We are studying Revelation at church, been at it for almost a year now, and I have spent a lot of time meditating on what it means to be Blessed.

Chapter 1 verse 3 reads:

“Blessed is the one who reads the words of this prophesy aloud,

and blessed are those who hear and obey the things written in it,

because the time is near!”

One morning, while out walking, meditating and thinking about my oldest son, an apostate and estranged from Hubs and me and my oldest daughter, living an alternative lifestyle and enjoying regular, light hearted chit chats with us,

My heart grew heavy with sorrow.

I am not going through anything my peers are not experiencing; I go to bible studies and house blessings, coffees and worship nights and everyone is telling my story, even those at the other end of the age spectrum.

Whole families are affected by our fallen world.

I listen to their stories and marvel that God brought me into this faith community.

I lift up my prayers with them, and am bathed and renewed by their intercessions.

I taught my children about the redeeming love of Christ.  For years their curriculum was centred around the bible; we set aside time to pray; we attended mass twice during the week and never missed a Sunday even when away.

At times I have strange thoughts:

Should I have spoken of Jesus to them?

Should I have left it up to them to be chased down and found by Him?

Did I put them at risk to come under the full power of God’s wrath by turning their backs on Him?

Is it because of me that they will suffer the awful judgement of an omnipotent and jealous God unless they turn and repent?

I brush the tears from my cheeks,

the enemy is working hard to ensnare me in his trap of self-doubt, self accusation and self second guessing.

First and foremost I am a daughter of The King.

I was right to teach them about Jesus,

I was right to build their lives on a strong foundation of faith,

I was right to encourage them to accept His grace,

His mercy and

His gift of salvation.

They will remember where they heard the first Words of Truth,

They will repent,

They will accept the mark of the Holy Spirit,

They will sing A Thousand Hallelujahs.

I am defined by God, not my children.

I am their mother,

I am their teacher.

They are the ones who turned away from the Truth not I.

So, how do I wrought their metanoia?

I pray for them.

They may thank me,

they may tolerate me,

they may join me,

they may sigh an eye roll,

they may scorn me.

But they can’t stop me.

Although I very often despair of them, thank God He never does.

He runs after them just as He keeps running after me.

On the morning in question, my heart heavy with sorrow, I received a revelation from God.

You are Blessed by your children; they are a Blessing.”

Only God could say that to a despairing mother.

I thought about what I’d received and Woke Up.

I gave birth to four completely different children, all of whom grew up together in our tight-knit family and all of whom have taken their own paths.

I am still a part of the lives they have chosen.

I support, lift up, listen with my heart, stand back.

Sometimes they are with me, sometimes they are not.

I am blessed that their situations will rock the boat of unbelievers when they are  brought back to the fold.

One day I will sing a thousand hallelujahs and a thousand more, whether on earth,

Or in heaven with the cloud of saints.

No more crying, my Lord called me Blessed.

Blessed that I bore these children.

Blessed to intercede for them,

Blessed to wholly surrender them to God,

Blessed to know the miracle will happen no matter how far or how long they stray.

Each one will tell their remarkable stories saying,

“It was my mother who never gave up on me.  She prayed and God listened.”

I am powerless to bring them home myself, I can keep my foot in the door but I can’t usher them through it.

What is impossible for me, is possible for God.

I am Blessed by my children, they are a Blessing indeed.


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