How was Mother’s Day this past Sunday? For many of you, it was a day of warm smiles, sweet gifts, a meal out or prepared at home with much love, and a remembrance of all that ties you to your children.

But for some of you . . . it was different. It was not a day of joy. It did not fill your heart with warm thanks. It was marked more by what didn’t happen.

• a card that didn’t come

• a call that wasn’t made

• a voice that wasn’t heard

I thought of you this past Sunday. I ached for you, those of you who long for a connection that didn’t happen. I prayed for you as I knew it might be a day of heartbreak.

Your child is distant, perhaps even completely estranged. You may feel that a part of you is dead, that the loss of your relationship with your son or daughter has carved something out of your heart that cannot heal. But I want to bring you words of hope, a hope you can lean into, relax against, and let your troubled heart be tenderly held.

While he was still speaking, there came from the ruler’s house some who said, “Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the Teacher any further?” But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the ruler of the synagogue, “Do not fear, only believe.”

Mark 5:35-36

You may think the spiritual life of your child is over, empty, perhaps even dead. But God is still reaching out to this child in ways you cannot see.

Mark Twain speaks of a “hope tree” with blossoms. Today, seek out a blossom or two. Give yourself the gift of something that makes you smile, call a friend who makes you laugh, watch a movie that always lifts your spirits. These aren’t big things. In fact, they’re more like hope candy—only a little satisfying till you can get something better to eat.

But take that little candy blossom, enjoy its temporary sweetness, and then wrap it all in the knowledge that your Father in heaven holds you closely in one arm, and continues to reach out to your prodigal with the other.

Hope.

Hope.

Hope.

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The crumpled car was being carried on the back of a large flatbed truck.

As you near the mashed vehicle in the passing lane, you know there were pretty good odds that alcohol had something to do with it. You point it out to your children as you overtake the truck, and mention the very real dangers of drinking. The first time your child heard you share such concerns, they were probably pretty young. At that point, you shared because you were teaching, instructing, protecting, caring.

Over the years, your child has probably heard your thoughts on this subject a few more times. You shared because you were reinforcing, protecting, strengthening.

Now you unexpectedly have an adult child who drinks, even recklessly, perhaps with one or two DUIs already on his record.

You’ve probably repeated these warnings about drinking and driving a few more times. (make that a few hundred more times?)

The question is . . . why are you doing it now?

Is it because he’s never heard that there are dangers?

No.

Is it because he doesn’t know your opinion on this topic?

No.

Is it because if you say it just 44 more times, THAT will be the moment that the light turns on, the heavens part, and he suddenly says, “I get it now!”

No.

Chances are you’re repeating it because he isn’t changing. He has made a choice, a choice contrary to knowledge, safety, and good sense. He KNOWS your thoughts on this. And for whatever reason, he’s doing it anyway. More repeated statements of the same information is no longer sharing; it has become badgering.

Saying the same thing over and over again isn’t going to have an impact anyway. If you continue to repeat the exact same message, he will close you off. It’s time to face it—he’s not drinking recklessly because he’s uninformed. Something else is at work here. Something is propelling him to make self-destructive decisions. And until that piece of the puzzle surfaces, you’re not likely to see a change.

It’s time for something different from your end. Stop speaking the obvious. Stop repeating what he already knows you believe. Try something different . . . anything different is worth considering.

• Introduce him to someone who’s lost a loved one to a drunk driver.

• Connect him with former destructive drinkers who know the drill, who know the self-denial that often comes with this territory.

• Want a really shocking one? Tell him you’d like to come along when he drinks. You’ll be his designated driver. No judgment. But with a sober observer along, he may see his own behaviors differently.

I’ll be honest, these aren’t likely to be life changing either. But at least they change the dance. The truth is, your child is going to have to find out WHY he wants to be self-destructive, and that takes a personal awareness and desire to change—two things you have little power to impact. In the end, probably the most useful thing you can do would be to say, “You already know how I feel about that, so I won’t badger you by repeating it again. But I want you to know that I will always love you and want the best for you.”

So one day, God willing, this child will come to the end of this abusive experiment, he’ll lift up his head from the middle of the destruction around him, and when it looks like there is nothing worth getting up for, he’ll remember that someone somewhere still loves him.

What about you?

