Silas
Beloved of All
You didn’t ask me for a theological lecture, and what I’m about to say isn’t some distant doctrine. It’s for your heart as a mother lying awake, picturing your son fighting those terrors in his sleep. You’ve turned to the Father with a bold, simple plea: healing, protection, real rest. That’s not weakness. That’s the kind of faith that knows exactly where help comes from.
The Lord has always worked through the cries of mothers and fathers who love a child they can’t reach in the night hours. You remember the nobleman from Cana. His boy was sick, miles away, beyond the reach of his own hands. All he had was a word from Jesus, spoken right there, and the healing covered the distance before he even got home. The Son of God doesn’t need to be in the room to command peace into your son’s mind. He spoke the universe into being, and he can speak stillness into the deepest places that flashbacks have torn raw. Your prayer isn’t just floating into the air. The same Son who said, “Do you believe on the Son of God?” to a blind man is the one you’re addressing. He’s not a figure of history; he’s alive, and he sees your son right now.
I think of the father in that story Jesus told, the one who ran to his filthy, broken boy and smothered him with kisses before a single word of apology came out. That’s the heart you’re appealing to. You asked God to surround your son with holy angels and shield him from harm. Do you know why a shield works? Not because you hold it up perfectly, but because someone stronger stands behind it. The Father’s love for your son isn’t passive. He gave his only beloved Son to rescue ones he calls his own. If he didn’t spare his own Son for us, he isn’t going to abandon your son to the darkness now.
You asked for sleep without nightmares. Proverbs talks about binding divine truth to the heart: when you sleep, it will keep you; when you awake, it will talk with you. That’s a promise for your son, even if right now he can’t cling to it himself. Your prayers are binding that word to him while he rests. God doesn’t slumber or sleep, so neither does his watch over the frightened. The same Jesus who woke from a sound sleep in a storm and told the wind and waves to be still, that authority hasn’t dimmed. He can command the storms inside your son’s head to quiet down.
You also asked for comfort. That’s not a small add-on; it’s the very thing the Holy Spirit specializes in. When Leah felt unloved and overlooked, she named her sons “Look, a son” and “Hearing,” because she sensed the Lord had seen her affliction and heard her cry. God hasn’t turned a deaf ear to you. He sees the toll this takes on a mother’s heart, and he hears the silent groan underneath your words. He’s not a man that he should lie, nor a son of man that he needs to rethink his promise. What he’s started in your son, he’s faithful to complete.
So let your prayer tonight be this: you’ve laid your boy at the feet of the Son of God, the one declared with power by his resurrection. He’s not the brother of Lucifer or some created being, he’s the only begotten, and he will not let the enemy have the final say. You can sleep too, not because the danger isn’t real, but because the one holding your son is stronger. His light fills what the nightmares try to steal. In the morning, whether you see an immediate change or not, know this: your son is not alone in the dark. The Shepherd who left the ninety-nine to find one lost sheep is in that bedroom, and when the dawn breaks, you’ll find him still there.
The Lord has always worked through the cries of mothers and fathers who love a child they can’t reach in the night hours. You remember the nobleman from Cana. His boy was sick, miles away, beyond the reach of his own hands. All he had was a word from Jesus, spoken right there, and the healing covered the distance before he even got home. The Son of God doesn’t need to be in the room to command peace into your son’s mind. He spoke the universe into being, and he can speak stillness into the deepest places that flashbacks have torn raw. Your prayer isn’t just floating into the air. The same Son who said, “Do you believe on the Son of God?” to a blind man is the one you’re addressing. He’s not a figure of history; he’s alive, and he sees your son right now.
I think of the father in that story Jesus told, the one who ran to his filthy, broken boy and smothered him with kisses before a single word of apology came out. That’s the heart you’re appealing to. You asked God to surround your son with holy angels and shield him from harm. Do you know why a shield works? Not because you hold it up perfectly, but because someone stronger stands behind it. The Father’s love for your son isn’t passive. He gave his only beloved Son to rescue ones he calls his own. If he didn’t spare his own Son for us, he isn’t going to abandon your son to the darkness now.
You asked for sleep without nightmares. Proverbs talks about binding divine truth to the heart: when you sleep, it will keep you; when you awake, it will talk with you. That’s a promise for your son, even if right now he can’t cling to it himself. Your prayers are binding that word to him while he rests. God doesn’t slumber or sleep, so neither does his watch over the frightened. The same Jesus who woke from a sound sleep in a storm and told the wind and waves to be still, that authority hasn’t dimmed. He can command the storms inside your son’s head to quiet down.
You also asked for comfort. That’s not a small add-on; it’s the very thing the Holy Spirit specializes in. When Leah felt unloved and overlooked, she named her sons “Look, a son” and “Hearing,” because she sensed the Lord had seen her affliction and heard her cry. God hasn’t turned a deaf ear to you. He sees the toll this takes on a mother’s heart, and he hears the silent groan underneath your words. He’s not a man that he should lie, nor a son of man that he needs to rethink his promise. What he’s started in your son, he’s faithful to complete.
So let your prayer tonight be this: you’ve laid your boy at the feet of the Son of God, the one declared with power by his resurrection. He’s not the brother of Lucifer or some created being, he’s the only begotten, and he will not let the enemy have the final say. You can sleep too, not because the danger isn’t real, but because the one holding your son is stronger. His light fills what the nightmares try to steal. In the morning, whether you see an immediate change or not, know this: your son is not alone in the dark. The Shepherd who left the ninety-nine to find one lost sheep is in that bedroom, and when the dawn breaks, you’ll find him still there.
