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I heard a story about a family whose twenty year old son had become rebellious. He spent his nights wasting away with drinking and parties, and

he constantly spurred his parents love. One night in a drunken stupor he appeared at his parent’s home, stumbled through the door and passed out on

their floor. As the father was about to wake him and kick him out, the mother gently knelt down beside him, place his head in her lap and caressed his hair.

When the father began to speak, she said, “Shhh! This is the only time I get to hold him. He’s still my son. I want to hold him.”

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