I am a daughter, not a son. However, over the years I have heard the stories of many men and boys who have been parented by scarred, flawed women. The struggle has been real. In Girl Like Me, I mentioned that, ‘many times girls like me who haven’t traveled the road of restoration in a healthy, godly way sometimes leave a trail of hurt and pain behind us. ‘ Many mamas carry baggage that they unload on their children. Many sons have never been told who their fathers are or they may have been lied to. For many men this is an unbearable pain that could be soothed by just a simple honest conversation.
This is very difficult for me, but I need you to hear the cry of my heart. I want you to know that I love you and nothing will ever change my love for you. I know it has not always been easy for you. I sense somethings are very hard for you to talk about. Some stories you’d rather forget – some questions you’d rather not answer. You may have made choices in the past that you regret. That regret seem to have pierced a hole in you – a wound that has not been healed. You have been wearing a cloak of shame for a while. You seem to wear it as an accessory. Maybe it feels comfortable. I get it.
I sense it’s hard to tell me some things. Maybe you think I wouldn’t understand or I would love you less. Be comforted with the knowledge that my love for you is unconditional. I often look at the creases on your brow and jaw lines; I see you have weathered some storms. You have bounced back from some, but I see some have left you bent over in spirit. I hear your sighs and I know in the darkness of your own space you have shed many tears. You share many of your’ lessons learned’ and I can taste your cynicism many times. I have learned to listen to what you are not saying. I understand that your own internal struggles may have limited your ability to see outside of yourself. For a minute, I would love you to see me and my pain.
I don’t ask for much. I just ask for the truth. Not a twisted version of what you would like it to be. I’m bleeding here and I need your help. I don’t blame you for the things I wrestle with. Facing my own inner conflicts has led me to this place where I recognize there’s a need to revisit parts of my story. You are part of my story. That part that I cannot extricate myself from. You were there when I was first kissed with the breath of life. You cocooned me for nine months – we ate from the same table. You were my first love. I now need you to help me ‘breathe’ as I am suffocating under this tangled mess in my heart and mind. Talk to me mama – tell me the truth.
I know there are some things you cannot give me. Only God can heal the broken me and I am trusting Him for that. I also know there are somethings that God won’t do because He has graced us with the ability to do them. He expects us to make corrections – to undo some wrongs when necessary. He promises to give us the strength to do so. Mama, can you receive that strength today? Mama, help me help those who love me. I can’t bleed on them too.
‘ Your Broken Son’
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