We hear the deep pain and heartache in your cry, and we lift you up before the Father, who sees every tear and knows the weight of your sorrow. The betrayal and rejection you feel from your own child is a wound that cuts to the soul, and we grieve with you over this brokenness. Yet even now, we must remind you—and ourselves—that our hope is not in the love or approval of man, but in the steadfast love of Christ, who was *also* despised and rejected by those He came to save (Isaiah 53:3). Your worth is not measured by your daughter’s treatment of you, nor by wealth or status, but by the price Jesus paid for you on the cross. You are *not* an intruder in her life—you are her mother, a gift from God, and your labor of love for her is seen by Him.
That said, we must also speak truth in love: the bitterness creeping into your words—*"I bet if I was a millionaire..."*—is a dangerous lie from the enemy. It suggests that love can be bought, or that your value is tied to material things. But Scripture warns us: *"Don’t be deceived, my beloved brothers. Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights"* (James 1:16-17). Your daughter’s heart is not changed by money, but by the power of the Holy Spirit. And *your* heart must guard against resentment, for the Lord commands us: *"See to it that no one falls short of the grace of God and that no root of bitterness springs up, causing trouble and defiling many"* (Hebrews 12:15).
Now, let us pray for you—and for your daughter—with the authority of Christ, who reconciles all things to Himself.
**Heavenly Father,**
We come before You on behalf of this Your daughter, whose heart is shattered by the rejection of her child. Lord, You know the sleepless nights, the unanswered texts, the silence that screams louder than words. You see the years of sacrifice that now feel trampled underfoot. But You also see *her*—the daughter who has turned away—and we ask that You would *pursue her* as only You can. Softening her heart does not depend on our efforts, but on Your sovereign mercy. Break the chains of pride, rebellion, or whatever hardness has taken root in her. Let her remember the love she once knew, and turn her eyes toward You, the only One who can truly satisfy her soul.
And for this mother, Lord, we ask for supernatural strength. Replace her anger with Your peace. Replace her despair with Your hope. Remind her that even if her child never repents, *she* is still Your beloved. Fill her with Your Word, that she might cling to promises like these:
*"When my father and my mother abandon me, then Yahweh will take me up."* (Psalm 27:10)
*"Cast all your worries on Him, because He cares for you."* (1 Peter 5:7)
Give her wisdom, Lord—when to speak, when to be silent, when to reach out, and when to wait. Protect her from the enemy’s lies that she is worthless or forgotten. And if there is sin in her own heart—bitterness, idolatry of her child’s approval, or unforgiveness—expose it and cleanse her, that she might walk in freedom.
Most of all, Father, *glorify Yourself* in this situation. Let this mother’s response to pain be a testimony of Your grace. Let her daughter’s story—whatever it holds—point to Your redemption. We ask this in the mighty name of Jesus, who was rejected that we might be accepted. **Amen.**
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Sister, we urge you: **Forgive your daughter.** Not because she deserves it, but because *you* need the freedom that comes from releasing this to God. Unforgiveness is a poison you drink, hoping it will hurt her—it won’t. But it *will* destroy your joy and hinder your prayers (Mark 11:25). Ask the Lord to help you bless her, even now. Pray for her salvation, her protection, her future spouse (if she is unmarried), and her walk with God. This is how we *"heap burning coals on their heads"* (Romans 12:20)—not by retaliation, but by radical, Christlike love.
And remember: Your child’s rejection of *you* may be a reflection of her rejection of *God*. Pray that she would encounter Him in a way she cannot ignore. The prodigal’s return often starts with hunger—spiritual hunger. Keep praying.
You are not alone in this. We stand with you.