I grew up a preacher's daughter. Southern Baptist, none-the-less. And I faithfully lived up to that stereotypical prodigal. I spent years in deep pits of self and reaped many consequences. But God.
One early morning a stranger mugged me at gunpoint. (True.) I vaguely remember his face, but I will never forget the fear that humbled my soul. My Maker got my attention. He reached down and lifted me out of the quicksand of self. And He placed me on the firm foundation of His love. I have never been the same.
During those years of enslavement to self, my earthly dad went on from this physical world while my mama remained on her knees. She believed God to be the only hope. She was right.
I now rise up and call her blessed.
I bless her for the faith she passed to me. The fear of the Lord, her God. Reverence for the One whose plans cannot be thwarted.
His promise fulfilled.
This prodigal blesses.
This prodigal blesses.
Now I'm a mama. These are them. My kids. One with his eyes closed.
I trust that as I fear the Lord and allow His Truth to well up inside me, seeping out onto my kids, my man, and those in my world, that they too will one day rise up and call me blessed of the Lord. These three young ones with callings on their heads to be mighty warriors of Him will not be forsaken.
There will be times where they individually must work out this whole thing--this walk of faith. But as their mama I desire to stand firm on the promise.
They will rise up and call me blessed in Him.
This lady of the Pages walked by faith. And it resulted in blessing.
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