Do you feel that you’ve become a broken record, repeating the same things over and over again? Do you feel it’s becoming a useless exercise? Is it time to change the dance? 

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Your prodigal probably owes you an apology. Maybe more than one. And some day, God willing, you may yet hear an authentic “I’m sorry” from their lips for the ways they’ve hurt you and your family.

But every now and then, it’s possible, that the apology needs to come from one of us, the parent, because of some way we reacted, or over reacted, or spoke hurtfully in a manner that not only poorly represented the face of Christ, but also created unnecessary distance between us and our prodigal. Such unpleasant exchanges lengthen the distance of the walk back home

So let’s talk about our apologies. Good ones and bad ones.

And since there are so many ways to give bad apologies, let’s start there.

• An apology as a guilt dispenser.

Son: Mom, why do you leave the lights on, day in and day out? This creates a big electric bill for me to pay.

Mom: I’m so sorry son. I just don’t want to trip over the furniture running to get your call if maybe, one day, in the far distant future, you were to call me. 

Humor aside, Mom isn’t truly sorry. She’s annoyed Junior doesn’t call more often and has thrown an “I’m sorry” in there just to make his guilt all the worse.

• An apology as a pry bar.

Some use an apology as a way to get more information from another. “I’m sorry. See how I’ve apologized. Now . . . don’t you have something you want to tell me?”

In truth, the apologizer here isn’t really sorry. He still feels quite “right” about having been “wronged.” And he believes he deserves an apology. Indeed, he might. But starting this thinly veiled request for an apology with one of his own is disingenuous. And, it completely erases the value of the apology itself. A real apology concerns itself only with itself and the desire to right the wrong perpetrated. It carries no piggyback reciprocity requirement. It has no other agenda.

• An apology to add nobility.

Some apologize in front of others in an effort to impress the folks listening to the apology.

I’m apologizing to this annoying person here, in front of the whole committee ,in an attempt to make it clear that I’ve done everything I could to please this easily disgruntled individual. No one can hold anything against me in this exchange. See how noble I am?

The goal isn’t making things right with the offended person; it is to gain the good graces and status in the eyes of those watching. But make no mistake. The person on the receiving end knows exactly what’s going on in this exchange. Maybe a father is apologizing to his prodigal in front of his wife so that they’ll garner “good parenting points.”

But again, the person receiving the apology knows the score. They may not be able to articulate it clearly, but they know full and well that something about this apology isn’t the real deal.

So now, if we really want to apologize to our child for something we’ve done, what’s the correct action? What brings honesty and integrity to the process? In other words, what makes a real apology? What makes it true, honest, and allows it to carry the possibility of healing a rift between the two parties.

1. Fully own 100 percent the portion of the problem that was yours, even if it’s only 10 percent of the issue. Don’t blame anyone else for your part of the issue. Own it. Don’t compare it. Don’t let it piggyback on a greater slight. Own and feel the weight of it. Take responsibility for it. And apologize.

2. Use more words than “I’m sorry.” Too little feels like you’re checking off a box that fulfills a duty rather than making clear that you “get it”, that you understand your wrongs, that you want to make it right.  So say things like:

• I’m sorry that I . . . (fill in the actual offense)

• I know this must have hurt you.

• It was wrong of me to . . .

• No matter what else happened before I did this, I’m still responsible for what I did. And I’m sorry that I messed up.

3. Choose your venue with them in mind. If the person to whom you are apologizing would feel your authenticity more by having a witness, bring one. But don’t bring someone along if the objective is to make it easier for you. If your apology will be better received one-on-one, then go with that. Ask yourself, what will make my apology most believable and genuine for my child. It’s even possible that the best venue is a letter.

This is a good choice if you believe your listener will feel obligated to forgive you before they really want to, before they’ve had time to process their own feelings. Of course, don’t use a letter if it’s simply easier for you. The goal in an honest apology has nothing to do with the ease of the deliverer.

4. Ask forgiveness. It’s the Biblical model. Confession seeks forgiveness. It’s a humbling place to be, because forgiveness can be withheld. But it’s the same  model that God expects of us, coming to Him without agenda, broken, and spiritually naked.

I didn’t say this was easy. But I do know that it’s healing.

What about you?

