As I mentioned last time, my daughter and godson have the chance to walk on Chrysalis weekend C-94. In fact, we all drove up last night, and so they’re 24 hours in on their adventure with God. I’m so excited for them!
I’ve found myself thinking about them a lot today. I’ve been wondering how various events have gone; I’ve been thinking a lot about how powerful my own Emmaus weekend was last spring, and I’ve been really, really wanting the kids to have that kind of amazing experience of God’s love that I had.
And then it hit me: that’s what I wanted to have happen. It’s not my weekend; it’s not even the kids’ weekend. It’s God’s. The way he came into my heart that weekend–well, that might not happen for either of them. Because the way he touched my heart–to reassure me of his unending love–might not be the same way either my daughter or my godson need to be touched.
I was busted. I had dropped off the kids, but I hadn’t let go: I was still trying in my heart to stage-manage their experiences, to tell God what I wanted to have happen for them today and this weekend. How the Spirit and Jesus show up in their worlds isn’t for me to prescribe, and if I tried to make it into my own weekend, it would fail. It’s one more lesson in the (seemingly never-ending) course of learning to let go, and to place the whole thing, not just the parts I want to give up, in God’s hands.
Come, Holy Spirit; come, Lord Jesus. Come into the C-94 weekend and fill the hearts of your children. You alone know what it is each heart needs, and you alone are capable of binding their wounds and restoring them to what you would have them be. I quit trying to manage the weekend on your behalf; I let go and I let you come into their lives as fully and as much as you know you need to. You know what will most powerfully affect each life up there on the mountain, and I know in your own time you will make yourself known as each one needs you. Forgive me my arrogance, and let me pray for them all in your mercy. Amen.