The Shadow of Your Wings

When an unclean spirit goes out of a man, he goes through dry places, seeking rest, and finds none.  Then he says, 'I will return to my house from which I came.' And when he comes he finds it empty, swept, and put in order.  Then he goes and takes with him seven other spirits more wicked than himself and they enter and dwell there; and the last state of that man is worse that the first.  Matt 12:43-45

I have seen the truth of this warning in an everyday setting - a friend who gave her life and her home over to a beloved child.  As the girl neared her teen years she became rebellious, by her early teens she began to exhibit wanton disregard for those who cared for her.  During her high school years she ripped through every boundary of discipline the family had established for her well-being.  Finally she married, against her family's wishes, and moved away.  For several years my friend kept the child's room open, hoping she would come to her senses, hoping she would return - to her home and her heart.

I could only watch, offer "Well, if I were you I would ..." advice, and pray.  From my perspective it was easy enough to say "Let her go," or "Reclaim your life."  But I knew from my own experiences that reclaiming one's heart, no matter how battered and abused, is virtually impossible.  We love our children - for better or worse - and (maternal) love most truly hopes and believes the best for (if not of) its offspring.

A few months ago my friend finally came to the realization that her child had chosen a path that no longer led to her doorway.  We talked much about the prodigal, about not giving up, but no longer chasing after either.  She began to make plans to turn that empty room into a sewing space, or guest room, or - hey, knock out the wall and enlarge her own bedroom!  Yeah - that sounds like a plan.  For the first time in years she became excited about the possibilities and promise that empty room held for her.  I, as her friend, was just happy to think she was no longer going to allow this spiteful emptiness to taunt her.

Two days after she made the decision to begin by clearing out and repainting the room the child showed up on the doorstep, her own child in tow, with bag and baggage.  She was moving "home."  No permission was needed as far as she was concerned.  No apology.  No repentance.  The months since have been horrific.  The rebellious teen is now a hate-filled, vindictive young woman.  My friend's home and heart have been turned upside down. 

Why, one wonders, doesn't she just say "Out!"  Because now there is another child, this precious grandbaby.  The family is vehement in their intent to protect her from the life her mother now leads. ... and the last state of that man is worse that the first - because now they feel they must endure the ruthless, controlling dictates of the mother in order to keep the babe safe.

I know this is the story of too many parents and grandparents in this age.  I also know, and remind my friend often, that "we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers ..."  Hard, as a mother who once turned the child over the knee, to keep in mind.

I pray for my friend, for her child, her grandchild.  I weep with her.  I am at times overwhelmed with dismay and, frankly, disgust on her behalf.  I also find myself having to clean my house after she's visited - sweeping away my own anger and judgment.

I have learned some valuable lessons from this experience.  That it is a good thing to clear out and put to order those rooms of my heart that have been vacated.  But I must rededicate the room to something right(eous) and useful - it cannot be left empty.  My own "spare room" had been redecorated and designated as a guestroom.   But I recently realized that it had become filled with so many memories and whatnots that there was little space left for the One I would most like to inhabit it.  He has held the key to my hearthome for many years and has always been welcome to any and every room in it, but I'd allowed so much clutter to accumulate in this one room that He was hardly able to move in there.  So I am in the process of clearing it out again.  I am determined to allow no one or thing into that space without His express welcome, though I admit that there are times I am tempted to open the door to its old occupants out of pity (self), or custom, or even loneliness.  But then I remember to Whom these rooms belong and am able to say, in fullness of faith, "I have no vacancy."  The desire of my heart is to be filled to capacity with His abiding Presence.

Come, Lord Jesus!  Fill the emptiness of my soul.  Let my life's rooms echo with the sounds of joyful love expressed and the laughter of Your Spirit.  May my heart be bright with the flame of Your light and scented with the fragrance of Life - eternal and everlasting, in You.  Amen.

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