Are you able to apologize easily? Is it hard to separate your wrong from the nest of wrongs of others involved?

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The 12-year-old girl hears the voices heating up in her teenage brother’s room. Her parents are confronting him on something . . . yet again.

They always close the door, trying to keep the tension and ugliness inside. She knows they want to protect her. She knows they love her. But they’re so busy with him. And when they’re not, they’re so tired. She sometimes finds herself missing the family’s life from just a year ago when they would still go bowling together, when her brother still laughed, when he would blow the paper off of the soda straw at her at McDonald’s.

I know your life may be almost consumed by the needs and drama of your one child. And I’m not saying you have to give equal time to your other children.

But you do have to give them something . . . something that is all about them, something that sets aside the needs of the crisis child for a time and puts your non-demanding child front and center.

Make time for your non-demander. She’s not going to tell you that she needs you because she can see how strained and drained you already are from the current difficulties your other child brings. The last thing she wants to do is add to your burdens.

But she needs you too. Not with as much time as is required for your other child. And not every day. But some time . . . her time, focused time.

Make a date with your non-demander. Even once a month will do. But get away, go somewhere where it can be all about her. Go out for tea. Head to the trails at the nearest state park. Do something that allows you to look them in the eye and listen uninterrupted for a good amount of time. Don’t wait until this child decides she needs to do something pretty dramatic to get some attention around here.

There’s a perk for you in this.

Not only does your non-demander need this. So do you. It will give you a peaceful even laughter-filled moment in your day. It will remind you that not all of your parenting went off-track. It will let you know that something is working well in your family. It may feed your soul every bit as much as it feeds your child’s. Go connect today.

What about you?

Do you have a non-demander in your family who’s getting lost in the attentions being showered on the challenging child? Has he or she shown any signs of missing you?

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When we hear the word prodigal, we often have an image pop in our heads.

The rebel. Body piercings. Tattoos. An angry scowl.

We see them abusing their bodies, driving recklessly, and mixing with a scary crowd. That may well describe your child. But if so, I have some good news. Of the three types of prodigals I most often see, I have the most hope for these, the rebels.

The Three Kinds of Prodigals

I think a great many young adults who step away from the faith of their childhood fall into three basic groups: rebels, doubters and dismissers.

1. Rebels: The angry ones who are pushing away and running from what you believe, from the faith doctrines they’ve been raised with.

2. Doubters: These folks aren’t angry. They’re often confused, in angst, worried, and longing for a world view that doesn’t have missing puzzle pieces. They simply have some doubts. They aren’t in a rush to leave the faith. But if they don’t get some answers soon, that’s the inevitable destination.

3. Dismissers: These folks aren’t angry. And they’re not confused. They don’t see anything in your faith system that is even worth considering. They have dismissed your beliefs. They find them to be completely irrelevant to their world. They may even feel sorry for you with your continued dependence on something so flimsy. But they see no reason to spend any more time on a view that is, in their mind, totally without merit.

Here’s why I have the most hope for the Rebel. He or she has chosen a lifestyle that is pushing away from something. And if they are pushing against it, even they, on some level, must recognize that there is something there to push against. The core of their belief may still be the same as yours, they are just pushing against it.

The Doubter is facing questions that are chipping away at that core. This belief structure needs some reinforcing. If they don’t find it, they will eventually put something else at that core. And now they’re in deeper trouble.

The Dismissers are my biggest worry. They’re not pushing away from this core. That’s because your set of beliefs are no longer at their core. There’s nothing to push away from. This is the group that is most welcomed by popular culture. They will find a very big group of supporters for this position.

Another reason I think there’s greater hope for Rebels is because they have chosen a path that is not sustainable. They are hurtling toward some sort of brick wall and will run out of fuel very quickly. Admittedly, this may be a rather serious moment of crisis. But the lifestyle is generally not long lived.

That cannot be said for the Doubter or Dismisser. Both can live comfortably, successfully and with a large group of like-minded people for a very long time with no reason to question their situation. It can be much harder to get these latter groups to reconsider their chosen paths because they are not uncomfortable.

So if your prodigal is one of the stereotypical rebels, take heart. Your time spent in these challenging days may be far shorter (although more dramatic) than those who children who’ve quietly and gracefully stepped away.

What about you?

