Silas
Beloved of All
What a powerful, tender cry to the Lord for your son. When I read it, I can feel how deeply you love him and how earnestly you contend for his peace. And that love does not go unnoticed in heaven. Jesus once took a child and set him right in the middle of his disciples to teach them about greatness. He said that whoever receives a child in his name receives him. So every prayer you lift, every meal you oversee, every night you entrust him to God, you are ministering directly to the heart of Jesus. The Good Shepherd is not a hireling who runs when things get hard. He knows your son personally; he calls him by name; he laid down his life for him. So you can rest your weight completely on that care, even when the breakthrough feels far away.
Scripture promises that when two or three gather in his name, he is right there with us. You are not praying into an empty silence. You are joining your voice with the Spirit of God, who intercedes with groanings too deep for words. So keep pouring out your heart, but also remember that prayer is not a formula we have to get exactly right. The Lord is not listening for certain phrases; he is listening for a heart that trusts him. A child’s simple faith pleases him more than a thousand rehearsed words, so you can just say, "Jesus, here is my son. I’m giving him back to you again tonight." That kind of surrender shifts the burden off your shoulders and onto his.
The battle you describe over meals, sleep, and daily routines is real spiritual warfare, and prayer is the deciding weapon. But you do not need to be afraid. He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world. Every time you speak peace and renounce torment, you are enforcing the victory Jesus already won. And when you see a calm day or a seizure-free month, those are not small mercies. They are glimpses of the full healing that is coming, whether in this age or the next. Do not despise the day of small things. Like Simeon holding baby Jesus, some promises are presented to us wrapped in a small package that will grow into something magnificent, though it may also pierce our own souls along the way.
Your desire for godly caregivers and advocates mirrors the way the early believers worked with their own hands and prayed for one another’s needs to be met. God often supplies through the very people who show up at the right time, sometimes in the most ordinary ways. So pray boldly for those helpers, but then watch expectantly for the everyday provisions he sends: a caregiver with unusual patience, a moment of clarity, a meal eaten without distress. Every good gift comes from his hand. And as you navigate the hard parts, the rigid episodes, the confusion, the fear, remember that Jesus said offenses must come in this broken world, but woe to anyone who causes a little one to stumble. He is zealous for your son. Not one harm is invisible to him.
In the middle of your long petition, I notice you pause to thank Jesus for a peaceful day. That is not a small thing; it is the secret of a victorious life. The apostle Paul urged us, "In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you." So keep doing that. When the morning comes and the night passed safely, say "Thank you, Lord." When the meal goes better than expected, say "Thank you, Lord." Gratitude anchors the soul in the reality that God is at work even when we cannot see the full picture.
Your son’s identity does not rest in autism, PTSD, or any diagnosis. He is a child of the Most High, sealed by the blood of Jesus, filled with the Holy Spirit. You have wrapped him in the armor of God, and that is no mere wish, it is a spiritual reality. Stand on it. Then, as you do all you can as a mother, you can also let yourself sleep, because the Keeper of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps. He watches over your going out and your coming in. Be at peace, and may your whole household rest in that same unshakable calm tonight.
Scripture promises that when two or three gather in his name, he is right there with us. You are not praying into an empty silence. You are joining your voice with the Spirit of God, who intercedes with groanings too deep for words. So keep pouring out your heart, but also remember that prayer is not a formula we have to get exactly right. The Lord is not listening for certain phrases; he is listening for a heart that trusts him. A child’s simple faith pleases him more than a thousand rehearsed words, so you can just say, "Jesus, here is my son. I’m giving him back to you again tonight." That kind of surrender shifts the burden off your shoulders and onto his.
The battle you describe over meals, sleep, and daily routines is real spiritual warfare, and prayer is the deciding weapon. But you do not need to be afraid. He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world. Every time you speak peace and renounce torment, you are enforcing the victory Jesus already won. And when you see a calm day or a seizure-free month, those are not small mercies. They are glimpses of the full healing that is coming, whether in this age or the next. Do not despise the day of small things. Like Simeon holding baby Jesus, some promises are presented to us wrapped in a small package that will grow into something magnificent, though it may also pierce our own souls along the way.
Your desire for godly caregivers and advocates mirrors the way the early believers worked with their own hands and prayed for one another’s needs to be met. God often supplies through the very people who show up at the right time, sometimes in the most ordinary ways. So pray boldly for those helpers, but then watch expectantly for the everyday provisions he sends: a caregiver with unusual patience, a moment of clarity, a meal eaten without distress. Every good gift comes from his hand. And as you navigate the hard parts, the rigid episodes, the confusion, the fear, remember that Jesus said offenses must come in this broken world, but woe to anyone who causes a little one to stumble. He is zealous for your son. Not one harm is invisible to him.
In the middle of your long petition, I notice you pause to thank Jesus for a peaceful day. That is not a small thing; it is the secret of a victorious life. The apostle Paul urged us, "In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you." So keep doing that. When the morning comes and the night passed safely, say "Thank you, Lord." When the meal goes better than expected, say "Thank you, Lord." Gratitude anchors the soul in the reality that God is at work even when we cannot see the full picture.
Your son’s identity does not rest in autism, PTSD, or any diagnosis. He is a child of the Most High, sealed by the blood of Jesus, filled with the Holy Spirit. You have wrapped him in the armor of God, and that is no mere wish, it is a spiritual reality. Stand on it. Then, as you do all you can as a mother, you can also let yourself sleep, because the Keeper of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps. He watches over your going out and your coming in. Be at peace, and may your whole household rest in that same unshakable calm tonight.
