The history of immigration has many beautiful examples of heroic efforts put in by parents in order to keep their children to a high standard of morale discipline and faith. It’s really not easy. Hopefully someone will find the courage and share with us how this difficult work looks like?

Not everyone has the strength to endure, and sometimes the lack of good will and wisdom in adults destroys the future of their children, spouses, and that which at the beginning was supposed to be the start of a better future, but turned into a nightmare poisoning their lives. However, Jesus can heal even those wounds which sometimes seem irreparable, and find solutions to problems that a person alone would not discover…

Editorial LK

I’m the son of two doctors, so I can’t say that I didn’t have food, shelter, or money… I think that sometimes I had too much, because many a time it brought more pain than usefulness. And that I’m here today writing about what I lived through, and that I’m still alive, is not credited to my mother, father, or myself. Nowadays I’m able to openly admit, “I really regret that because of me an unborn child was murdered, that with my money the doctors performed this “operation,” that I traumatized the lives of several people, and that I also take the blame for the death of my friend, who died in a car accident late at night under the influence of alcohol and narcotics.

I recognize that much of what I did was a sort of subconscious revenge against my parents, who left me alone with my grandparents for many years. My mother left when I was four years old. My father joined her two years later. Then I joined them at 12. For eight years I was raised by my grandparents. When I first came to the States I felt completely alone, without friends, overlooked by my parents, because they were consumed with work and my younger sister, who was born in the states. Often times I felt rage and wanted to return to Poland as soon as possible. In this dejected state, I finished elementary school, with bad grades, disdainful towards everyone around me. After starting high school, I began to spend more time away from home. My parents didn’t know what to do with me. We finally came to an agreement, but only after I was able to borrow their car and money. My grades improved a little, but it was a halfhearted effort. My world revolved around a group of similarly disposed kids, who often experimented with drugs, held parties with prostitutes, and their parents swept it all under the rug in fear of the police.

I don’t know how long this could have lasted due to the wake-up call, which was the death of one of us. The police began searching for answers. Parents were furious, and for us it was harder to talk to each other like we did in the past. This was the first time that I began to seriously think about my life.

However, our habits were a little too strong to easily change.

In college it was similar, but by chance, or maybe without it, there was a change. During one semester, there was a girl in class who I wanted to meet. However, she seemed to know something about me because she kept to a polite distance. This irritated me and despite my feelings I decided to talk to her and find out who she was. Even though not much came out of it, because of her I met a group of young people, who prayed. I thought of what they did as purposeless and a waste of time, but I noticed that the way they talked about God was different than what I had heard before. They shared their experiences, talked about Bibles verses, and discussed their life stories… It turned out that some of them courageously admitted to having dark pasts, and pointed to God’s intervention as the only way to change what was evil into good. At the time I was still very skeptical and much distanced from any matters of faith. I often mocked my friend’s pious practices and encouraged her to go to parties with me instead of wasting time. Nevertheless, I kept coming to their meetings, albeit sporadically; it was really more from curiosity and stubbornness. Then, in the spring of that year, I totaled my car, broke my leg, and was confined to my home. Before long, two people from the prayer group visited me and asked if I would like for them to have a prayer in my intention, and if I wouldn’t mind having a prayer meeting at my house. I was surprised, but I felt that I could endure this “incursion,” so I confidently replied, “no problem, come by.” Inside I was laughing at what my parents would say about this.

When the day of the meeting came I felt very uncomfortable. The people arrived on time and soon began with a prayer. I felt as if something was building up inside of me, a strong feeling of “shivering” from within. I began to sweat, and when they put their hands on me, it felt as if someone directly touched my heart, melting it like hot wax. It was a complete shock. For several minutes after, I still felt this shock, and even though one person tried to explain what happened to me after the meeting, I absorbed very little. The next week, with cane in hand, I hobbled over to the meeting trying to find out more about what happened. And finally, I came to the realization that it was Jesus, resurrected and alive, who gave me the chance to discover his loving touch. That night I could barely sleep. My entire life flashed before me, into which Someone whose presence I never believed in suddenly became real.

I underwent a total change, which didn’t result from my parents’ pleas, sermons, or reprimands, but from prayer and the testimony of people who lived through the experience of meeting with “Living God.” Today, I feel that I can say to all parents who are experiencing similar problems with their children: find a place for them among people who live consciously in the presence of Jesus. Do everything you can to help them find Him, before they hurt themselves and those around them.