Does your prodigal seem comfortable in his or her lifestyle choice? Or do you fear there’s a crash-and-burn in your child’s future? 

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The woman and her son have been forced out into the desert. The sun is bearing down. They are thirsty and out of water. The situation is dire and they are out of options.

The mother puts her son in the shade of a desert plant to die and then goes a bit farther to sit somewhere where she won’t have to watch her son breathe his last. Here, away from the eyes of her son, she begins to sob. This was a woman overcome with sadness, profoundly grieving, giving into total despair. All that she cares for is soon to be gone, including her own life.

This was Hagar of the Old Testament, having been driven from the camp of her mistress, Sarah, for displaying such a disrespectful and haughty attitude. She’d messed up. She, and unfortunately her son as well, would be paying a very high price. The last thing Hagar needed at a time like this would have been more bright light of the sun, or salt to make her even thirstier.

And yet, I find that sometimes this is exactly what I provide to someone in need. I come upon someone in the throes of overwhelming despair over some decision he’s made or something that has happened to him, and just when he needs shade and shelter from the elements, I instead oh-so-nobly give them more sun, more salt. “Well, you know what you did was wrong, don’t you? The Bible says . . .”

Don’t misunderstand me.

We are called to be light, to point the way, to reveal truth—even ugly truth, for those who might otherwise miss it.

We are called to be salt, to provide flavor and preservation, to direct people to want more food and meatier sustenance.

But if someone already knows what is wrong, then more light isn’t helpful. If they’re already parched from their loss of life giving water, then providing more salt isn’t helpful either. There are times when the kindest and most Christian thing we can do is simply to provide some shade, a break from the storm, a resting place in the midst of chaos.

No light to reveal their errors in judgment.

No salt to add to their already raging thirst.

They simply need a break, a bit of recovery time, a moment to rest. And while they’re going through this very difficult time, what they may need to know most of all is that that they’re not alone, that you’ll be there too.

When you find yourself getting ready to launch into a mini-sermon over your prodigal, ask yourself if this is really a moment for more light, or is it instead perhaps time for some restful shade?

What about you?

Are there times when you wish you’d provided some shade instead of more light? How do you know when light is called for? Where’s the line? 

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Across the street, you can watch our neighbor walking her dog, or as is clear to anyone who’d care to notice, the dog is walking our neighbor.

This dog is not just pulling on the leash but is seemingly in a constant state of throat-crushing lunging. I can’t imagine why he would continue to perpetuate what must be an uncomfortable pressure on his neck. You would think that feeling the backward pull of the leash would prompt the dog to take things a bit slower.

But research shows just the opposite. Dogs have a powerful inborn natural instinct to respond to pressure by trying to get away from it. You pull back. They lean away even harder. It’s even got a name. It’s called Oppositional Reflex. It’s well documented, and even an essential part of how police dogs are trained.

When they are fixed on a target to take down, the handler encourages them to start pressing forward, but continues to hold them back. This juxtaposition of forces turns on something in the doggy brain that results in an amazing burst of power when the leash is released.

Some kids have a similar oppositional reflex. Their faith is in crisis, and they “strain at the leash” of their parents. My life would be so different, they muse, if only they wouldn’t hold me back. They felt caged in, constrained, leashed by all the rules and beliefs. Life would be just grand, they believe, if their parents would just let go.

I was certain that if I were in control of my own life, it would be so much better. I would make far superior choices. Then I became an adult. I moved away. And suddenly . . . there was no leash. I truly could do whatever I wanted.

At first, it was invigorating. Like a puppy free to chase down every smell and idea he’s found, I tried out many lifestyles and world philosophies, practically giddy at the smorgasbord of choices. But eventually, one by one, each shiny new idea was discovered to be a little lackluster. There were blemishes in so many of the fruits I had plucked. But until I had been released to go and investigate these things on my own, I simply couldn’t “hear” that they might be flawed.

You may have an adult child whose entire focus is all about how you are holding him back. It may actually define him. He may truly believe that all the bad things in his life are due to you and your rules.

It may be time to drop the leash.

Just as God often allows us, His children, room to experience the repercussions of our choices, we may need to allow the same for our children. But don’t expect a quick fix. It can be a long wait while your child, now free of constraint, runs delightedly off to explore.

