By Kathryn Barney

I was fiercely committed to helping my mentally ill, rebellious son get the help he needed. In fact, I had never been so passionately dedicated to anything in my life. Like any mother, I loved him with all of my heart — a heart that was breaking as we fought our way through an ongoing, painful crisis.

I was desperately, singularly focused on helping him. (I know desperation isn’t the best tool for achieving goals, but at that point, I was desperate.)

Over the years, I had learned Rare Faith principles, but I had never truly internalized them or become skilled at applying them. In the beginning of this five-year ordeal, I didn’t even think to use the principles. I was operating completely in survival mode.

As the situation escalated, I knew deep down that my son needed intensive residential care. I threw myself into trying to make it happen. I researched facilities. I consulted with therapists. I fought with our insurance company. I left no stone unturned.

The RTC (residential treatment center) I had my heart set on was one I had known and trusted for years. Family members, close friends, and neighbors had all had good experiences there. My son was even receiving outpatient therapy there. I was convinced it was the right place for him.

But I ran into obstacle after obstacle. The hardest part was dealing with people involved in his care who seemed to block every step I took. It felt like they didn’t understand the urgency. It felt like they were blaming me. It felt like they were unwilling to do what needed to be done to save my son.

I fought for a year and a half. At one point, we even took legal action just so I could make decisions about his care.

Still, nothing worked.

Finally, I remembered the principles I had learned but never really used. I prayerfully and carefully wrote a goal statement — but this time, I intentionally did not make "RTC" the goal. The true goal was that my son would receive the treatment he needed: treatment that would be the most effective, the most efficient, the most productive, and the most cost-effective. I wrote that we would be able to afford it, that he would have the people and experiences he needed, and that everyone involved would be cooperative and supportive.

I accepted that maybe the RTC I wanted wasn’t the answer. Maybe there was something better. And I turned it over to the Lord.

I recorded the goal statement and listened to it ten times a day.

That’s when the miracles began.

First, his issues escalated dramatically (which meant the insurance company would be much more willing to approve intensive treatment). Almost overnight, the people who had blocked my efforts began to support us. Then, out of nowhere, we were offered a spot in an RTC I had never heard of before.

I kept listening to my goal statement even after he was admitted.

For four months, we faced insurance reviews every five days. Every person involved in his care — especially his other parents — was riddled with anxiety every time. But I stayed completely calm. I knew the way would be provided until he finished what he needed to complete in treatment.

The most incredible part was the timing.

For a year and a half, I had fought to get him into the program I thought was best. If I had succeeded on my timeline, he would have ended up in the wrong place, with the wrong staff, at the wrong time. He would have been pushed into treatment before he was ready, insurance likely wouldn’t have paid, and we could have lost everything trying to cover the costs.

Instead, he ended up at the perfect facility. The staff was phenomenal. Communication with us was exceptional. The programs were powerful and well-taught. And they were experts at working with insurance.

It felt miraculous — because it was nothing like what I had originally planned.

A year later, my sister — facing a similar situation — placed her daughter in the RTC I had originally wanted for my son. It was a severe disappointment. The therapists were mediocre. The program was ineffective. Communication with the family was practically nonexistent. That experience just confirmed what I had learned: timing is everything, and the Lord knows best.

Because I surrendered my plan and trusted His, my son received the right treatment, at the right time, in the right place, with the right people.

Thanks to the Law of Gestation, my results came exactly when the Lord knew it was time.

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