I have a secret. Well, some people know about it, but it’s not something I tell everyone, nor is it something I discuss. Hardly ever. I can’t talk about it without detaching my self first, and sometimes that’s too difficult. It’s a pain that aches within me, and can be the fuel for sadness and anxiety if I let it.

My oldest son is a drug addict.

He’s not in recovery, yet, or in a program, yet. He doesn’t have any “chips” or long-term success stories to inspire you or give you hope. Right now, I don’t even know where he is. I do know that he’s been using again, and doesn’t look healthy. I know the people that have seen him lately, say that he doesn’t make much sense, and is in the worst shape they have ever seen him… I am just happy he is still alive, because as long as he is, there is hope, and that word “yet” is still alive…

He has been an addict since high school, when he took a friends’ prescription to help numb the pain of losing his father to meningitis. He came home from school that day, and told me! He begged me to take him to the doctor and get him that medicine, because he felt so much better! I did call the doctor and took him in, to only find out he not only took someone else’s meds, but he took more than the prescribed amount. He was basically high and hooked on the feeling.

Thus the secret nightmare began. Self-medicating for any issues that were just too dark to deal with became the norm… He has disappeared more than once. We put in a security system to keep him IN the house, not to keep intruders out. He has been in jail, and in programs. He has seen a variety of counselors and doctors. He has been on a plethora of medications as well, and still…

I’ve realized a long time ago, that there is nothing I can do. I can’t love him more, give him more, or say the magic words. I can’t make him listen, or work, or receive the help that has been offered. I can’t even make him remember the good – the happy, and the blessings that have, and still do, abound in his life. The only thing I have in my arsenal is prayer. Nothing else.

Prayer, to a control freak like me, seems so futile sometimes. Especially when I have been doing that – every single day of his life. It feels like no one is listening! Things get worse, not better! I have yelled and screamed at God. (He can handle it) I have laid on my face in puddles of tears, begging the Lord to save my son – from the grip of drugs and from himself, but still…

How do I cope? What do I do in those pits of despair? I read. I read the Word and meditate on God’s promises. I sit at the feet of the King of Kings and I trust. I let my tears fall into God’s hands, and I know he cares for me, and loves my son even more than I do. I remember too. I remember all the good….the smiles and laughs, and all of the good memories. I remember what my son’s sober smile and laugh are like, and I remember all of his many successes – the hugs and the deep talks and even the good tears. I also remember God’s obvious hand in our life over the years. (I have posted about these before)

I don’t know how people do this without God. When all earthly hope is lost, how can people still hold on the power of their own will? Isn’t that what is weak in the first place? I can let God grow my faith, and rest in Him, knowing that He is sovereign. Even over OUR prodigal son.

My oldest son IS a Child of God.  That’s the identity I pray he will walk in…

Drug addiction is a major epidemic in this country. It’s something that people don’t like to talk about, but keeping it in the dark is right where evil grows the best. I don’t want to give evil anymore help.

My son will be 32 next month. I will be praying for a birthday miracle.

Let’s pray together, shall we?

Thank you.