I was feeling rather anxious. My teenage daughter was singing along to a song on Capital Radio. The day before, I had been bobbing up and down in the driver’s seat to the same song, but had stopped when my ‘all too fussy Christian head’ warned me that I should perhaps find out what the lyrics were before I give my parental approval.

On checking the words, my suspicions were confirmed. The non-radio version of this song contained F-words and such and I wasn’t keen on Sarah liking it, even if the version being played in the car was cleaner.

She scowled as I lowered the volume. She grimaced even further when I switched it off. She pouted when I began my ‘Christian mother’s wise explanation.’

As she emerged from the car and headed towards her school, my stomach flipped as my eye scanned rebellious-looking girls in their 3 inch-long, skirts. Tight as a bandage on a bruised arm. I thanked God that Sarah was too self-conscious to wear one, as she considered her legs to be too slim. But, if she had been happy to wear a skirt, how I would get her to hold her head high in a knee-length, A-line one was beyond me.

“It’s their parents’ fault.” I would tell her. “They should set an example by submitting to authority. The school’s rule is that skirts should reach no higher than the knee and be loose on the legs. As Christians, we need to honour the instructions we’ve been given and show respect by obeying the guidelines. Geesh, if I was a boy, I would love going to this school!”

She’d heard this, many times. I knew what she was thinking:

“Only the geeky girls wear pleats. You know, those who are into computer coding and spend their break times in the library. And a few Muslims, but most of them wear trousers.”

I sighed as I turned the car round and drove past a row of black-nylon thighs.

“Be anxious for nothing…” I heard inside my head.

“…but in everything, with prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God…”

I thanked the Holy Spirit for the timely reminder and begun to pray.

“I’m so worried Lord. She doesn’t show any interest in the things my sister and I did at that age and her church is much more vibrant than ours was. We didn’t have…”

My comparisons drifted away as I realised that I was sounding like a mithering old lady.

“…and the peace of God which surpasses all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”

Was I at peace? No. I was letting fear have control instead of asking God for parental wisdom, then trusting him to take the lead.

There are times in my life when halfway through a panicky prayer, I sense the Holy Spirit coming up behind me with one eyebrow raised. I then sense one of those clearing of throats that people do when they are trying to get someone’s attention. Right there in the car, there was a very high eyebrow in my imagination and the throat-clearing was so loud, I knew a rebuke was coming.

“So…you have forgotten, haven’t you?”

“Forgotten what, Lord?”

“What you were like. At that age.”

“Umm?”

“No, I’m not talking about your school skirt. I know you looked like a granny. I’m talking about your taste in secular music.”

“What, Madness?”

He shook his head.

“That dodgy song by The Specials?”

“No, that isn’t what I’m referring to. Though you’re catching on, I see. You’ve remembered how you loved blurting out that undesirable lyric at the end of their song, but it’s the song from another group which I’d like you to focus on. Think harder.”

The penny dropped. Blondie. Her song, ‘Victor’.

“Oh yes. You’re there. Now, remember how much you loved that song because most of it was just screaming? And how loudly you would play it in your bedroom? And that particular line you used to shout out along with Debbie Harry? With glee? You would screw up your nose, close your eyes and bellow together, a phrase, which if your daughter sang it, you’d be aghast.

Then, the head-banging near the end of the song when the rhythm changed? You remember, don’t you?”

I smiled guiltily as I recalled the passion with which I played that song over and over again. I had hollered, thrashed my head about and revelled in its air of insurgence.

“Now imagine that Sarah comes home tonight, goes into her room and plays that song with the same gusto you did.”

I got his point. ‘Victor’ sounds like the type of song one would only like if one was suffering from deep mental disturbance. Yep, despite the foul language in the one Sarah was enjoying earlier, it was a nursery rhyme compared to this.

“And you turned-out okay, didn’t you?”

“Er, yea. Kind of.”

“Because?”

I hadn’t yet learnt the lesson he was trying to teach me.

“Ah. Because I had…praying parents. A mum and dad who were a little worried, but who brought their concerns to the foot of the cross and trusted You to sort them out.”

Later on, I shared this chastising revelation with my husband and laughing, he said,

“At least you weren’t into the Sex Pistols like I was.”

He blinked his eyes rapidly like he does when his mind is flicking back to the past and he warbled a line in a weird cockney voice,

“God…save…the Queen!” then chuckled as he walked away.

I realised that we cannot shield our children from the world around them. They may indeed at some point, have odd friends. Yes, bad company corrupts good morals and while our children are young, we should endeavour to steer them away from those we know aren’t suitable companions; but there will come a time when they are old enough to make their own choices and all we can do then, is pray for them and be willing to give gracious advice when asked. But also, those unsuitable peers can become pillars of society years later, ending up being good, strong role models who will lead our very own children onto the right paths.

God can use anybody to do anything.

I realised also, that God wants us to persevere. Don’t give up. Never stop praying and trusting him to perfect the outcomes.

He promises us that, ‘The heartfelt and persistent prayer of a righteous man is able to accomplish much when put into action and made effective by God. It is dynamic and can have tremendous power.’ (James 5:16)

If you have a child who is unteachable, wayward and totally uninterested in the things of God, take heart, it’s not over. If your child is an adult now and still shows no signs of becoming the person you prayed them to be, take heart still. God is not deaf. He’s not senile and his memory is excellent. He remembers all the cries up to Heaven you have forgotten about.

It’s never too late to continue.

In the meantime, we mustn’t forget to thank him for all the good he’s already done and the stuff that he’s working on behind the scenes.

As I nipped onto YouTube to bring up Blondie’s hits, I thanked God for my parents and for the prayers they prayed for me that I didn’t even know about.

I found ‘Victor’ and pressed the play button. It still sounded like it should only be enjoyed by those who see demons in the kitchen, but knowing I was of sound mind, I decided that so long as I don’t make this choice of music a habit, I could have fun laughing at the memories it conjured up. Just memories of being young and innocent. I had no intention of habitually playing this kind of song, as I was well aware of how music is influential in the unseen spirit realm and how the devil likes to use it to manipulate the minds and emotions of the unsuspecting.

Nevertheless, I played it as loud as I could without causing the neighbours to bang on the wall. I felt a little guilty after it finished. Not because I had blasted it out at top volume, but because for some strange reason, I still like it.