[Sam]

an article I read several years ago:

My Precious Prodigal

What I learned from my daughter's 9-year-plunge into prostitution.

I’ll never forget the nightmare phone call that shattered my world and nearly destroyed my ministry.

“Reverend Lundstrom,” the officer said, “I’d like to meet with you at the police station. Your 17-year-old daughter is scheduled to appear in court for propositioning a vice officer.”
My hands were trembling as I put down the receiver—and my whole body numbed as I weaved my way through traffic toward the main precinct station.

My daughter, a prostitute? Impossible!

My wife, Connie, and I had dedicated Lisa to Jesus Christ as a baby. We raised her on Bible stories, gospel songs and prayer. There must be some mistake!

The reality of this hellish nightmare was like getting hit with a cement block in the chest when I read the vice officer’s description of her proposition. When I opened the police file and saw her mug shot—my knees nearly bucked and I felt close to fainting.

But this was no mistake. My beautiful, precious daughter was a hooker working in a major Midwestern city. Lisa was in peril and my world, as a father, was in shambles.

I knew Lisa had been going through a spiritual struggle for a long time. I had tried to warn her of the dangers of living in a spiritually cold condition—but I never dreamed, in a thousand nightmares, that my daughter would become a prostitute.

Facing the Issues
You may have heard of Lowell Lundstrom Ministries. When the Lord won my heart in April 1957, my wife, Connie, and I enrolled in Bible college and began singing and preaching, traveling and evangelizing immediately. We started the “Message for America” radio program that was carried on 150 stations, and we produced prime-time TV Christmas specials seen by millions across the United States and Canada. In addition to these outreaches, we conducted city-wide evangelistic crusades where hundreds of thousands of people were won to Christ.

Lisa was our second child. Londa, her older sister, was very talented musically and so was Lisa. But Lisa never really enjoyed singing before audiences like her older sister did. Lisa also has a high-energy brother, Lowell Jr., nicknamed “Tiny,” who could bring down the house with his songs. He wore a cowboy hat and boots and was always a hit with the crowds. Our youngest son, Lance, was a quieter boy whom Lisa loved dearly and took care of when he was a baby.

Somehow, in the midst of all these ministry activities I failed to see that Lisa was hurting. She felt “sandwiched” in between her older sister and younger brother. She was more academically inclined and audiences seldom applauded her songs as much as Londa’s and Tiny’s.

I failed to see Lisa’s hurt and the unresolved conflict in her soul. This created a root of bitterness within her spirit. She never gave us any problems and was always faithful in her duties. But her inner anxieties were ticking away like a time bomb --ready to explode.
I tried to reassure her that her voice was beautiful—and that I loved her very much --but somehow it never registered in her heart. I continued to tour almost every night --trying to rescue others while my own precious daughter silently faded away from God and our family. I wish I could go back and live those years over again--but I can’t.

After appearing in court, the judge committed Lisa to my care. I was given jurisdiction over her activities, but the situation was so explosive between Lisa and me that almost immediately she was placed in a halfway house for teenage prostitutes.

Lisa soon escaped and headed south. She was under the influence of what the judge described as the worst pimp in the region. “I’ve been trying to get this man behind bars for many years” the judge told me, “but he’s too slick. He avoids getting caught or wins in court with the help of his clever attorneys.”

To think that my daughter had chosen a pimp as her mentor, and rejected me as her father, was devastating beyond words.

I knew that raising my children in the high-tension atmosphere of frontline crusade evangelism created a great pressure upon my family. There was definitely a risk involved. All four of our children grew up sleeping in guitar cases backstage, while Connie and I, the singers and band were out front preaching and winning the lost.

Many years earlier, when the children were small, I made what I thought was a fair deal with God. I said, “Lord, I’ll give my whole life to help your lost children get saved, but you must watch and guard over my children—protect them from Satan.” But now, Lisa was gone. And, worst of all, I felt God had double-crossed me.

Sometimes we wouldn’t hear from Lisa for months at a time. During those periods of silence, I didn’t know if she was dead or alive. In the midst of this agony, I felt God had betrayed me. I was experiencing a triple jeopardy in my soul: (1) God had failed me; (2) Lisa had forsaken me; and (3) some of my friends were distancing themselves from me.
Despite all this, I kept on traveling and preaching 300 nights a year --the same as I had for the previous 26 years. As much as I felt God had let me down, I still loved Him, believed in Him, and preached His message of salvation as faithfully as I could. Multitudes were coming to Jesus Christ every month.

But each day I had such a deep wound in my soul that my sorrow felt like a brick soaked in battery acid, eating away on my insides.

The one person I really wanted saved most was gone—and I didn’t know where my precious prodigal had vanished.

continued in part two