A certain man had two children, and the younger of the two said, “Father, give me my inheritance. And the man divided his property between the two children.
Not many days later, the younger child gathered all she had and took a journey into a far country, where she squandered what she had on riotous living. And when she had spent everything, there arose in the land pestilence and rioting and looting in the streets. And she joined with them, turning her back on all she knew of the Father’s ways.
Every day, her father watched at the door for her return. But in the back room, kneeling in supplication before God was her mother. Daily, the mother fasted and prayed for her wayward daughter. Hour by hour, her father watched at the window. But the mother fought the battle for her daughter’s soul on bended knee, running the race, keeping the faith.
Daily, the mother strapped on her spiritual armor—her belt of truth, her helmet of salvation, her breastplate of righteousness. She took up a shield of faith that had been plunged into the waters of baptism. With feet covered, she took up her sword of the Spirit and battled the spirit of rebellion that had taken her daughter captive.
And an enemy approached the father and told him it was useless to keep up his vigil for his lost daughter. The enemy said, “I have won her; she is mine. It is useless for your wife to pray and beseech God for what will never be.”
Yet, the father continued his vigil, and I pray on. For faith is the assurance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen.