Her mind started doing what a mother’s mind often does: replaying memories like a film. Sabbath mornings. Little shoes lined by the door. A child repeating scripture with sleepy eyes. Hands lifted in church. Laughter in the car. Then later, questions, independence, and choices she couldn’t edit or manage. Then worry came with a whisper: Did I do enough?
That’s when Elevate Her spoke back, softly but firmly: Lift your eyes. Lift your prayers. Lift your trust. Because she wasn’t just looking at her child, she was looking at her own heart, and how quickly fear could become her counselor.
That night she opened her Bible and found herself in Luke 15, the story of the prodigal son. She read about a child who left home sure of himself, only to end up empty. Then quietly, something shifted: “he came to himself.” He didn’t just change locations; he changed direction.
But what stayed with her most was the parent in the story. The waiting. The watching.
The love that didn’t harden. She could picture the horizon like a long road stretching out beyond the house. Not the kind you drive, the kind you pray over. And she realized this story wasn’t only about a child who wandered. It was also about a parent who refused to stop believing that return was possible.
A metaphor rose in her mind like something God had placed there on purpose: A lighthouse can’t chase a ship through the storm. It can’t steer the captain’s hands. But it can keep shining, steady, bright, and unmoved—so that when the ship is tired of fighting waves, it can find its way back to shore. That’s what a praying mother becomes. Not a controller. Not a rescuer. But a lighthouse.
So she changed how she prayed. Not only, “Lord, fix them,” but also, “Lord, steady me.”
Not only, “Bring them back,” but also, “Keep my heart soft while I wait.” Not only, “Correct their steps,” but also, “Cover their life.”
And she held Proverbs 22:6 like a seed in her own palm. Train up a child…remembering that seeds don’t always sprout on our schedule. Some take time. Some go quiet for a season. But they’re not dead just because they’re hidden.
This is the part nobody talks about: sometimes the greatest act of motherhood is not what you can do with your hands, but what you can do with your faith. In that tender space, she whispered the simplest prayer she had: “Lord… meet them in the far country.”
Our children are important. So is this truth: God is better at reaching our children than we are. Where has fear been speaking louder than faith in my mothering? What “light” have I already given my child—scripture, love, example—that I need to trust God to use? What would it look like for me to be a lighthouse this week: steady, prayerful, and at peace?
Prayer
Lord, You see my heart. You know the love I carry and the concern I don’t always say out loud. I bring my child to You again. Like the prodigal, if they are in a far country, mentally, spiritually, emotionally, meet them there. Bring them to themselves. Let them remember what they were taught and who they are. And while You work in them, work in me: elevate me above fear, guilt, and anxious thoughts. Make me steady. Make me wise. Make me a lighthouse, shining with love and anchored in You.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
