Headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes.

I've had prodigals on my mind a lot lately. Thinking about children of friends who have taken a walk. Thinking about young people who were raised by parents who did everything they knew to do. Kids who grew up in church, who knew God, and walked. Away.

Most families have at least one who goes his or her own way. That's normal. I mean, even Jesus lost one disciple, right?

It doesn't matter. It's like saying that someone who has a miscarriage should just enjoy the children she has. Losing a child before they're born or losing a child to the world both equal heart break.

And I've been afraid. I have a lot to lose. And I'm looking at these older parents and wondering how, if they lost a kid or two, who am I kidding? Why do I think I can do better?

Now, in the same way I hope my children will learn from my journey, my mistakes, and improve on the model they were shown, certainly I can learn from those who have gone before me. They both set an example of what to do right and they give wisdom about what they would like to have done better.

And I can learn from those rare families who haven't lost any. I am walking in their footsteps, standing on their shoulders. I'm drafting. But drafting is dangerous. If I follow someone so closely, I can't see what's ahead. No, I have to have my head up and be able to see what is ahead myself.

Now, I live in a city where there are a few growing houses of prayer, places where people from any denomination can come and pray, open many if not 24 hours a day. And I have a little unofficial half set, an hour once a week when I go play the piano and sing to God. Usually there's almost no one there. That's fine with me. If people show up, my attention is sometimes a little divided.

So yesterday, at my little Tuesday 3 o'clock moment, I was singing to Him. It happened to be the monthly 'Global Bridegroom Fast', the first Mon-Wed of each month, so I was singing about longing for Him, yearning for Him. Even so, come. Come quickly, Lord Jesus. The Spirit and the Bride say come.

And when I sing that, come, I am longing and asking for Him to come and return and take His Bride (the church), to be with Him face to face. But I am also asking Him to come here, come now, come heal, come deliver. And I was singing to Him to return the hearts of the fathers to their children and the hearts of the children to their fathers.

He is the Father of the prodigals. He is watching and waiting. He never rests.

And this is the revelation I received, which may not sound like anything as I try to communicate it here, but was perhaps one of the most significant moments of my life. I will not win my children to Him by what I do or do not do (not that I shouldn't or won't do everything I can). He will win them because of WHO HE IS.

Headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes. In one of my favorite movies, Newsies, one of the newsies, a news boy in New York City, early 1900's, is telling another, new newsie that headlines are not what sells the newspapers in New York. They do. The boys on the street hawking the papes are what makes the money.

God is God. He will draw all men unto Himself. I will continue to pray, believe me, I will, that each of my children, and the sons and daughters my friends have lost, will have a revelation of Him. That the Word planted in their hearts would spring up and bear fruit. That their Creator would call them and draw them and lead them out into the wilderness if nessessary to turn their hearts to Him.

I will guard the gates - the ways different influences come into my children's lives. I will feed them good things, mind, body and spirit. I will give them every opportunity I can to encounter Him who my soul loves. But it is ultimately He who will draw them to Himself.
And He will.

I can't describe the peace I felt and still feel at that knowledge. It is possible that some of mine will take a good hard look at the man Jesus and reject Him outright. But He is magnificent. He is astounding. He is holy.

I think holy is the word I come around to when I'm trying to describe the indescribable. God is so . . . so . . . so . . . holy. I hope with each day, each hour, that my children will encounter One so lovely that they can not help but to love Him. And that His Awesomeness will burn in their hearts so deeply that if they walk away someday, that He will draw them back.

It's not me. It's Him. Headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes. I can't save them. I can't win them. I can't draw them. He can. He does. He will.