“Billy tried to kill himself. H-he drank a bottle of ammonia.”

“Is he ok?”

“He survived, but his throat, stomach and sinuses are badly inflamed.”

“What happened? Why did he do it? He was doing so well.”

“He got kicked out of school..., again.”

That told me everything I needed to know. Billy had been kicked out of every school in the county, twice. The principal only let him return this third time, if I agreed to work with him.

If Billy’s mother knew who his father was, she wasn’t saying. In her atheistic, feminist mind, he had no need for a father on earth or in Heaven. He’d been robbed of the basic building blocks of life that every child needs.

I’d like to say that I was able to change this kid’s life forever, but I couldn’t. His dysfunctions were too deeply rooted. He was never able to look beyond the pain of his life without a dad, to see the Heavenly Father’s hands outstretched to him.

For a couple hours each week, I played the role of father, mentor and friend. But I could never fill his missing dad’s shoes. He prayed the sinner’s prayer, but I never saw the spark of new life.

All that was years ago, and his life since then has spiraled ever downward. Someone told me they saw him in an orange jumpsuit, in shackles, being frog-stepped down the courthouse halls. It was crushing news, but I was not surprised.

He’s in God’s capable hands now. We never scored a touchdown, but we moved the ball forward. Someday, the Holy Spirit will cause the seeds I planted to spring to life. Even in prison, God can shape events to move Billy ever closer to salvation.

More tomorrow...