A Third Letter to Parents of Prodigals
When Hope Feels Heavy | By Virgil Walker - Sola Veritas
There are certain aches that don’t announce themselves anymore. They just sit in the background—like a chair that’s always empty or a number in your phone that hasn’t lit up in months.
The early days were filled with tears, prayers, and pleading. Now, the silence just lingers. It no longer shocks you. It shapes you.
Some of you reading this have been in that place for years.
You’ve watched birthdays come and go. You’ve sent messages that were never returned. You’ve learned to smile in public and grieve in private. Others of you see your children regularly—maybe they’re polite, stable, even respectful. But underneath the surface, you know: they are not walking with Christ. They know the stories. They know the songs. But they do not know the Savior.
That ache? I know it.
My wife and I have walked that road. We’ve wept over it. Prayed through it. And while the sharpest edges of the pain have begun to fade, the ache remains. Not every day. But often enough to remind us: we’re still waiting, too.
There was a time when they curled up on the couch and asked questions about heaven. When they sang hymns in the back seat and reached for your hand during prayer. You remember those moments not just with joy, but with ache.
We’re still asking God for the joy of seeing all our children—not just moral, not just close to us—but truly saved and pressing into a deep, abiding relationship with Christ.
So this letter is for you.
Hope Isn’t Light—It’s Weighty
Some people talk about hope like it’s helium. As if it lifts you up and makes everything feel better.
But real hope—the kind that holds in the dark—isn’t light. It’s weighty. It’s the kind of trust that plants your feet and says, “I still believe God even when I can’t see what He’s doing.”
This kind of hope doesn’t dance. It kneels.It doesn’t deny the pain. It weeps through it.
Abraham had this kind of hope when God told him to count stars while Sarah was still barren (Romans 4:18–21). That’s not optimism. That’s worship.
So don’t be surprised if your hope feels heavy. The weight means you’re still carrying it.
God Sees What You Don’t
You can’t see what God is doing in the far country—but He can.
He sees every choice your child is making. He knows every consequence coming. And He’s not indifferent. He’s not slow. He’s sovereign.
There’s a famine in every prodigal’s future. And for the morally lost child, there’s a moment of exposure ahead. God knows how to bring crisis to comfort, and conviction to casual hearts.
"The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.” — Exodus 14:14.
You don’t need all the answers. You need assurance: God sees what you don’t.
When Your Faith Gets Quiet
There were seasons I couldn’t even pray with words anymore.
I’d kneel by the bed and just sit there. I’d open my Bible but feel numb. And I wondered if faith meant I should be “stronger.”
But the Bible never defines faith as emotional energy. Faith is confidence in God's character. Sometimes that confidence comes out in a whisper. Sometimes in a groan.
"Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words." — Romans 8:26.
If all you can do is sit in the silence and say, “God, You know,” then you're still walking by faith.
Waiting Is Not Wasting
One of the enemy’s favorite lies is this: “Nothing is happening.”
But in God's economy, waiting is never wasted. The farmer waits for the harvest. The watchman waits for dawn. And the parent of a prodigal—or of a church-raised child still dead in sin—waits in hope. Not because time heals, but because God moves.
"I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning." — Psalm 130:5–6.
You are not waiting in vain. You are waiting in faith.
Don’t let the world convince you that waiting means weakness. It’s the quiet strength of someone who knows that the story isn’t over.
Keep the Light On
Maybe you’ve been tempted to harden your heart. To move on. To shut the door and lock the pain behind it.
Don’t.
The father in Luke 15 didn’t chase, but he didn’t change the locks either. He held the door open with conviction. He kept the robe and ring close. He waited without enabling—and loved without compromising.
That’s your role too.
Not to control. Not to chase.But to stand—firm, prayerful, watchful.
And to make sure the house still smells like grace when the prodigal returns.
To the Parent Who’s Tired of Hoping
Let me speak this plainly:
You are not weak for feeling tired. You are faithful for still standing.
Your child’s rebellion doesn’t erase your obedience. Your weariness doesn’t cancel your witness. God is not grading your performance—He’s holding your tears.
"You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?" — Psalm 56:8.
He sees. He knows. He cares.
Don’t let go of hope—not because it’s easy, but because it’s anchored in the One who never lets go of you.
You’re not forgotten. Your prayers are not wasted. Your tears are not unseen. And this story is not over—because the Author still writes redemption in ink that never fades.
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Five Psalms to Read When You’ve Run Out of Words
When your own words fail, God’s never do. These Psalms became lifelines for me—prayers I didn’t have to write, just receive. I share them with you now:
1. Psalm 13:1, 5–6 "How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?... But I have trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. I will sing to the LORD, because he has dealt bountifully with me."
2. Psalm 42:11 "Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God."
3. Psalm 56:8 "You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?"
4. Psalm 130:1–2, 5–6 "Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD! O Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my pleas for mercy!... I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning."
5. Psalm 34:18 "The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit."
If you’re walking through the long silence of a child’s rebellion…If you’re grieving over a child who grew up hearing truth but never embraced it…If you’re wondering whether God still hears after all these years…
Know this:
The silence isn’t the end.
The door isn’t shut.
The Savior still saves.
And the story—your story, their story—is still being written by a faithful God.
Stay the course. Hold the light. Trust the Author.
He finishes what He starts.
Thank you, Virgil, for this excellent article. My husband and I raised five children. Of those five, only one is walking with the Lord. One claims knowing Christ, but starting dating a man she knew was not a Christian (“he was searching”), allowed him to move in with her and eventually married him. He still is not a Christian. How our hearts break when we see these dear children that we prayed for every day reject the God of the Bible. We rejoice in the one son who has persevered in the faith. He is such a comfort.
We continue to pray for you and your ministry. May God continue to guide and direct and we will give Him all the glory.
My heart goes out to you, and every grieving parent. These posts have been so encouraging, and this reminder is timely. We have 7 kids. One we have not heard from in 12 years, one that is so opposed to God it makes me cringe, and one on the edge of bad decisions. I have read these verses before, but putting it all together with the reminder of God's sovereignty is what I needed to continue in weighty hope. Thank you.