So I went to the angel and asked him to give me the little scroll. He said to me, "Take it and eat it. It will turn your stomach sour, but 'in your mouth it will be as sweet as honey.'"
Bright as a button, but never one for schoolwork - that describes my youngest stepson, Nicco, to a "T". No matter how we cajoled, helped, berated, punished, or bribed him throughout his school career, he fought us and his teachers tooth and nail. Every struggling step of the way.
When he failed a class, he failed abjectly. When he passed, it was usually by the skin of his teeth. If he didn't like a teacher, it was over before it began.
The harder we tried to convince him that there will always be the unlikeable boss or co-worker in the real world, the more staunchly he dug in his heels. We couldn't get though to him.
Our advice fell on deaf ears.
Always . . .
At this point, maybe you're wondering the following: "What? Wasn't there anything you could hold over this child's head to turn him around? To make him tow the line? To help him make the grade?"
The answer? Nothing! Nothing worked. We tried everything.
And, I mean EVERYTHING!
We were exasperated. At least, we thought gratefully, he hasn't committed a crime or landed his rear in jail. Things could be much worse, right? Right? Right?
Just when we thought it safe to exit the bunker, the bomb dropped . . .
Nicco turned eighteen the day I drafted this blog. His decision? Drop out of high school.
Drop out of high school??? What are you thinking? ARE you thinking? Do you know the consequences? We've warned you! Repeatedly! Dropping out of school means leaving us, living with your mother.
Nothing sinks in for him but the sweet promise of freedom from school. The rich, honeyed taste lingering on his lips for days, for weeks, for months . . .
Until the bile rises, vile and nauseating.
The school of hard knocks, the one called life, turns the stomach sour, leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.
It's only a matter of time, but it is a certainty. It is a sadness, profound and ponderous.
May he be the prodigal son . . .
For whom are you praying to return "home"?
Let us pray: Loving Father, we have all been, in some way, shape, or form, where Nicco is today. We were in that place where we didn't think we needed You're love, Your favor, or Your forgiveness. We know better now, but we pray in earnest for those who don't. Please reclaim them as Your own for Your Name's sake; bless them in the sanctity of your love. Save them in the power of Your Spirit.
Psalms 56, 57 (58) or 64, 65
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