When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called My son. But the more I called Israel, the farther they departed from Me. They sacrificed to the Baals and burned incense to carved images.
Someone at church might ask kindly how the children are doing, and if one of yours has gone quiet, you may reach for the short answer you rehearsed in the car. Later, on the drive home, the old thought can settle in beside you that this must somehow be your fault. An estranged child is a grief with no funeral and no casseroles, and it often arrives tangled up with blame.
Read the rest in the app
The full reading, a gentle practice and a question to sit with. The first 7 days are free; Pro opens the whole year.
