Silas
Beloved of All
There is no way to minimize the pain you are feeling right now. When a child you raised and loved turns away without a word of explanation, it cuts very deep. You did not just lose contact; you lost the why, and that unanswered question leaves a wound that festers. You are right to bring this to prayer, and you are not alone in your sorrow. Many faithful people throughout history have faced a son’s rejection or an unexplained family breach, and their stories are recorded for our instruction and hope.
Think about Mordecai in the Persian court. He sat at the king’s gate day after day, faithful and unnoticed. When he uncovered a plot against the king’s life, he received no reward, no acknowledgment. I can only imagine his human frustration, he saved the man’s life, and yet it seemed forgotten. But God had placed him there for a reason that would only be revealed years later, when the fate of an entire nation hung on that one unrewarded act. Your son’s silence may feel like God’s silence, but the throne of heaven is not indifferent. Just as Esther had no inkling of why she was chosen for the palace, you have no inkling of what God is doing in your son’s heart or in your own life through this trial. The Lord is writing a story larger than the chapter you are in right now.
Consider the wrenching command to Abraham: take your son, your only son, the one you love, and offer him. In Abraham’s mind, the boy was as good as dead those three days they traveled. He could not see the ram in the thicket; all he could see was the knife and the altar. Yet he trusted the God who had promised, believing even in resurrection if necessary. God was not ending the promise; He was testing the faith through which it would come. I do not say your son is being put to death, but in a way you are being asked to release him into the Father’s hands, not to stop loving him, but to stop clutching at control and explanation. The Lord sees the whole path. He knows how to reach hearts, and no one is beyond His grasp.
When Mordecai learned the decree to annihilate his people, he tore his clothes and wailed with a loud and bitter cry through the city. He did not hide his grief, and neither should you. Weep before the Lord. Let your tears fall. But then seek His countermanding hand, just as Mordecai trusted God to make a way where no legal decree could be changed. Esther risked her life to go before the king unsummoned, and the king extended the scepter. Your son has closed a door, but God opens doors no man can shut. Keep praying, not with frantic desperation but with the quiet confidence that the same Spirit who could heal a nobleman’s son from twenty miles away can speak into your son’s spirit from any distance.
Do not let bitterness take root. We are commanded to make no provision for the flesh to fulfill its desires. That means refusing to nurture resentment or to replay the hurt in a loop that feeds your anger. I know it is tempting, when Saul was trying to kill David, he was clinging to a throne that was no longer rightfully his, and his jealousy ate him alive. But David, though hunted and wronged, refused to lift his hand against the Lord’s anointed. He put his situation in God’s hands. You cannot force your son to call or to explain. You can only do what is right before God: speak no evil of him, forgive as Christ forgave you, and wait on the Lord’s timing.
One more thing: remember who you are. You are no longer a servant but a son, an adopted son of God through Christ. Jesus is the only begotten, but in His mercy you have received the adoption. This is your ultimate identity, and it can never be taken from you by any earthly rupture. When your son’s rejection screams that you are unwanted, the Spirit cries within you, “Abba, Father.” Your standing is secure, and your Father sees your pain. He is not unmoved. King David in his old age, weak and cold, still had God’s purpose unfolding for Solomon despite Adonijah’s scheming. So rest. The throne of your life is not unsettled; Jesus is already seated and reigns.
I am praying for you, not just for a change in circumstances, but for the peace that passes understanding. May the God who raised up a deliverer through a young orphan girl and who turned the heart of a Persian king uphold you and, in His perfect time, do what only He can do in your family.
Think about Mordecai in the Persian court. He sat at the king’s gate day after day, faithful and unnoticed. When he uncovered a plot against the king’s life, he received no reward, no acknowledgment. I can only imagine his human frustration, he saved the man’s life, and yet it seemed forgotten. But God had placed him there for a reason that would only be revealed years later, when the fate of an entire nation hung on that one unrewarded act. Your son’s silence may feel like God’s silence, but the throne of heaven is not indifferent. Just as Esther had no inkling of why she was chosen for the palace, you have no inkling of what God is doing in your son’s heart or in your own life through this trial. The Lord is writing a story larger than the chapter you are in right now.
Consider the wrenching command to Abraham: take your son, your only son, the one you love, and offer him. In Abraham’s mind, the boy was as good as dead those three days they traveled. He could not see the ram in the thicket; all he could see was the knife and the altar. Yet he trusted the God who had promised, believing even in resurrection if necessary. God was not ending the promise; He was testing the faith through which it would come. I do not say your son is being put to death, but in a way you are being asked to release him into the Father’s hands, not to stop loving him, but to stop clutching at control and explanation. The Lord sees the whole path. He knows how to reach hearts, and no one is beyond His grasp.
When Mordecai learned the decree to annihilate his people, he tore his clothes and wailed with a loud and bitter cry through the city. He did not hide his grief, and neither should you. Weep before the Lord. Let your tears fall. But then seek His countermanding hand, just as Mordecai trusted God to make a way where no legal decree could be changed. Esther risked her life to go before the king unsummoned, and the king extended the scepter. Your son has closed a door, but God opens doors no man can shut. Keep praying, not with frantic desperation but with the quiet confidence that the same Spirit who could heal a nobleman’s son from twenty miles away can speak into your son’s spirit from any distance.
Do not let bitterness take root. We are commanded to make no provision for the flesh to fulfill its desires. That means refusing to nurture resentment or to replay the hurt in a loop that feeds your anger. I know it is tempting, when Saul was trying to kill David, he was clinging to a throne that was no longer rightfully his, and his jealousy ate him alive. But David, though hunted and wronged, refused to lift his hand against the Lord’s anointed. He put his situation in God’s hands. You cannot force your son to call or to explain. You can only do what is right before God: speak no evil of him, forgive as Christ forgave you, and wait on the Lord’s timing.
One more thing: remember who you are. You are no longer a servant but a son, an adopted son of God through Christ. Jesus is the only begotten, but in His mercy you have received the adoption. This is your ultimate identity, and it can never be taken from you by any earthly rupture. When your son’s rejection screams that you are unwanted, the Spirit cries within you, “Abba, Father.” Your standing is secure, and your Father sees your pain. He is not unmoved. King David in his old age, weak and cold, still had God’s purpose unfolding for Solomon despite Adonijah’s scheming. So rest. The throne of your life is not unsettled; Jesus is already seated and reigns.
I am praying for you, not just for a change in circumstances, but for the peace that passes understanding. May the God who raised up a deliverer through a young orphan girl and who turned the heart of a Persian king uphold you and, in His perfect time, do what only He can do in your family.
