Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: RELEASE (08/02/18)
- TITLE: Surrender The Duffel
By Karen Dick
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I knocked once then opened his door. David glanced up but returned to packing his duffle bag on the bed. He grabbed a t-shirt and shoved it in.
“What are you doing?”
He kept his back to me. “I’m packing.” He shoved a pair of jeans in the bag.
“Where are you going?” My pulse quickened.
“Not sure.” He zipped his duffel, tossed his hair from his face, and then raised his eyes to mine.
“You can’t leave without a plan.” I grabbed his arm. “Can’t we pray and talk about this?”
He stepped back and shook his arm to release my hold.
“No Mom. I’m done talking and no way am I praying to a make-believe God.”
David grasped his duffel and took long strides toward the door.
Tears flowed down my cheeks as I followed him down the stairs.
“How will you live? Where will you go?” My mind raced for ways to keep him from leaving.
“I’ll get a job. I have money. I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t go, David.” My breath caught and I wiped my face. “I love you.”
“I’m eighteen, Mom. I can do what I want. And I want to be on my own.” He turned and walked into the darkness.
“Will you phone?” I called after him.
A bus drove past and my voice faded into the night air. I stood on the porch in a daze. Lord, I don’t know what to do. Protect him.
I stumbled up the stairs to the bedroom.
“John, wake up.” I shook my husband.
“What?” He pressed his face into the pillow.
My voice caught. “David left.” A sob escaped me and John sat up.
He shook his head. “He really did it.”
I stared at John and clenched his arm. “You knew he was going to do this?”
“No, I didn’t know for sure.” John’s voice cracked. “I told him he wouldn’t survive on his own.” His head dropped.
I fell onto the bed beside him. “We should call the police.”
“Shari, they won’t do anything. He’s eighteen. He can make his own decisions now.” He put his hand on my back. “We’re going to have to let him go, though it won’t be easy.”
As daylight emerged the next morning, I sat at my kitchen table and stared at spots of dirt on the tile floor. Music suddenly erupted from my cell phone. Quickly, I picked it up, saw the word “mother” on the screen and put it down. I sighed and bowed my head as tears flowed.
John appeared in the doorway. “Was that David?”
“No.” I dabbed my eyes then clenched my hands together. “It was Mother. I don’t want to talk right now.”
He pulled a chair out beside me, sat down, and then placed his hand over mine. “God will take care of David. Besides, he’ll probably run out of money. He’ll have to come home.”
“But he said he doesn’t believe in God. When did that happen?”
“Shari, we need to trust.”
I nodded and squeezed John’s hand.
Each day I went through the motions of life. As I swept the kitchen floor, my ears were tuned to hear the door open. The bathroom was cleaned in between glances down the street. I watched for my boy. But he didn’t come.
My heightened awareness of the noises around me caused my heart to race and my spirit drag. My cries to God evaporated into the air.
When a week had passed, I turned to Scripture. As if flipped through the pages, a familiar verse stood out. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart…. ”
I fell to my knees.
Lord, help me trust you. I release my son to you.
Several months passed when one afternoon John burst into the kitchen from the back door.
“I got a call today.”
My heart sank. “Did something happen to David?”
He stepped aside.
In walked David; his head down and the duffel bag in hand. He looked at me with red-rimmed eyes.
“Mom…can I come home?”
I enveloped him in my arms. “Welcome home son. Let’s celebrate!”
(NIV Proverbs 3:5 – 6)
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