I married when I was just 19 years old, and, despite my
attempts to be a good wife, my marriage failed shortly before the birth
of my second child, Karl. I was distressed but determined to be the
best single parent that I could.
To support my children, I got a job and tried with all of my
might to balance parenting and work. At first, Karl seemed unaffected
by the divorce, but as his father’s visits became less and less
frequent, I could see Karl withdrawing into himself.
When Karl was 12 years old, his father died. I tried to
comfort Karl, but he angrily barricaded himself in his bedroom. “I
don’t care,” he insisted. But I could hear him crying on the
other side of the door.
When Karl entered high school at age 14, I prayed that he
would do well and go on to college. Unfortunately, it became almost
immediately apparent that Karl was having difficulty adjusting. His very
first report card indicated that he was failing all of his
classes because of poor attendance.
I talked to Karl about this. I attended numerous
parent-teacher meetings at the high school. I sent him to
counseling. I went to counseling with him. I tried punishing
him—even begging. Nothing worked. Every day, I dropped him off at the
high school entrance on my way to work, and after I drove away, he
crossed the street and hung out in the park with the other
dropouts.
The low point for me came the day I received both Karl’s
report card and a letter from the coordinator of the school’s
talented-and-gifted program. The report card indicated that Karl had
been absent 45 times and had received five failing grades. As a result,
he was now a full year behind his classmates. Incredibly, the letter
said, “The scores on your son’s IQ test indicate that he has
above-average intelligence. Please call our office to discuss his
future. We are convinced that he will do well in our college-bound
program. He is exceptionally bright.”
This was the last straw for me. I couldn’t get Karl to go to
school, much less enroll in a program that required extra effort. I
felt powerless and began to cry. Then, after what seemed like hours, I
dried my tears and began to pray. I asked God to take my son into His
arms and dry his tears. I asked God to be the father that Karl
never had. I asked God to inspire Karl to live up to his full potential.
When I finished praying for Karl, I was rewarded with a sense
of peace that I had not known in years. I slept soundly that night,
fully convinced that Karl’s situation was going to be all right. And,
from that point on, I stopped trying to make my son go to school. I
turned the situation over to God—and I waited.
A few weeks later, I answered the phone at work. A man with a
deep voice asked for Karl’s mother. “That’s me,” I replied. “What can I
do for you?”
“I am Karl’s school counselor,” the man said. “I want to talk
to you about your son’s absences.”
“Oh,” I said. “I am glad to hear from you, but I want you to
know that I have already tried everything I can think of to get Karl to
go to school. Now, it is up to the Lord.” With these words, I began to
cry and poured out my heart to this stranger on the phone. “I love my
son,” I said. “I want only what is best for him. But I can’t make him do
something he refuses to do. God knows I have tried. So, I am going to
continue praying for him and love him no matter what he decides to do
with his life. That is all I can do for now.”
When I was finished, there was silence on the other end of the
line. Then solemnly the man said, “Thank you for your time, Mrs.
Peabody. I will stay in touch.”
Karl’s next report card showed a marked improvement in his
attendance and grades. I was ecstatic. The following semester Karl was
on the honor roll. I couldn’t believe the change, and yet I had prayed
for it.
For the next two years, Karl continued to work hard. He went
to summer school and evening classes at the local adult school to make
up the classes he had failed. He was determined to graduate with his
class even though I assured him that it was all right with me if he
graduated a year later.
Halfway through his last semester in high school, Karl invited
me to attend Parents’ Night. There he took me from classroom to
classroom, introducing me to his teachers. They were all very happy
about Karl’s improvement.
Before we went home that evening, Karl escorted me to a patio
adjacent to the school gym. We sat on a wooden bench just silently
enjoying the spring evening for awhile. Then Karl turned to mewith a
smile. For a second he hesitated; then softly he said, “Mom you have
never asked me why I went back to school. Don’t you want to know?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I guess I was so happy that I didn’t want
to question it.”
“Well,” he said, “I would like to tell you. A couple years
ago, I decided to play a joke on you. So I called you at work and
pretended to be a school counselor. For some reason, you didn’t
recognize my voice, and so you shared with me your innermost feelings
about the problems I was having. What you said saddened me and made me
ashamed. At that moment, I knew deep in my heart that I had to do
something to make things right. From that moment on, I resolved to do
better—for myself and for you.”
So amazed I couldn’t speak, I gave Karl a hug and silently
thanked the Lord for making my dream come true. I also thanked God for
renewing my faith in Him because now, more than ever before, I know that
God has the power to intervene—to talk to us through our
hearts—to move us to do things we would not ordinarily do.
Christ lives, my friends! Not just through the Word, but
through action. We are not alone, and we never need to feel
forsaken.
Susan Peabody writes from Berkeley, California.
