Blogs are funny things. They typically morph into a highlight reel of everyday life..."Isn't this funny?" "Look at the awesome things we did this summer!" "He graduated!" "Sure, I gripe about the silly annoyances I encounter...but I largely refrain from writing about the hard things that we are absolutely dealing with.
And, that is for a good reason. It's because I don't live in an emotional vacuum. My life is made up of interactions and relationships with my husband and children and family and friends. My sorrows are their sorrows too. My anger and frustrations are usually aimed at one of them. Is it fair to hash out the tough stuff in a public(ish) arena?
Now...honestly. The only people that read this blog are me, my mom (because she loves me), Megan (when she's bored at school) and the other kids...after I've printed the year and popped in on the shelf in the living room. So there isn't a big risk for widespread exposure. But I believe my kids still have a right to have their hard times remain private unless they choose to share them with the people in their own lives.
But today I'm going to try to walk the line between sharing something and oversharing something. Because this experience has shaped us. It has taught me and tested me and brought me to a different place. And, oh my word, it hurt. And I wasn't even the main character in this story. Someday, I would love to hear how this felt to him...and the way he sees it all.
So let's go back to September 2019...Ethan got his mission call and we all gathered in the living room. Covid wasn't a thing back then. The house was packed with friends. Family joined in over a Facebook live event. Oh my goodness. He was so happy. He was called to Sydney Australia...which, by itself, is proof that God knows adn understands him. He was made for The Bush!
Look at that smile!
The next few weeks were filled with dental appointments, vaccinations and obtaining a passport. Things were going right along. And then they weren't. Ethan was sad. He seemed worried and unsettled. We waited and tried to give him the space he needed, but we were worried too. He met with the bishop and the stake president.
He did something I will forever admire.
He was honest. Even thought it was hard and it came at a cost.
He decided that he needed to make sure he was leaving on his mission with no reservations and nothing unresolved.
I'm not going to pretend that I didn't cry myself to sleep that night...that week. I was worried. I was worried about how this would effect him and all the ways that this could spin him out. I worried about his heart and his perception of himself. Would he feel the love that we have for him, that God has for him? Would he discover for himself that the atonement is a gift and not a punishment? Would he have the strength to hold on to his desire to serve a mission?
I really didn't have the answer to those questions. Because I'm not him. And that's the real kicker of parenting, right? I am not the one calling the shots here. I now get to take a step back and be a secondary player in something that I feel so invested in. Is this how God feels? He's so invested...he KNOWS what we should be doing and yet he has to step back and let us exercise our agency. Does he ever just cry himself to sleep?
So, Ethan's call was cancelled. He went through the tough process of answering the questions of well-meaning folks for about 3 months...
"So, when are you leaving???"
"Well, I'm not going to be going right now...."
"Oh? Why not?"
Good gravy, that was a long 3 months.
Then he settled in to working and preparing himself to resubmit his papers. He got a job as a pharmacy technician...that's way better than cashiering and fetching carts in Kansas weather (yes, all the Kansas weather, minus 2 glorious weeks in the spring and fall). He grew and shaved his beard a dozen times over. He bought and sold a truck, read the Book of Mormon with Trey Stewart and adopted the Petersons as his second family. He rejoiced when Kylie came home from her mission and Laynie came back from college. He worked and played and persevered. Then...
Trey left. Kylie and Miranda left. Laynie left.
He started to feel the year stretch out in front of him.
He passed the sacrament. He blessed the sacrament. One fall Sunday, Mathew and Ethan sat up there together and blessed the bread and the water and I cried tears of joy into my mask and prayed that the temple would open up so we could all go together.
October 8, 2020 Ethan met with President Boyack and resubmitted his mission papers. He bounded out of that office and his happiness was a physical presence in that hallway. We went to go get some BBQ and he and Mark excitedly made predictions of where he might be called to. There was no guarantees that his papers would be approved...but they chose to have faith. They weren't afraid to be happy.
We thought they would come within 3 to 4 weeks.
Then we thought they would come within 6 to 8 weeks.
Surely, they wouldn't take longer than 12 weeks?
In the end, he waited almost 4 months.
4 months that we didn't know we desperately needed. 4 months to think. 4 months to pray and plead and talk and heal. That 4 months changed our lives and our hearts and I can honestly say that having that 4 months was a gift from God.
On the morning of January 29th, the kids were scattered all over. Some were finding socks, some were eating breakfast, some had already gone out the door. Ethan sat in his jammies and casually logged on to his missionary portal to check the status for the millionth time. I could see him reading and I could tell that he had just read his call.
"Ethan Hufford! What are you reading??"
No comments:
Post a Comment