Lord, Thou hast shown me the Tree, And I have tasted of its fruit. I know its sweetness. I know its light. I know the joy of standing near Thee. And because I have tasted, I want to share with those I love. Like Lehi, I look across the distance And search for the faces of those I love. My heart calls their names. Come. Come and see what I have found. Come and taste what I know is good. Some come gladly. Some wander for a season. And some, though I beckon with all my heart, Choose to not come. Lord, this is where it becomes hard. For everything in a parent's heart Wants to run after a wandering child— To leave my place and cross the distance, To explain once more, To plead once more, To somehow love them enough That they will choose to come. But Lehi did not leave the Tree. He called. He beckoned. He grieved. And still, he stayed. Teach me, Lord, that I cannot leave the Tree to bring someone I love. Help me keep my hand upon the rod When my heart wants to chase what I cannot control. Help me trust that faithfulness is not abandonment, that standing firm is not withholding love, and that I can honor another's agency without surrendering my own. Let me stay where the fruit is sweet. Let me stay where Thy light is found. Let me stay where covenants anchor me when winds of sorrow rise. I can mourn beneath the Tree. I can pray beneath the Tree. I can love beneath the Tree. I can call their names and leave a place beside me. And while I wait, let me partake. Do not let sorrow over those who are absent make me forget the goodness still before me. There is fruit upon these branches. There are people beside me to love. There is work Thou hast given me to do. There is still joy here. So I will not spend my life staring only into the distance. I will lift my eyes to Thee. I will receive what Thou art giving me today. I will love those Thou hast placed within my reach. I will keep becoming the person Thou hast called me to be. And if someday a familiar figure appears upon the path— If someone I love turns toward the Tree and wonders whether there is still a place for them— Lord, let them find me here. Not bitter. Not hardened. Not standing in judgment. But still believing. Still loving. Still partaking. Still holding out my hand. The greatest gift I can give my children is not to chase them into every wilderness. It is to show them, year after year, where home is. So when I cannot change their hearts, strengthen mine. When I cannot choose their path, steady my feet upon Thine. When I cannot bring them to the Tree, help me trust the One who knows exactly where they are. And whatever comes, Lord— Through disappointment and rejoicing, through unanswered prayers and unexpected miracles, through seasons of gathering and seasons of waiting— I will stay at the Tree. And I will trust that Thou lovest my children even more than I do. Amen.
