Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: Trust and Obey (don't write about the song) (05/21/15)
- TITLE: Daughters
By Pat Small
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The dishwasher was humming with only an occasional clink and clank as dishes moved around. The kitchen was tidy. Lucy and Ethel were trying to keep up with a conveyor belt. Thank God for reruns. I was glad for my Lazyboy as I stretched out my aching legs. I could stay like this forever.
However, my restful moment was shattered as the side door burst open. I leaned around in my recliner to see what the commotion was. It was my grandson Brody. He lived next door with my youngest daughter and her husband. He was hyperventilating, almost choking, struggling to catch a breath, hiccupping, his face red and sweaty. I nearly catapulted from my chair, and grabbed him in a tight hug, holding his scrawny 11 year old body in my arms. My visiting son and daughter-in-law, Rob and Tonya, heard his sobs and practically flew into the room to see what was going on.
A half a box of Kleenex later, Brody choked out that his parents were arguing. His father was threatening to leave, ranting and raving, slamming doors and shouting accusations. It seems that he had brought home a taco for Brody. It was cold and soggy by the time the child got it. He refused to eat it, and my daughter for once defended him. This set Tim off, making both mother and son cower in fear, and she whispered to Brody, “Go to Grandma’s.”
He continued to talk, pausing to blow into yet another tissue. “I’m so afraid for my Momma,” he sobbed. “He says it’s our fault he gets so mad. I don’t know what to do. Sometimes I hate him, but I don’t want him to leave. He’s my Daddy.” I had to bite my tongue. Secretly I wished he would leave. I know my daughter loves him, but honestly she’d be better off without him. Finally, he ran out of steam, and slumped defeatedly in a nearby chair, his shoulders drooping down to his belly button, his eyes still red and watery. My son assumed a Daddy stance as he spoke quietly, assuring Brody , “It’s not your fault. Your Daddy is a grown man. He’s responsible for his actions. He will have to answer to God for his behavior. You did nothing wrong.” We prayed with him, and shared a cup of hot chocolate and some chocolate chip cookies Tonya had baked earlier. Too soon my daughter called and asked us to send him home.
It was just a few days earlier that our older daughter had stormed into the house, mad at her husband for some alleged misdeed. “I just won’t forgive him,” she fumed. Her Dad and I had counseled her many years earlier to reconsider this marriage. Their spiritual immaturity did not bode well for a happy union. But she could only see how cute he was and how he did everything she asked. Church was low on their priority list even then, although both had made salvation decisions.
“Honey,” I said to my son when the chaos wound down, “What is wrong with these girls? Where did we go wrong? You and Tonya get along so well. Yet Melissa and Julie just can’t seem to get it together . They’re never happy or satisfied. There is always some disaster.”
“In my mind, it’s not that complicated,” he responded. “They refuse to obey God and follow Biblical principles. The results are predictable. I hate it, especially for the kids. But they’re the only ones that can change it. And it is not you and Dad who are at fault! You taught us God’s Word and took us to church.”
I can see his point. They wouldn’t wait and trust God to send the right men into their lives. They bulldozed ahead ignoring all the warnings. Now they are reaping the results. Happily, God can redeem the mistakes if they repent. Beauty from ashes, He promised. I will just continue to love them, be there for the grandchildren, and pray without ceasing. Oh, and try not to say, “I told you so.”
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