This week I am privileged to guest post at Revealing the Story, a fresh blog filled with stories written by women with lives just like yours and mine. So head on over to read the rest of this post, “Parenting by Faith: Adolescence” and prepare to be blessed by the rich mix of contributors at this sweet site.
Lord, please tell me what to do!
The helpless plea swirled around the room as I knelt by the bed, the door closed and locked, my mind reeling from a brief but loaded incident with my 12-year-old son . . .
My son turned twelve this week. At least I think it was my son. I say this because he is so different than he was just six months ago. He has the same hair, the same slow, deliberate walk, the same eyes, but sometimes I feel like the son I know, the sweet, mild-mannered delight with the ready smile, was abducted by aliens and replaced with a look-alike gremlin of raw testosterone.
And it rattles me.
Sometimes it drives me to a blind run on every parenting book I can lay my hands on. So, as I sat there, I frantically sifted through my options. Biblical principles and wisdom gleaned in parenting classes paraded erratically through my mind, but none addressed the problem directly — and I needed direct help.
Who do I know . . . ? My mind triumphantly fastened on a close friend that had successfully raised three boys — “successful” as in, they have respectable jobs, families, a walk with God, and of the highest priority today —
they weren’t the death of their mother.
I snatched up the phone and dialed. “Hi, you’ve reached 555…” Not the machine! Deflated, I left a pathetic message and hung up.
Now what? My husband was out of town so I had no one else to consult.
I was parenting alone, stranded in a hothouse of pubescent testosterone with my man-child, and had no idea what to do.
Trapped without options, I knelt and prayed again, “Lord, please tell me what to do.” Click here to read the rest at Revealing The Story.