My Thin Place in My Box

Drugs. Alcohol. Jail. Hardly the life I imagined for my son when he was born. My son shares my thin place. He is the thin place where God meets me with grace, mercy, and hope.

The tears I've shed for my son would fill an Olympic-sized pool if they were scooped off my cheeks and gathered in one place. The tears have not changed the circumstances one iota.

My heavenward pleas for help go unnoticed; at least that's how it feels. My son's situation remains unchanged. I beg and plead for deliverance and restoration but it doesn't come. Why doesn't God do something?

Jeremiah 31:15-17 provides the salve for my aching, questioning heart. When I feel my faith in God slipping, I go to this verse for a spiritual confidence boost: "This is what the Lord says, 'A voice is heard in Ramah, mourning and great weeping, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because her chidlre are no more. This is what the Lord says, 'Restrain your voice from weeping and your eyes from tears, for your work will be rewarded,' declares the Lord,'They will return from the land of the enemy. So there is hope for your future, declares the Lord. Your children will return to their own land." (NIV)

I stand at my thin place, face pressed against the veil, straining to see the other side where there are no more questions. A blurred view is all I get for now. I wait for "Rachel's children to return to their own land."


This post is in response to a challenge by author Thin Places author Mary DeMuth. If you would like to enter the contest to win a Kindle, please go to soyouwannabepublished.