Greeting the Unknown With Faith

For almost three weeks now, I have been anxiously waiting.

I hate waiting.

When will that envelope come in the mail? When will I know where Jordan will be spending the next two years of his life?

He could go anywhere in the world. Will it be a safe place? Will he have modern conveniences? What language will he speak? Will he have a piano?

I hope he has a piano. His musical soul needs that, even if only at the church where he can play for a few minutes between Sunday meetings.

Uncertainty is my nemesis. It twists my insides until I feel like I might explode.

But this is out of my hands. Out of Jordan’s hands. Neither of us gets to choose the next step in this journey. Serving a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is an act of faith. His fate was in God’s hands from the second he submitted his application two and a half weeks ago.

So we wait.

I am usually not a nervous mom. I don’t stress about many things. But he has never been away from home for longer than a week.

A two-year mission is a long time in comparison, especially when we will only be able to talk to him twice a year, on Christmas and Mother’s Day. Weekly emails will be our only other source of communication, aside from the occasional package or handwritten letter.

How will he fare in a faraway place, away from everything that is familiar?

I am a little worried. A mission is what we have always wanted for our kids, but everything right now is so unknown.

Before bed, a few nights ago, Greg and I discuss where we think Jordan might serve. His assignment will hopefully arrive in the mail sometime next week. Greg guesses Africa. I think he might stay in the United States. Neither of us really know.

I drift off to sleep with missionary service on my mind. Two hours later, at 1:30 am, I awake with a start. The words, “Don’t worry; I’ve got this,” run through my mind with perfect clarity, almost as if somebody spoke them out loud.

The grogginess of sleep instantly subsides because I have learned to recognize that voice.

“Don’t worry; I’ve got this. I have a plan for your son, and he will go exactly where I need him to be. He is in my care.”

An answer to a prayer.

I breathe. Slowly. Gratefully. In and out.

But sleep eludes me.

For an hour, I lie there, restless, listening to my own breathing and the sound of the night. My mind attempts to process the feelings that so suddenly awoke me from a peaceful slumber. My emotions are raw, my thoughts racing, yet peace envelopes me like a blanket, chasing all remnants of worry away.

Finally, my mind quiets. The unknown becomes serene. Safe. Inviting.

I greet it with faith.

All is well. All is well.

 

Do you want to learn more about why our church encourages young men and women to serve missions? You can read about that here.