Laying the Monkey to Rest

Laying the Monkey to Rest

Philippians 4: 6&7

6 Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; 

7 and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

   I have been living with a monkey on my back for more than 20 years.  The monkey was named guilt.  This week I had a chance to face my greatest failure and deal with the guilt that has been nagging at me for more than two decades.

   To start at the beginning, I lost custody of all my children during a family crisis in 1983.  We were given  custody of the three oldest children back, but the two youngest were left in the foster care system.  They were eventually adopted by families, but the family of the youngest, Samuel, moved out of NH shortly after.  I never heard from them again.  I was already feeling guilty over the pain I allowed to happen to my children, and now I lost track of one of them.  The guilt became a burden so heavy it nearly crushed me beneath the load at times.  I prayed many, many times about finding him, but never learned anything about him.  I have searched for him for many years but never found a single clue.  I found out recently that I had been spelling his last name wrong. 

   In January, I received an email message from some woman I did not know asking if I knew of any Cram who might be related to a Samuel Peter.  I sat staring at my computer screen, not daring to believe the words.  I read and re-read that message, and finally replied back that I had had a son named Samuel Peter and gave all the info I could remember about him.  She wrote back to me and told me her husband was adopted and was trying to find out who his birth parents were.  She gave me a phone number and asked me to call.

   That night, I picked up the phone and tried to punch in the number, but couldn’t.  The monkey on my back dug its guilt into my brain and froze my fingers.  What if he hated me?  What if he just wanted to talk to me to tell me he never wanted to hear from me again?  What if he been abused and had suffered in his childhood?  What if…  What if…  What if…. 

   I was frozen by fear and guilt and had to force myself to finish dialing.  The phone rang and then a deep voice answered, and there I was face to face with my greatest failure and that mountain of guilt rose over me again.    

   We talked and slowly my fears melted and my guilt fell away.  I explained what had happened, and he began telling me about his childhood and his family.  We talked for a long time and said our goodbyes.  I hung up the phone and felt the claws loosen their hold in my brain.  Later that week, his wife invited me to come visit if I could.  It was almost Sam’s birthday, and she thought it would be great if I could be there.  I talked it over with my wife and then bought a Greyhound ticket and rode 23 hours on a bus to get there.  He met me with his family and we spent time together and we laughed and we cried and we joked and we had serious conversations.  I showed him little mementoes I had saved all these years which were all I had to remember him by.  I also had a picture of a hand-made Christmas ornament I had purchased with his name on it the year he was taken into foster care and told him I hang that ornament every year to remind me of him.  I would hang that ornament and say a quick prayer, “This year, Lord?” 

   And somewhere during that whirlwind first day that monkey on my back died.  I basked in the love I felt from him and his wife and from their four kids.  Sometime during the very first day he went from being a fading memory in my mind to a real person:  a man, a dad, a husband, a soldier, and my son.  His wife greeted me warmly into their family and their kids went from being names and pictures to grandkids.   And at the end of my time with them I wished that the last day could have lasted forever. 

   God has proven His love to me many times and I don’t doubt He shows me grace and mercy in abundance.  Many times I’ve asked Him for some lead about what had happened to Sam, and many times I wondered why He hadn’t answered.  But I’ve grown up enough over the years to know that God has His own timing and my brain is not big enough to understand how and why He does what He does.  I don’t know why I wasn’t able to connect with Sam until now, but I am thankful that Rachel, (his wife,) kept trying as long and as hard as she did.  I am thankful for the support of friends and family who have helped and encouraged and prayed for a long time.       

   My heart goes out to the people who still haven’t gotten their answers.  There are thousands of missing kids, missing parents, and missing spouses and for each of them there are people who sit by windows watching and waiting for just a word to let them know their loved one is OK.  Pray for them.  Pray God covers them with His love.  The pain they endure is hard and goes deep into the heart. 

Stephen Cram                          March 2, 2011                    Colossians 2:8