I’ve been thinking a lot about my estranged children lately.
There are some things you learn to carry. Not because they stop hurting, and not because you stop caring, but because eventually you realize you cannot force an ending to a story that involves someone else’s heart.
For a long time, I think part of me believed that if I prayed enough, waited long enough, or somehow became the person God wanted me to be, reconciliation would eventually come.
Maybe it still will.
I pray that it does.
But I’m beginning to understand something that is difficult for a parent to accept:
Reconciliation isn’t promised.
God can soften hearts. He can restore relationships that seem impossible to restore. He can open doors that have been closed for years.
But He also gives people free will.
And sometimes the person standing on the other side of the door chooses not to open it.
That realization raises a difficult question:
Can I still trust God if the thing I’m praying for never happens?
Waiting Without Demanding
There is a difference between waiting on God and quietly demanding that God give us the ending we want.
I can pray for reconciliation.
I can leave the door open.
I can examine my own heart and acknowledge the places where I have failed.
I can apologize when an apology is mine to give.
I can forgive.
I can love.
But I cannot control another person’s decision.
Romans 12:18 says:
“If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”
Those words have taken on a different meaning for me.
As far as it depends on you.
That means there are things that depend on me—and things that don’t.
My responsibility is faithfulness.
My responsibility is humility.
My responsibility is forgiveness.
My responsibility is keeping bitterness from taking root in my heart.
But reconciliation requires two people.
Hope Without Holding God Hostage
I haven’t stopped hoping.
I haven’t stopped praying.
And I don’t intend to.
There may come a day when a phone rings, a message arrives, or a door opens that I thought might remain closed forever.
If that day comes, I pray God has prepared my heart for it.
But I am also learning that I cannot spend the rest of my life standing at that door, staring at it, waiting for it to open.
There are people God has placed in my life today.
There is work He has given me today.
There are people who need love today.
There is a wife to cherish, neighbors to serve, animals to care for, a church family to walk alongside, and opportunities to show the love of Christ that I could easily miss if all my attention remains fixed on what I’ve lost.
Perhaps faith isn’t believing God will eventually give me the outcome I want.
Perhaps faith is being able to say:
“Lord, I still want reconciliation. I still pray for it. But even if it never comes, I will trust You with the part of this story I cannot control.”
Leaving the Light On
I don’t think accepting that reconciliation may never happen means giving up.
Maybe it simply means leaving the light on without spending every night sitting by the window.
The door can remain open.
The prayer can continue.
The love can remain.
But life must continue too.
Jesus told the story of a father whose son left home. The father didn’t stop loving his son. And when the son returned, the father ran to meet him.
I have always loved that picture.
But lately I’ve noticed something else.
The father couldn’t make the son come home.
He could only be the kind of father who was ready if he did.
Maybe that’s where God is asking me to stand.
Not chasing.
Not forcing.
Not becoming bitter.
Just tending the life God has given me, asking Him to continue changing my own heart, and keeping enough grace in reserve that if I ever see someone coming down that road, I’ll be ready to run toward them.
Until then, I pray.
I hope.
I live.
And I trust God with the road I cannot see.
The Pasture Pulpit
Sometimes faith means leaving the light on—and trusting God even when you don’t know if anyone is coming home.