Each day, begin again.

I guess I have Timehop to thank for my being here now.
For months I have seen past SOP posts popping up on my TimeHop feed via links I had posted on Twitter or Facebook, and each time I sigh wistfully as I read a piece of my past. My heart has been so called to break the silence here – but self-doubt can be an unbelievably loud internal voice.
“It’s been too long. No one cares. Leave it as it is. Who are you, at this time above all others, to take on more and speak to a relationship with God?”

It is that last one that kept me most away – but also that finally today brings me back.

This week I found myself Googling “Praying for my angry son.”
Praying. For. My. Angry. Son. On GOOGLE. On THE INTERNET.

It isn’t laziness. It is desperation. It is also, I quickly realized, the ultimate expression of self-doubt.
In the past few weeks, my sweet son has been so often full anger; of something pent up and out of his four-and-a-half-year-old range to process. It is frustrating to deal with extreme tantrums, sure. It is also heartbreaking to not be able to help.

I have prayed. Oh how I have prayed – for insight into him, for peace within him, for a wine truck to crash in to a liquid cheese truck in front of my house and spill their contents on to my lawn after a particularly rough bedtime. (Just kidding…. No serious.) I have prayed with him, I have prayed while holding him on my lap so he didn’t hurt himself (or us) as he raged. Endlessly have I prayed.

Then I stopped. This week I stopped. Because all of the different practices and distractions and rewards and punishments I have tried have fallen short of helping my sweet, angry son. So why, WHY, would I think that my prayers would fall any less short. Now my heart knows that this is just not at all the way it works, but it was full of sadness and the shame of failing my child.
My head ? My head always goes right for Google.

My search showed I was not in a vacuum – there was a good amount of content out there. Being reminded that the human experience is not one of isolation is comforting. It snapped something inside of me as well – the cloud of shame lifted a bit, and I could see the light at my feet again. I could see that broken and praying for my son is enough. I could see that who I am now is enough to speak it here.
I don’t have to know the right way or the right time. It is His way. His time. Each moment is a chance for renewal. My prayer today has been about giving thanks for the possibilities.

So we begin again.

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