“And now, Lord, for what do I expectantly wait? My hope [my confident expectation] is in You” (Ps. 39:7 AMP). 

Great Expectation

Almost fourteen years ago, we welcomed an angry sibling pair, ages five and seven, into our home. With my husband’s support, I stopped working to focus on the needs of our children. We didn’t have the expertise to help them work through their trauma. Like a shuttle on a loom, I created a tapestry of resources, support, and services. I fully expected we’d be able to help our children  learn to soar.

Hopeful Expectation

When our daughter chose to forgive her birth mother, we watched forgiveness free her soul. I expected our son could experience the same relief. I often imagined the day we’d watch him graduate: I’d grip my husband’s hand and smile at the village of people who’d helped our son emerge from the rock-hard cocoon he’d woven around himself. Memories of heartache would dissipate in the light of we made it. The imagined scene motivated me to keep trying. 

Discouraged Expectation 

We worked to find solutions and help as his mental health deteriorated. His sister encouraged him to forgive. Nothing seemed to make a difference. Throughout his seventeenth year, he told us we interfered with his ability to “live his life,” although he also acknowledged our rules protected him. When he turned eighteen, he cut off contact.

Dashed Expectation

Today was not the day I’d imagined. A few days ago, our son texted a picture of a cap and gown. I asked if he was inviting us to his graduation. He said he’d decided not to walk. I was certain he wasn’t telling the truth. My husband and daughter didn’t want to risk taking off work only to find he really wasn’t at graduation, so I went alone. 

Conversations with school administrators confirmed he’d built a narrative  of “abandoned victim” with no one to support him. Our absence (“see, if my parents cared, they’d be here,”) would have been his linchpin. Another school leader, excited to communicate “see, they do care,” told our son where I was sitting. When the students lined up, he walked right past me and looked in the opposite direction. After the ceremony, I waited at the side door as graduating students streamed out of the building. Finally, I walked inside. A sympathetic principal shook her head. Our son had rushed out of the building through another exit. 

Unrealistic Expectation

I don’t often share our struggles, and you might wonder why I’ve done so now. First, I realized I’ve been clinging to an unrealistic expectation for over a decade. And that misguided expectation led to heartache. Second, I know I’m not the only parent grieving the ongoing loss of a wayward child.

Excellent Expectation

Psalm 39:7 says our confidence and our expectation belongs in the Lord. We can have a confident hope that he’ll always see us through. I don’t know if our son will ever work through his grudges and anger. (More than one therapist tried to help him see that his refusal to forgive—and his desire to cause others to “understand” his pain by hurting them—blocks his progress.) But I know that Jesus loves him even more than we do. I have an expectation that God will continue to send people into our son’s life to shine light and love. We won’t give up, and neither will God. That expectation is realistic and reasonable. 

This week, let’s evaluate where our expectation is focused and remove unrealistic expectations. Reading God’s promises can help us recalibrate our expectation. And if your heart breaks over shattered expectation and you’re fighting off sharp shards of grief, please know you’re not alone. I’m praying for you.