I Don't Wanna Hear It

I was not very gracious to my dad when I spoke the words in the title to him.

I went over to Mom and Dad’s house to visit one evening when Dad started in.  What he was saying went over like a lead balloon.  If my memory serves me right, his words began with, “You’ve got to get in church!”

But the one-way conversation didn’t stop there.  He continued with more finger-pointing when I interrupted him.

“I don’t wanna hear it!”

I should have stopped there, but I didn’t.  “If I have to listen to this every time I come over, I’m not coming back!”

I should have replied with more finesse and respect, but I was rough around the edges at that time.  I usually spoke my mind without considering the impact my words might have on those on the receiving end.

Dad didn’t have to tell me.  I already knew I was running from God.  I knew the miserable state I was in, but I wasn’t ready to face it or change direction.  In my heart, I knew God was the answer to my troubled life, but I didn’t want to hear it.  Nor was I ready to do His way.

Everything went quiet.

I saw the look on Mom’s face and immediately regretted my words.  Dad wasn’t trying to condemn me.  He was concerned for my well-being and wanted me to go to heaven.

I was a young man who thought I had all the answers.  Those who knew me would probably say I was hardheaded, brash at times, and determined to do my own thing—with or without someone’s permission.

I was strong-willed and incorrigible.

The people I associated with were certainly bad influences, yet I wanted to be like them, and I was succeeding.  I had been deceived by Satan into thinking that being tough was macho.

But it wasn’t.

It didn’t take long for that environment to change my personality.  I was becoming someone I wasn’t meant to be—angry, frustrated, and increasingly distant from God.

As I look back on my past failures, I can see how my life was teetering on a cliff overlooking a deep pit of despair and anguish.  I took out my frustration on everyone I rubbed shoulders with.

Sadly, I felt the pangs of sorrow most every day.  I desperately needed spiritual support and guidance, but I refused to give in to the gentle call of the Holy Spirit.

I didn’t want to hear it.

When everything else failed to satisfy that gnawing, empty feeling inside me, I finally found Jesus.  Or, more precisely, He found me—sinking in the cesspool of iniquity, going down for the third and last time.

When He cleaned me up, inside and out, everything changed!  Peace like a river flooded my soul.

Can you guess who I called after God forgave my sins?  Yes!  My dad!

Mom and Dad’s prayers had finally been answered, and they were thrilled beyond words.  The Prodigal Son had found his way home after wandering in the wilderness of heartache.

I thank God for praying parents and praying siblings who didn’t give up on me.

Looking back now, I realize something I could not see then: my parents’ persistence was not condemnation—it was love.  They saw what I could not see.  They knew I was heading in the wrong direction, and they kept praying.

If God could redeem my lost soul, He can do it for anyone.

Perhaps you are praying for a loved one right now.  Maybe that person seems as far from God as I once was.  Maybe they don’t want to hear it.

Don’t give up hope.  Don’t stop praying.  Prayer changes things.

James 5:16 says, “…The effective, fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much.”

One day, you too may rejoice over that lost soul who came home because of God’s mercy and saving grace.

Written by,

Papa Boyd