Not too long ago I was feeling particularly down. I missed my son. I heard from him only occasionally. Last I knew, he was somewhere in Las Vegas, living on the streets. Homeless because of drugs and alcohol. My son’s addiction was so strong, nothing would help. Not even prayer, I started to fear.
I needed some distraction. In the mail that day was the latest issue of my favorite magazine. I sat down to read, and came across a story about a mother, her son and the power of prayer. There was an address for readers to send in their own prayer requests. It got me thinking about how long I’d been praying for my own son. Lord, I prayed now, my son is in your hands. Please lead him back to me.
For the first time in three years I felt at peace. Not that it was easy. But I knew my son was in God’s hands. Then one day it happened: I got a call from my son. He said that he’d been in a park, sitting on a bench. Up in the branches of a small tree he saw something fluttering in the breeze. It was a note. It read, “For strength… Without my trials and hardships I would never know the way that you turn burdens into blessings with every passing day.”
My son told me those words touched him deeply, reconnecting him with the faith he’d once known. He’d carried the note with him ever since. And in time he got into a rehab program. Today he’s clean and sober, working and rebuilding his life.
When we finally had our reunion, he let me see the note he found. On the back was contact information for Guideposts Prayer Service. The address was familiar… because I read it each month when my copy of this magazine arrives, just like I did that day I gave my son completely over to God.
