The downstretch

We are down to the final lap of the race. The lap that is said to be the most difficult and tiring. I haven't ever run a marathon before but I have seen clips on YouTube where people have to be carried across the finish line. If the next few weeks are like today, then I will probably be one of those people. Except I will have 4 kids piled high on top of me. Whoever has to carry me better be pretty strong.

This past week I let my mind think a lot of ugly and scary things. I forgot to "hush my fears" and got really carried away with them. When your husband is in a war zone and you don't hear from him for five days, that can happen. I know that doesn't seem very long but we've been very spoiled in the email/text/facetime department and have had pretty much daily contact since he left. After the third day I decided to track his phone (I love iPhones for that reason) but it just kept silently shouting the word "offline" at me. 

 

I started worrying.

I stopped sleeping.

I was googling casualties and other awful things in the middle of the night while feeding the baby.

 

I knew I was letting it get out of hand, but I've never been one not to worry about something. It wasn't like him to just drop out of the picture without telling me he was going dark or radio silent. I ended up calling a friend who has been here before and she pulled me down off my crazy chair.

 

By Tuesday night I was praying so fervently. "Please just let me hear something. Just let me know he's okay. Even if it's just for a minute."

 

In the middle of the night I got a text that simply said, "Hi. I'm back online." I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, only to be awakened a few hours later by a familiar ringtone. Finally we could talk again and I got official word that he was alright. He told me to turn the TV on and watch my favorite morning news show.

 

Bottom far right

 



 

 

Talk about the biggest tender mercy EVER. We spent the morning watching each half hour segment only to see him waving to the camera again. While the kids were so ecstatic, I was thanking Heaven for answering my prayer so profoundly. What greater proof could I have that he was alright (aside from being home)?

 

 

 

 

 

This was manna to my soul, in every sense of the word.

 

And I did my best to save enough morsels to last me these next few weeks.

 

Back to that whole race metaphor.... Like I said, I've never done this before. I try to tell myself that other women have done this, for longer periods of time. That notion holds me steady for a few days, but then I start wearing down again. The last lap is asking for every drop of energy I have left. I can see the finish line in the distance, but it seems impossible to get there. My kids are done. Like in a big way. I am doing my best to keep them all hanging on and distracted as much as possible. It won't ever be said of me that I was awesome through all of this. I have kicked and complained and cried and murmured.

 

And yet somehow despite all of that, I have been miraculously blessed to see the Hand of the Lord so perfectly. It has constantly been stretched out in my behalf and is so much more recognizable to me than it ever was before.

 

I know Who will carry me across that finish line. And I know that He's plenty strong enough.

 

 

 

Speaking of strong...

Isn't he handsome?!