God Loves the Prodigal’s Mama Too

One beautiful, benign, spring day, my phone buzzed with an unknown number. I answered it anyway.

“Is this Mercia’s mom? I’m  here with her in the college parking lot, and she’s about to drive her car into a brick wall.”

As I raced out the door and through town, I begged God to spare my girl’s life. As I sped through yellow lights, not even registering familiar landmarks, the family-breaking events of the previous nine months played in my mind’s eye like a horror movie on repeat. 

What could I have done differently? Why didn’t I notice the warning signs? What’s going to happen now? Will her father pay attention now? Even inconsequential questions flew through my mind: What about her college classes? Who is this person who called me? Why didn’t she tell me?

As I drove, I prayed like I’d never prayed before. God, save my daughter! Please let me get to her in time! Why my girl? God, help!

The next two weeks were harder than anything I’ve ever faced—including domestic abuse, divorce, job loss, car wrecks, serious health issues, family crises, bankruptcy, foreclosure, and more. My beloved daughter, for whom I would willingly give my own life, spent four days in the emergency room hallway and ten days in an in-patient facility an hour and a half away. Although I curled up on those plastic chairs in the hallway for four sleepless nights, and I drove three hours every day to spend just one hour with her for the next ten days, I still felt like I was abandoning her to strangers in her darkest hour of the night.

My dilemma was that I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t heal the brokenness in her heart. I couldn’t ease her anxiety. I couldn’t put our family back together. I couldn’t even stop her from cutting by hiding all my kitchen knives and craft tools.

So I did the only thing I could do: I prayed.

God did answer my prayer and preserve her life. But I was blindsided by her later rejection of the God she’d served her whole life and her descent into an alternative lifestyle. In the years since then, my prayer has been, “God, I know you did not save her from suicide to live like this!” 

But here’s the thing: Would I have spent as much time on my knees in recent years if she had come through our family crisis unscathed? I don’t know. But I do know that God can and will use all things for my good, my girl’s good, and His glory—no matter how long it takes or what form it takes because of His love for me. 

I’ve worn out my knees praying for my prodigal child to repent and return to her spiritual roots. Surely that’s a prayer God would honor … right? Yet, my prodigal daughter is still at the top of my prayer list. It’s been 11, long years. 

Again and again I remind myself that God’s timing is not my timing. And although my desire is good, it might not be what’s in God’s plan yet. 

I’m clinging to the promise in Psalm 27:13, “I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord In the land of the living” (NKJV).

What if, instead of my prodigal child returning to me, I’m running full force into God’s arms with my need for an increased faith and greater trust? What if, all along, the way God will be glorified the most is if Mercia—and her sister—knows that she has a persistent, praying mama? What if, by sharing my unwavering trust in God and the goodness of His plan, I can encourage other mamas of prodigals not to give up?

Is it easy? No way! Am I tempted to stop praying for my daughter’s deliverance because it seems my prayers have gotten stuck in the clouds for the past eleven years? Yes! 

This is the only thing I know for sure: My job is to remain faithful in prayer and to let my girl know that when she’s ready, God’s arms are wide open. My job is to love my girl no matter what. That’s it.