If you met him on the street or at church, he would appear to be an ordinary young man. Early thirties of average height, with dark hair and handsome features.
An observant bystander might identify him as military because of his haircut and a certain bearing but there is no arrogance in his manners, no visible sign of the steely grit and determination that resides just under the surface.
I knew him as a boy, the friend of my oldest son. He was in our house many times over the years as he grew into a young man. I even scolded him for laying his dirty socks on my dining room table.
I listened to his aspirations of being a missionary to foreign lands, especially the Middle East.
And when I heard it, I felt a stirring in my soul. It was as if God confirmed that it would happen.
I felt a lot of admiration for his heart of service, but it was laced with apprehension. Like Mary, I pondered these things in my heart.
Time passed and it seemed his grand ideas of service had eased, giving way to daily life and work and play.
And then, the next thing I knew, he had married my daughter.
I took a hard look at the possibility of his dreams and desires taking him far away, this time with my daughter and future grandkids in tow.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but I truly wanted him to follow God’s leading in his life.
Following God’s plan means that our dreams and plans shift sometimes. I began to hear talk of SEAL training and Pararescue Operations, a way to help the people of the world and the Middle East.
And the stirring of earlier days came back.
I did not doubt that my mild-mannered, laid-back son-in-law would give it all he had if he chose this path. His parents raised him to put his head down and persevere through challenges- to never quit.
My daughter was hesitant and my son-in-law patient. I prayerfully watched as one year turned into two and my daughter’s attitude and support for her husband grew strong.
One by one, the pieces fell into place and the dream became a reality. My son-in-law left for PJ training.
For six months my daughter struggled to learn how to be a single mother. Her tears fell as she sat in our home, tired from the strain of little contact and longing for her husband.
Her daddy held her in his arms and reminded her of her strong, stubborn constitution, so like his own. It was given to her by God so that she could be the wife her husband needed.
My daughter grew stronger, her stubborn nature showing just a bit. I listened to one-sided conversations as she talked with her husband who was enduring testing that was unfathomable to me. Whenever his strength and determination wavered, I would hear her voice.
“You can do this. You have to pass. You have no choice. We didn’t come this far for you to give up now.”
So, he kept going and eventually, they were together again, this time far from family and home.
They were a team. She stuck by him, encouraging him on his hardest days, running the house when he was gone for weeks at a time, training, training, training. He told her she was doing great when she was sure she wasn’t.
And the missionary work? It was happening in their home as they opened it to the boys who were missing home and family life. Bible studies and games combined with home-cooked meals are a sure way to speak into the hearts of the weary and sometimes lonely young men that surrounded them.
That and playing with little kids…
Nine hundred and twelve.
That’s the number of days it takes to make up two and a half years. Days filled with laughter and tears, prayers and petitions, and even a little fasting. Days of hard work and perseverance, relieved by family jaunts into the desert or the mountains of Colorado.
Times of sacrifice and deprivation, both on his side and hers. Times of love and tender renewal of commitment to each other.
And most of all, a daily choosing to walk the road that God has called them to walk.
Nine hundred and twelve.
The number of days that it took to make my son-in-law a certified Pararescueman.
As I sat at his graduation, listening to the stories, the advice, and the warnings of what life would look like in the days to come, I was filled with pride for all that my son-in-law has endured and mastered.
I am also human enough to feel worry and fear. I want him to do the job well. I also want him to be safe. To come home safe.
Sometimes the two go hand in hand. Sometimes they don’t. I do not know the full extent of the plan of God.
I do know that He is faithful. That his plan for each life unfolds just as he ordains.
I can rest in that promise.
So, what will my son-in-law’s “missionary work” look like from this point on?
I don’t know. He doesn’t know.
But what he will tell you, if you ask him, is that he couldn’t have done these last two and a half years without my beautiful daughter’s unwavering faith, love, and support.
I suspect that in the days to come when the miles and the oceans separate them, he will hear her words more than once.
“You can do this. You have no choice. We didn’t come this far for you to give up now. We are both doing this so that others may live.”
Her love and faith in him, combined with her prayers and God’s will, is what will bring him back into her arms…
My heart holds great respect for my son-in-law and all the other ordinary-looking young men whose veins carry the same blood as the rest of the world’s but who have been given a constitution that enables them to endure hardships that most of us can only imagine. They have been trained to never quit.
That others may live.