Wrestling

The next day was Isaac's birthday. We’d celebrated it already – on that last date we had together, but my heart broke in two that the day did not begin with a ridiculously early morning phone call from me to him…singing off key and wishing him the happiest birthday he’d ever known.

Just as I’d so hoped that driving away from his old home would be a moment of deliverance for him, I hoped this day would be the healing. It was his birthday! How could God let the first day of a new year of life pass by without offering a healing?

I remembered the account of Jacob wrestling with the Lord and that night, I determined I would wrestle. I would wrestle all night long if I needed to, but I would wrestle.

When I walked in the door after work, I did not even step out of my heels before I started pacing the floors of the living room, dining room, and kitchen in an attempt to wrestle with the Father. I cried aloud…I fell on my face on the floor – before the Throne of Heaven…I begged. I quoted Scripture. I did everything I knew to do.

I'd never wrestled before. Not in real life (certainly!) and not spiritually either. Not like that. I didn't know if there was some sort of formula or a method I should be following. (I'm pretty sure there isn't.) But my heart could not have been more sincere than it was that night. I was committed to an all-nighter if need be. I would not stop pounding on Heaven's door on behalf of Isaac. I wouldn't.

I became physically exhausted after hours of pacing, crying, praying, begging, and quoting. But even though I told God I'd keep going, He urged me to stop and rest. Reminded me that resting is sometimes as important as wrestling.

So I crawled into bed with my journal:

Today is Isaac's birthday. Even just a couple of weeks ago, I had dreams of calling him first thing to sing to him…texting back and forth throughout the day…savoring this with him even from a distance.


Clearly that did not happen. The pain and agony in my soul today was so significant that at one point, I literally thought I might have a stroke.


I came home and read the account of Jacob wrestling and then I set about wrestling on my own.


Jesus, Your peace settled over me in that way I have come to know. I claimed Your Name, Your power, your blood against the power of Satan. I claimed Your victory over my life, Isaac's life and our relationship.


Jesus, I want to be respectful of the time You need to work in his heart, but I also believe You can heal him. Please do it for me. Please touch him. Please touch me. Please don’t let Satan gain a foothold in the relationship You have ordained. Please be mighty. I praise You even now for the work You are doing.


Do your work. Be big. Be bold. Be glorious and I will shout Your Name, Lord.


Jesus, I beg for Your mercy. Have compassion on us. Do Your will. Help us to soar.


How do I let go? It’s the question I’ve been asking. Show me how to take my hands off and let You do Your work. Show me how to rest in Your care and believe – unswervingly – that You will do this for us.

I will tell you that as far as I know, nothing specific happened in Isaac's life that night. I don't know for sure...I never asked. But I do not believe anything fell from Heaven and instantly changed his heart. But of this I am sure...those hours of prayers were not wasted. They reached the Throne and somehow, in some way, benefited his life. They were not in vain. They may not have done what I wished they would have as I labored over them. But they were not in vain.