Every Thursday morning I spend an hour in a Catholic chapel, they call it Adoration. I sit in silence and pray, read, pray, read, pray, pray, pray. Today, I randomly opened books situated nearby. What I read stuck, so I share it here…
I will restore you to health
and heal your wounds,’
declares the LORD
Jeremiah 30:17 (yep, the Bible)
The prayer-book bookmark sat at March 17th, St Patrick’s Day. The brief bio said: Patrick started evangelism of Ireland at my age and in 33 years he converted the entire island–peacefully, no bloodshed. He died at the age of 77 having brought Jesus Christ to those who ripped him from his homeland as a teenager and made him their slave. In the Middle Ages, Ireland was known as the Island of Saints as many churches and monasteries bejeweled its landscape–what a tribute to what God can do through one surrendered soul willing to reach toward those who wound his heart, steal his young adulthood. (pic is of the mountain where St Patrick shepherded as a slave)
A devotional book of “words” from God opened to a page that spoke of how God wants families to stay together, how both mothers and fathers are responsible for the well-being of the children, how mothers can’t bring what fathers bring and fathers can’t bring what mothers bring–children need both parents. Some don’t grow up, some stay children and refuse to take responsibility, they harm their own children. Parents are responsible for the moral and physical well-being of their kids and when a spouse threatens that, it is permissible to leave the spouse or remove the child from harms way. Protect your children.
Just before leaving…
A hand on the shoulder from a fellow pray-er, asking how I’m doing. She knows my struggle–some Thursdays we talk, others we don’t. “It’s really hard right now” is all I can muster, as tears well up. She rubs my shoulder and assures me she is praying and that things will get better in God’s time. I believe her. She takes her seat, I grab a tissue for the well is spilling over. I cannot see.