The swamp

As parents we sometimes try to shield our children from the harsh realities of life … We try to protect them from themselves … from making the same mistakes we did …

There is only so much we can sheild them from and sometimes we must let them enter the swamp, with deceiving signs of safety and be ready to watch as snakes bite, and hope that they remember enough of our words to nurse the wounds and get the venom out … that their souls would not be poisoned by bitterness …

Then we hope that they would remember their way home … but if they do not, I hope they can learn to spot the snakes and steer clear of them. But then if the cold should take hold they would remember enough of our warmth, that no fire in the wrong lap would entice. And if it should burn, that they would remember that the fire sheltered by elders never burns … that they might be drawn back home

But if they should continue, that “inswaswa” the sounds of the swamp would not tear at their confidence. That they would remember the value in our toil for them … every sacrifice possible … but if they should be so broken down that our toil seem meaningless … that they would remember the man who gave up riches to hang for them.

And if that memory be not enough, and they find themselves trapped in sinking sands, in strings and beds of their own making, that Jesus who in His word promises never to lose those entrusted to Him, will not forget his promise towards His own.

… He owns her heart …

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