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Who took my son? I turned around for only a moment. Wasn’t it just a moment? Maybe it was longer. When I turned back, he was gone.
Yet, some form of him is still here. I can see him. His appearance. The dark, curly locks of hair framing the handsome face of a teenage boy beginning his transformation into manhood. The intelligent eyes of glorious green. Wearing his favorite sage colored T-shirt that sets them off so well. I see his shape. The tall, lanky physique that epitomizes slim. Standing there. The feet of a skateboarder, in tattered Vans, shoelaces dangling loosely on the floor.
The part of him that I can see is here. But his spirit has been snatched. His vitality. His joy for living. Seemingly, his very heart and soul, is missing. The sense of humor, stolen. The quirky smile, gone. The ramblings of excited discovery, stifled. An incredible, unquenchable curiosity, quenched. A rational, thinking, believing mind, emptied of the Truth. Or, so it seems.
Who took my son? You know and I know who took him. Satan has snatched my son. For now. For this season of sifting, perhaps. But he can’t have him. Not for keeps. You see, my son’s entire being belongs to only One, his Father in heaven who is greater than all, who is not willing for any to perish. Out of His eternal hand -- the hand that holds eternal life for those who have once accepted Truth -- no one is able to be snatched.
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