Prayer is the mortar that holds our house together.
-Mother Teresa
Leathery wrinkled skin outlined in the bones of my father’s face. He sat slumped in the chair in my living room and stared out the window. I feared this man. He could make me cower with one stabbing angry glare.
As I stood in the shadows, a part of me wanted to walk away, give up, resign. Another part of me wanted to try one more time. I prayed, “God, I want a better relationship with my father and time is running out. It would be a miracle if he changed.” Something deep inside opened up and I added, “God, if it be Your will, use me as an instrument to bring my Dad back to You.”
Quietly I walked over and sat down in the chair across from my father. He seemed unaware of my presence. I swallowed hard and reached across to rest my hand on his lizard-like one……….
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