So it seems as if it has been forever since I shared my heart with my "blog followers"! Good intentions often are interrupted by life it's self... and times passes by. Then something happens and we remember the safe spot where in the past we have shared musings and others have listened. Even if there is no audience - there are times that I just need to record my thoughts.
For three years, my son has pedaled a bicycle. I've witnessed 25,000 miles of asphalt and tears mix, evaporating him into a shell of the son I once knew, down at least 50 pounds from where he began.
Uncertain of where he was "pedaling to" or "pedaling from," my heart ached that I couldn't wrap him in my arms like momma's do when they are "little boys" and fix his broken heart. His dad and I witnessed one who once was the "life of the party" go to saddened silence. He ceased talking, he ceased caring, he ceased laughing, but what he did do was grab a pencil and bleed his soul into pieces of paper.
I dare say, since the day Stephen was born, I've prayed diligently that the Lord would find favor within him and use him for His good and His glory. I've wept oh so many tears watching my son 'run', wondering if God was listening, if my prayers had fallen mute, failing to remember that we trained up a child in the way he should go, and in the end, he will not depart from it. I think God allowed Stephen to throw his temper tantrum, to lose his balance, to get lost, because the joy in being found is a joy unspeakable, but also, the experience of feeling 'hopeless' can reach the masses. The "I've been there" experiences that opens the ears of the deaf that brokenness has muted.
Stephen has never once came to Steve (my husband) or I and asked for help, he simply pedaled away the memory, but I knew however he chose to deal with his pain was justified - I merely needed to be an encourager, a constant source of love.
Stephen occasionally would come to me with shreds of paper with thoughts and stories he had written. My heart would shatter reading and listening because the way of his pen was so dark, defeated. Little did I realize he was garnering an audience with these writings from others who seemingly could not put similar thoughts into words. Stephen became their voice, their chance of reason, their platform to be heard - as I've heard described - 'Stephen enters their mind, and pulls the words they couldn't say off their tongues.'
Fast-forward to this afternoon, and I would be honored to say that my son has stopped pedaling... He has not, however, I have witnessed a healing that just months ago, I was unsure would ever take place. But beyond his healing, those shreds of paper that shredded my own heart, were helping heal others in a world I couldn't entertain. Suicide, cutters, mental health disorderlies, don't belong in the church, our "legalized" Christianity teaches us, but here my son was ministering unto the least of these.
Stephen began this journey with a notebook - in his words, that notebook is 'a collection of receipts of stolen souls imprinted in his mind, branded on his heart.' In my words, it's the work of my Savior helping my son find his way "Home".
This is my shameless plug to all my friends to like his page - it is new, it has just been launched, but it is his prayer within the coming days and months that this page will be a community of love, focused on breaking the silence on suicide, self-harm, mental health and beyond. Tentatively to be out this fall, his journey, his journal, he's titled: 'Beautiful Sprinkled, Speckled, Spackled Snails' will be published and released!!
https://www.facebook.com/BeautifulSprinkledSpeckledSpackledSnails
For three years, my son has pedaled a bicycle. I've witnessed 25,000 miles of asphalt and tears mix, evaporating him into a shell of the son I once knew, down at least 50 pounds from where he began.
Uncertain of where he was "pedaling to" or "pedaling from," my heart ached that I couldn't wrap him in my arms like momma's do when they are "little boys" and fix his broken heart. His dad and I witnessed one who once was the "life of the party" go to saddened silence. He ceased talking, he ceased caring, he ceased laughing, but what he did do was grab a pencil and bleed his soul into pieces of paper.
I dare say, since the day Stephen was born, I've prayed diligently that the Lord would find favor within him and use him for His good and His glory. I've wept oh so many tears watching my son 'run', wondering if God was listening, if my prayers had fallen mute, failing to remember that we trained up a child in the way he should go, and in the end, he will not depart from it. I think God allowed Stephen to throw his temper tantrum, to lose his balance, to get lost, because the joy in being found is a joy unspeakable, but also, the experience of feeling 'hopeless' can reach the masses. The "I've been there" experiences that opens the ears of the deaf that brokenness has muted.
Stephen has never once came to Steve (my husband) or I and asked for help, he simply pedaled away the memory, but I knew however he chose to deal with his pain was justified - I merely needed to be an encourager, a constant source of love.
Stephen occasionally would come to me with shreds of paper with thoughts and stories he had written. My heart would shatter reading and listening because the way of his pen was so dark, defeated. Little did I realize he was garnering an audience with these writings from others who seemingly could not put similar thoughts into words. Stephen became their voice, their chance of reason, their platform to be heard - as I've heard described - 'Stephen enters their mind, and pulls the words they couldn't say off their tongues.'
Fast-forward to this afternoon, and I would be honored to say that my son has stopped pedaling... He has not, however, I have witnessed a healing that just months ago, I was unsure would ever take place. But beyond his healing, those shreds of paper that shredded my own heart, were helping heal others in a world I couldn't entertain. Suicide, cutters, mental health disorderlies, don't belong in the church, our "legalized" Christianity teaches us, but here my son was ministering unto the least of these.
Stephen began this journey with a notebook - in his words, that notebook is 'a collection of receipts of stolen souls imprinted in his mind, branded on his heart.' In my words, it's the work of my Savior helping my son find his way "Home".
This is my shameless plug to all my friends to like his page - it is new, it has just been launched, but it is his prayer within the coming days and months that this page will be a community of love, focused on breaking the silence on suicide, self-harm, mental health and beyond. Tentatively to be out this fall, his journey, his journal, he's titled: 'Beautiful Sprinkled, Speckled, Spackled Snails' will be published and released!!
https://www.facebook.com/BeautifulSprinkledSpeckledSpackledSnails
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