessing of Sweet Memories

Addiction is a thief. It steals not only the addict’s ability to live a productive, fruitful life, but it also steals from those who love the addict and makes you blind to the person you know is underneath.

As the parent, you can find yourself so focused on trying to find help for your son or daughter, that life becomes completely submerged in all the bad that goes on around addiction. We can forget who our child really is underneath the surface.

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Today’s the Day—Tomorrow May Never Come

Once someone has left this life it’s too late to do those things you wanted to do and say those things you wanted to say.

The night before John went to heaven, there was something I wish I had done, but I told myself I would tell him about it later. It was an insignificant thing, but still something I wish I had not put off.

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Trusting God Is a Choice

While praying through whether or not to actually write this blog, and if I decided to go through with it, I wanted to choose a name that would have meaning and would resonate with readers. So why “Waiting with Hope”?

Back in 2008, when John’s struggle with addiction had so overtaken our family, I was working through a Bible study that took me to Psalm 27. I had possibly read this Psalm at some point prior to this particular day, but on this day when I read verses 13 and 14, the words jumped off the page and gripped my heart.

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Cry Out to the Lord    

The Wednesday before John’s physical death, Robert was out of town on a business trip. I was sitting on the sofa in our living room, where I usually sit when reading my Bible and praying, and I had a come-apart. This was certainly not the first time I had met with and prayed to the Lord in desperation, but this particular morning the weight of the journey of John’s depression and addiction was exceptionally heavy.

I read some, prayed some, cried some, and then began all over again for quite a long time. Near the end of my time with the Lord I was completely overwhelmed and cried out loud that this weight was too much to bear—“how much longer Lord will we have to watch our son destroy himself through drug addiction? How much longer, Lord? I don’t think I can bear this heartache and pain for even one more day.” I desperately pleaded with the Lord to intervene, to free John from the chains of addiction. But the Lord was once again silent—as He seemingly had been for years.

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The Phone Call No Parent Wants to Receive

Robert talked to John about 9:00pm on Friday, January 6, 2017, to confirm where we would meet him on the 8th once we arrived in Minneapolis. January 8th was his 27th birthday. It had been nine months since we had been up to see him. On April 3, 2016, we left him standing in the driveway of the home where he lived waving goodbye to us. As we drove away, I looked back until we turned the corner, and I silently prayed that it wouldn’t be the last time we saw him.

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