Last summer, our youngest son—now 21—declared his independence and left home. Living at home while attending college had felt stifling to him, and though he had long wanted to leave, my husband and I had always opposed it. But one day, a company related to his major offered to cover his tuition and living expenses if he joined them. Without hesitation, he packed his things and left.

Among our three children, our eldest daughter had already married and moved out, and our second daughter had recently become independent. We had hoped to keep our youngest with us at least until he graduated. The night before he left, we imagined all the hardships he might face living alone, and our hearts grew heavy. “When you get there, find a church first and stay rooted in your faith. Eat plenty of vegetables and fruit, and drink water instead of soda…” We had so much to say, yet the words settled like sediment in our chests. As we sent off a child who might never return home, we avoided each other’s eyes, afraid our hollow hearts would be exposed.

For a while, he called to say he was doing well. We comforted ourselves with the thought that only through freedom could he truly grow. But a few months later, he called and said, “Mom, I haven’t eaten in two days.” “You haven’t eaten? Why?” We were traveling in California at the time, and the joy of the trip vanished in an instant. It was a Friday evening, and there was nothing we could do to help. “Then go hungry for two more days, or talk to your roommate,” I replied coldly, though my heart collapsed in confusion and disappointment.

Not long after, he called again early in the morning. “I had a car accident. I’m not hurt, so don’t worry. But the car is completely totaled.” When we saw the photo he sent by email, it was a miracle he had survived.

He had thought that leaving home would bring freedom and ease, but daily life demanded unexpected responsibility and cost. All we could do was watch from afar and pray for his safety. Eventually, he realized it wasn’t yet time for independence and returned home. We accepted the missteps, financial losses, and academic setbacks he experienced over the year as part of his growth.

Then, a few days ago, he handed us a small card. Inside, it read: “Mom, Dad, will you forgive me?” I couldn’t even finish reading it before embracing him and saying, “Of course! We’ve already forgiven you!”—and tears poured down.

To see a child recognize his mistake and ask for forgiveness is a joy beyond words. All the worries and hurt feelings we had melted away like snow, and we felt bound together by a deeper love and stronger faith than before. Through this experience, I began to understand what it means that the Lord delights in forgiving us—always.

© Wanhee Yoon

(Faith Column #16, LA Christian Today, August 15, 2007 )