Last night I was crying. I was missing my missionary, and feeling extra bad because I got news that someone had mistreated him--pretty badly, I thought. He didn't seem that upset by it, but it just hit me at the wrong moment, and I started worrying that no one is taking care of him. He's in a new area, he needs new shirts, it's bitter cold, his ride stood him up, so did his dinner appointment, boo hoo hoo.
I said to my husband, feeling on the edge of despair, "No one is helping him! They left him stranded, and he had to walk 10 miles in the dark and it's TEN FREAKING DEGREES!" My heart was ready to break.
Kate was sitting across the room reading, and she looked at me and said, very calmly, "Mom. He's never stranded. He's a missionary."
And the thing that happened next was kind of miraculous. My troubled heart was calmed. Immediately. And completely. That never happens to me! I have to talk myself into calming down, and work at it and take deep breaths and use half of a box of tissues. I tried to ignore it, and I used my sassy voice in my mind, but the peaceful feeling covered my fear and eased my heart. It was a tangible warm feeling, and I couldn't deny it. I knew that my daughter was right. My son is never stranded. He's a missionary. And the Lord watches out for his servants--and their Moms.
3 hours ago