I was an atheist for 13 long years before I was even able to consider a different worldview. But eventually, all the things that had been so enticing and appealing to me had been discovered, thoroughly tried, and found wanted. Then . . . when I finally did come to faith, it was a faith that was mine. I knew why I knew what I knew.

Had I never gone off exploring, I doubt I would ever have really understood the falseness of those other views, and conversely, the truth in Jesus.

What about you?

Do you think your child believes you are the cause of all his life’s discomfort? Do you trust that the things he wants to explore will be empty and false? Is it time to let him explore them?

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What? Yeah, that’s what I read on somebody’s blog. And to be honest, I was a bit shocked. Dr. Graham is such an icon of the faith community, such a pillar of stability in what is often a nest of fallibility. We all have faulty feet of clay, but dear Billy has worked hard to maintain a ministry above the fray. And by and large he’s been successful. So just what did this writer have in mind?

Dr. Russell Moore, Dean of the School of Theology at Southern Baptist Seminary, was discouraged over the state of the church. He feared that there was no one “next in line” within the church ready to carry the baton that would soon be handed to him or her by the current leadership. He set this lament before Dr. Carl Henry, an evangelical theologian. Dr. Henry’s answer surprised.

“Why, you speak as though Christianity were genetic,” he said. “Of course, there is hope for the next generation of evangelicals. But the leaders of the next generation might not be coming from the current evangelical establishment. They are probably still pagans.”

“Who knew that Saul of Tarsus was to be the great apostle to the Gentiles?” he asked us. “Who knew that God would raise up a C.S. Lewis, a Charles Colson? They were unbelievers who, once saved by the grace of God, were mighty warriors for the faith.”

The idea resonated with Dr. Moore. He continued with the thought in his blog post.

“The next Jonathan Edwards might be the man driving in front of you with the Darwin Fish bumper decal. The next Charles Wesley might be a misogynist, profanity-spewing hip-hop artist right now. The next Billy Graham might be passed out drunk in a fraternity house right now.”

(If you’d like to read his entire piece on this topic, visit Moore to the Point.)

After my blood pressure returned to normal, I took a breath, and found there was immense comfort in these words. I hope you find it too. Your prodigal may currently be making choices that range from uncomfortable to shocking.

But the God of the universe looks down in love on your child and says, “I’m not done yet. I have plans for that one. And if they ever turn to Me, you’ll see something amazing. Something beautiful. Something that can change the world.”

What about you?

Do you look at your prodigal and sometimes feel disheartened by who they’ve become? Is it hard to keep your vision in line with your child’s potential in God’s eyes?

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In a church in Australia, the congregation was just getting started in the praise service.

Music warmed the atmosphere, and voices joined in community to lift the name of Jesus and hearts turned toward God. Unexpectedly, in walked two visitors in what can only be described as the briefest of bathing suits. They looked over the overflowing pews and not seeing an opening, they walked to the very front, squatted down on the floor, and began their first exposure to church and church culture.

This was a critical moment. People kept singing, but there was an electric change in the mood of the sanctuary. All common understanding of modesty had been affronted. Many people were horrified. A church elder walked over to this young couple. What would he do? Maybe ask them to step with him out into the hall to explain their social gaffe? Give them a blanket or coat to properly cover themselves? What is the best response to those who don’t know what it is that they don’t know?

He shook their hands, introduced himself, and then squatted beside them for the remainder of the service. This man knew something that many in the congregation had forgotten. It’s Christ’s church, not theirs. And for those who are seeking Him, ALL . . . ARE . . . welcome.

I will admit to you that when my Australian friend first told me of this story, I couldn’t quite take it in. My own discomfort leaned in another direction. It was somehow so wrong. But over time, I came away with a different view.

Should these people be told about God’s desire for modesty? Yeah. Sure . . . eventually. But was this the moment to share it? Absolutely not. We get so caught up in our own seeking of personal holiness that we forget how to reach out and touch the unholy in our world.

If anyone had tried to explain to these two young people the social line they had crossed, they almost certainly would have never darkened the doors of church again. They most likely would be lost. But as it was, they were welcomed. They were embraced. They were made family. And they came back. And eventually, that young man became a pastor.

