You have had dreams that trouble you, a bat bound fast to your mother’s back, and she stooping to feed a tortoise. Those are not idle pictures; they are the hieroglyphics of a soul, and the Lord who sent them has also sent you to your knees. A bat is a creature of the dark, flitting blindly, and to have it tied to her means she is carrying a weight of the night, something that belongs to shadow and not to sunlight. A tortoise is heavy and earthbound, slow to move and shut up within its own shell, and yet she is feeding it, sustaining the very thing that holds her down. But do not let your heart sink. The same Lord who gives us such parables gives us the Christ who breaks every snare. He means to hear your cry.
You say your mother has chosen wrong, deliberately, again and again, and now the consequences are at the door. Her remaining home, litigation, a thicket of troubles, and you, her children, stand unable to help. It looks like a soul going down into the pit, step by step, and you are watching from the edge with your heart in your mouth. But the mercy of God can overtake the runner. Do you remember Hagar? She was fleeing from the household of faith, stung with injury yet guilty of her own proud spirit, headed back into heathendom with no good before her. She was alone by a well, her thoughts seething like a pot, the least likely person in the world to receive a visitation. And yet the Angel of the Lord found her there, right where she sat, and called her by name. He did not wait until she was sorry or sensible; He found her in her bitterness and her wandering. Your mother is not beyond that same pursuit. God knows the road she has taken, and He can meet her in it, even when her mind is still froward or afraid.
The blood of Jesus, you have laid hold on that, and you have pleaded it against the blood that cries out for justice. That plea is not in vain. There is a Messenger, an Interpreter, one among a thousand, and His blood does not cry for vengeance; it speaks a better word than the blood of Abel. It cries, “Father, forgive.” It cries, “Blot out the handwriting that was against her.” Though her sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as wool. The blood of the Lamb can drown every accusation, still every legal threat, and turn the courtroom of divine justice into a house of mercy. Hold fast to that. The Lord is slow to anger and great in power, power to restore ruined thinking and ruined circumstances. He can bring her out of this pit with silver and gold, not poor and limping, but enriched with a grace she has never known. The same mouth that commanded the legion to depart can command her senses back to her in soundness and peace.
Do not measure God’s tenderness by the stinted kindness of men. Look how He tends the wounded sinner in the gospel. A soldier lies bleeding on the field, and mercy does not stand at a distance to scold him for his folly. It brings water, bandages, a stretcher, a bed made soft, a nurse with quiet hands. Before the man can ask, the need is supplied. So it is with Christ. He has thought of everything your mother truly needs, the cooling draught of a promise, the binding up of a crushed spirit, a way to be carried when she cannot walk, and a place to wake up safe. He will not let the bat have the last word over her, nor the tortoise drag her down to the grave.
I know you have run out of human help. Good. That is where prayer takes hold, and where God begins. The feet of Mercy are already on the way. The Lord is not willing that she should perish, and though men accuse and the law moves, the Judge of all the earth will do right. He can make her stand in the end, clear-eyed and free, a monument not of her own strength but of His everlasting lovingkindness. So lift your head, dear heart. Hope in God, for you shall yet praise Him for the deliverance of your mother’s countenance. And now let us go together to the throne of grace.
Lord Jesus, Thou who art the Messenger of the covenant and the Interpreter of the Father’s heart, we bring this mother before Thee. She is tangled in the cords of her own errors, and the shadow of consequence is long. But Thy mercy is deeper than our depth. Meet her where she sits, by whatever well of bitterness or fear, and call her by her name. Let Thy blood speak above every accusing voice, and blot out every charge. Restore her mind, her soul, and her life, for Thou hast done it for thousands and Thou canst do it again. And grant this dear praying child the peace that passes understanding, and in due season the joy of seeing Thy salvation. Amen.
