Eye of the Tornado

Luke 15:11-31, "Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living...When he came to his senses, he said, 'How many of my father's hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men.' So he got up and went to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him."

I can think of no other time in my life when I tore my mothers heart more, than when I chose to leave the family. I was determined that I was going to do things my way and no one could stop me. It started when I ran off to Vegas and got married. Then the roller coaster ride of self destructions was started and no one could stop it. I would love to blame anyone else for my choices, but see they were my choices. I thought I was choosing what was best for me. I thought I was living life. It was wild, fun, exciting. What I could not see was that I was walking right into the lions den and pain was soon to follow.

My attitude toward my mother was, "You just do not understand me at all. I am doing what I have to, and I am going to be fine." I saw her panic over my life as just another way that she was trying to control me. She freaked out over the little things that she could see, what would she do if she ever found out the whole scope of my choices. If she thought that smoking a cigarette was bad, that was nothing. If she thought the clothes that I wore around her were inappropriate, at least I had them on. I thought there was no way she could handle the truth. All I ever wanted was to be accepted for who I was. Yet, even though my mothers intentions were good, I took it as rejection. For if she was having trouble with what she knew, she could never handle the truth. If she didn't accept my husband when he was on his best behavior, how could she accept him if... It was like, the more she tried to protect me from my choices, the harder I tried to show her I was fine in my life.

It was not my mother shoving God down my throat; it was not her telling me that I was making bad decisions that finally brought me home. She sent me Christian CDs. She started writing me letters telling me how much joy she found in me. It was love that brought me home. It was someone else talking about God that I heard Him. It was love that saved my memory of home.

The cool part is, I came home. It was my life and I was determined to destroy it. I thought I was doing what was best for me. I was running into the lion's den and no one could stop me. Another cool part, that is where I was finally able to allow God to help me. My mother's job was to raise me, then show me love. The more she screamed for me to stop, the harder I ran. When she started writing me the love letters, love was discovered. Home is what brought me back. Love saved my memory. It was good for me to know that she did not agree with my life choices, but it was my life. It was when she finally started truly loving me that I started to see the truth of my life. It was in the eye of the tornado, the quiet in the middle of the storm, that I was finally able to hear God calling me home.