Have you ever felt the rejection of your child, and sensed his hatred towards you and, in spite of this, reached out your hand to love him. . . only to have it bloodied with his blow?

Have you ever, after watching him grow almost to manhood, had to endure his scorn and feel him detesting your love...this baby who not so long ago was dependent upon your breast for his life?

Have you known the unbelievable pain as he, who as a little one sensed you deeply in a way more spiritual than natural, used that sensitivity to inflict a wound that tears at your soul?

Have you had to watch as he deliberately wasted the gifts you've nourished in him since you laughed tears of joy at his birth...and there's not a thing you could do?

I can't seem to build calluses deep enough.

But free he must be, God deemed it so, even to reject, to ignore, to scorn and to imprison himself within the walls of his own soul.

Given time he may tire of his parched bones and reach in thirst to the well, deep with love, from which I've drawn on his behalf since his birth . . . and in reaching be satisfied.

Lord, share with me the hope and patience with which you wait. And give me solace in the knowledge that you do know how I feel because I'm not the only one he's rejected.