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Tuesday, March 29, 2011

When Time Runs Out

The oldest resident boy in this house is 18.  Adult.  And in just a few months, he’ll be a graduate on his way in the world without my daily influence, or the protective net of love and safety that he has grown accustomed to in the years he has been here.

It makes me want to panic.  To fret and splinter and work hard to package every life lesson I can conceive of, then tuck it safely beneath his rib cage, straight to his core.

Don’t do drugs.  Always open doors for ladies.  Do unto others.  Love deeply, live fully.  And don’t forget to call.

I’ve been “mom” to him for less than a year and I see the hourglass shifting, the last few grains slip-sliding through narrow passages.  I don’t have enough time.

And so, it becomes my prayer, the one that’s always been.

Let this boy… and all these boys… see You, know You, and not just hear about You.

I’m desperate for them to gather the point of all this – of all the church services they’ve sat through, the special programs and weekly chapels, the summer camps and songs and devotions and meal blessings. 


Love that is more than religion and politics, bigger than pain, and more satisfying than any temptation.  Love that gave this hurting child a second chance.  Love that does not envy and does not boast and means so much more than words on a page.  Love that surrounds and uplifts, whether you lay your head in a dorm room or sleep under an overpass.  Love that transcends.

When time runs out, love is all that is left. 

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