Let’s face it. You and I know more about what God wants of us today than we did a year ago. Even more than from 10 years ago. We’ve grown. We’ve moved from knowing less to knowing more. We were allowed to be part of His family while we learned and grew.

Why would we not allow the same grace for others who seek Him? We don’t get angry at newborn babies who cannot yet walk. We don’t get mad at kindergarteners who can’t do multiplication problems. We need the same grace for all in our Christian brotherhood who are learning and growing.

So, what are three things in AA we need to recapture and make part of our church culture?

All are wounded.

All have something to confess.

All are welcome.

. . . including our beloved prodigals.

What about you?

Do you think the church puts so much emphasis on behaviors that they miss moments of the heart? How do we correctly address the reverse, where no behaviors are expected and there is a free-for-all in holiness expectation?

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Last week we met a church member—let’s call him Alan—who joined AA in an effort to break the grip of alcoholism in his life.

In time, he felt more connected to AA than to church, and he eventually stopped attending the church community altogether. We began exploring what AA does that the church doesn’t.

What’s the appeal? Or the greater point I want to make, what important and useful practices can we find in AA that actually started in the church, but have been mostly abandoned?

This first component we found was this: All are wounded. If you missed it, pop back a week on this blog and catch up.

This week, let’s look at confession.

There’s a great scene in the opening moments of the movie P.S. I Love You, in which a young married couple is walking home to their small New York apartment. The wife is clearly unhappy, strutting angrily ahead of her husband, refusing to say a word.

He, on the other hand, is talking incessantly, trying to get her to speak, trying to figure out what he’s done wrong, knowing that she’s mad about something even though he’s totally clueless as to what it is.

Finally he says, “Are you sure I did something wrong?”

She glares at him.

Then he responds, “You’re right. You’re right. I did it. I’m sure I did it. And I’m sorry. But can’t you at least tell me what it is?”

She’s not buying this apology. Her reasoning? How can you truly be sorry for something when you don’t even know what it is? She doesn’t want him to just be sorry. She wants him to name what he’s sorry for—to know that he gets it.

I love confession. Taking my sins before God daily gives me a reminder of who I truly am, which has two wonderful components in the answer.

I’m flawed.

And I’m His.

Both are places that define me and of which I need daily reminders. I’m so sorry to see that confession has left the protestant church tradition. And I think its loss is AA’s gain. Confession is something AA does rather well. When you’re at an AA meeting, there is a clear presumption that everyone has a story. Everyone has a transgression on their record. Everyone has something to confess. You can’t miss it.

Each week someone stands up and shares their story, their struggles, their errors, and their journey. And if you are sitting there, knowing that you too have struggles like those you’re hearing, you will know you have found a home.

The loss of a public confession in church practice brings a hidden message with it.

Typically, we only see confession in major church disciplinary actions, if then. And it leads people in the pews to believe few have anything to confess, and then only if they’ve had some major moral failure. But the truth is that each of us, every day, does something that makes it so very clear that we are nowhere near the goodness that is God.

Instead of rejoicing with a sister who has had a blessing, I am jealous. Instead of speaking up when someone is maligned as the butt of a joke, I remain silent. Instead of turning away when gossip is offered to me, I listen.

Confession, whether in smaller matters or in larger, is part of the process of repentance and regeneration. It’s a lovely idea. But I don’t say this simply because it’s a nice thing to do.

Then I acknowledged my sin to you and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the LORD”—and you forgave the guilt of my sin. Selah—Psalm 32: 5

If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.—I John 1:9

Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.—James 5:16

He who conceals his sins does not prosper, but whoever confesses and renounces them finds mercy.—Proverbs 28:13

When our prodigal children have doubts, or failings, or questions, they often take them outside of the church community. They long for a place to express their confusion, but fear a loss of community if they share it.

But I have to wonder if their need to take it elsewhere would not be greatly diminished if they saw others, on a weekly basis, who brought it all to the community of believers, who shared failings and struggles, humbled themselves and made clear their dependence upon God, and who never even considered that their needs would be better met away from the body of Christ.

What about you?

 Do you think the church needs a confession vehicle?

Do you think your church would be a safe place to stand up and say, “Here’s what I’ve done wrong?”

Is there anything we can do, without constructing a confessional booth, that would make those struggling with real issues feel more able to bring their needs and failings to the church body?

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