It was time to start journaling again. During the long God-drought there had been nothing to report. Yet my experience while driving north to do grandmother duty was such that I expected something noteworthy. I began to realize there had been a test, a big test, and somehow I had passed it.
When I arrived, Jonathan was back in the cardiac intensive care unit in Boston, with his mother at his side. His big brother, now 2 1/2, was adjusting to the change of caregivers by demanding his way in all things. With two strong wills engaged, there was often more heat than light in the house.
Shortly after settling in, I was driven, compelled, pushed to pray. The sense of urgency moved me down the hall to a rocking chair in Jonathan’s empty room. A flood of prayer language rose from within me, pouring out like the Niagara. Irresistible, strong, loud, in charge. On and on the river flowed. Son #2 appeared at the door, peeked in and withdrew. Still it came. Now militant, now decisive, my prayer language was declaring things I knew not of.
And then it was over. “What was that about?” Son #2 wanted to know. Truly, I only knew that I had been interceding for some thing or someone and had kept at it until I felt a release. It was Thursday before Easter.
Sunday was the first Easter I was separated from my husband and youngest son at home. Difficult circumstances sometimes require of us things which are not in our original life script. After attending church in Rhode Island I received a phone call from home. “It’s a nice day today. Church was good. Would you like to talk to A_____?” Nothing too exciting here, just the usual family talk. Sure.
“Hi, Mom. The sun is out. There are some flowers blooming in the yard. The cat misses you. I cut the grass yesterday. And oh, yes. I got saved today!”
I screamed. Threw the phone into the air. Walked back and forth in the hall exclaiming and crying while Son #2 picked up the phone to find out what on earth had just happened.
Weeping endures for a night, but joy comes in the morning. Easter morning.
The light of that Easter conquered all my darkness.
I later learned that on that Thursday, the day of intense intercession, the son of my concern was sitting in a car with friends sharing some drugs before class was to start. As one of them said “This is the life,” my son heard a voice say clearly, “This is life? No, this is death!” Puzzled and startled, he looked around to see who had said it. It was real enough to unsettle him as he went in to class.
Sunday morning in church (while I was safely out of state) one of the elders came to the microphone saying he had a word from the Lord. There was a young man there in the congregation who had been resisting God for a long time, but today was his last chance, God said. My son reached inside his jacket to feel his chest because his heart was pounding so strongly he thought everyone could see the jacket tremble. He bounded out of his seat to make his way to the front, responding to the pull of Holy Spirit to surrender his life to the Lord. As he walked into the light, darkness was dispelled.
Morning had come and with it, joy. The lifeline had held.