Not long ago I was driving Sam and his friend Josh over to Josh’s house where the boys were going to spend the night. But out of the blue, Josh changed his mind about wanting Sam to stay over. “I’m tired,” he said suddenly, “and I want to have a quiet night with my mom.” Sam’s face went white and blank; he has so little armour. He started crying. I tried to manipulate Josh into changing his mind, and I even sort of vaguely threatened him, hinting that Sam or I might cancel a date with him some time, but he stayed firm. After a while Sam said he wished we’d all get hit by a car, and Josh stared out the window nonchalantly. I thought he might be about to start humming. It was one of those times when you wish you were armed so you could attack the kid who has hurt your own child’s feelings.

“Sam?” I asked. “Can I help in any way? Shall we pray?”

“I just wish I’d never been born.”

But after a moment, he said yes, I should pray. To myself.

So I prayed that God would help me figure out how to stop living in the problem and to move into the solution. That was all.  — Anne Lamont