To a lost child of God

Dear T.,

I know you won’t talk to me. I know you won’t listen. I’m not even certain when or if I’ll see you again, so I’m writing this more for myself than for you.

You said if she threw you out, you’d end up back in prison. That was the only other place to go. It was the only world you really understood.

T., I pray you do not end up there, unless it is the only option that keeps you alive. The devil’s got a hold on you right now, and he wants you dead.

God wants you alive. Not alive in that way you’ve been living, smoking cigarettes and sitting around all day – getting angry at B. and storming off to the bar. That is no life.

You told me you were afraid you don’t know how to love. Well, T., it takes time to learn. It takes more time than it feels like you can stand it. It takes patience. And it takes putting up with stuff that feels unfair and hurts your pride.

You can’t do it on your own T. I can’t do it for you. B. can’t do it for you.

Only God can do it. God wants to do it. God wants more than even you do for your life to stop spinning out of control and being such a wreck. God wants you to be happy. God loves you.

But this is the hardest part.

You gotta let go of you. You gotta stop talking about your self-esteem. You gotta stop insisting that it happen on your terms.

You have to get down on your knees and ask for it. Beg for it. Like the tax collector in the parable last week. “God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

And you need brothers and sisters to help you get back off your knees and walk with you along the way. If they love you, they’re going to say things you don’t always want to hear. They’re going to lay down the law from time to time. But they’ll hold you up when you let them, and they’ll cheer and clap when you walk in God’s footprints.

T., God loves you. I pray you find a pastor who can explain that to you better than I have.

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