My Finish Line is his Starting Line

In eight hours, our son will be set apart as a full-time missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  For the next two years, Steve will be serving the wonderful people in the southern part of Mexico.  For the past 18+ years, Mark and I have wanted this opportunity for him.  I have been planning for this day, hoping for this day, eager for this day, wondering if this day would ever come, and even dreading this day, questioning if what I have taught him has been enough.  I am on the last leg of this marathon that I have been running with him since his birth.  We have not been alone.  There have been times when I have hit the wall, times when I have been desperate for some much needed water, and countless times when I have simply needed to stop and rest.  I have built my strength back up to keep running, but I have never quit.  Believe me, there have been times when I have wondered what quitting would be like.  Like the time that nice police officer called at 3:00 in the morning to ask me where my son was.  I groggily told him that he must be curled up in his bed, fast asleep.  Apparently he wasn't.  He was not in real trouble, other than breaking a curfew.  It was sort of funny . . . the first time.  And then there were some of those parent-teacher conferences.  And his Sunday School teacher asking me once again where he was during class . . . And then that one or two times when  . . .

Oh, but he's come a long way.  And, when I think about it, I have, too.  Like any other marathon, I have been delighted to run this one, but found it at times to be dismally difficult and grueling.  Now, with my finish line within arm's reach, I don't think it was all that bad.  In fact, I have rather enjoyed most of it; and endured the tough uphill miles with a smile--or at least half a smile.  Okay.  There have been some days where I have whined and cried my way up those hills.

In his talk this past Sunday, he mentioned what a wonderful mother I have been, and how excited he is for this next chapter in his life.     . . .   Sigh. . .  All those uphill battles and challenges . . . worth it, just to hear those few simple words.

After we drop him at the curb at the MTC tomorrow, I will come back home, maybe go down to his room, breathe in his lingering little boy/manly smell, and I will probably sit down and cry.

My marathon of getting him ready to run his own will at last be finished.

Stephen has been preparing all these years, and he will be on the Lord's time now.  Hopefully he will keep the same Running Companion that I have needed and had by my side throughout mine.

I will be Steve's loudest earthly cheerleader.  I will be there to hand him water when he needs it, and even hold up a poster of encouragement now and then.  I will be anxiously waiting for him to cross his own finish line in 24 short months.

But tonight, as the starting gun fires and he takes off running, hopefully he will remember that there is Someone who is not only willing and ready, but eager to be with him throughout his entire marathon, just as He has up until now.  He will not be alone.  Stephen will be running with the most experienced Runner of all.  One who has been through it before, and will be there to buoy him up, support him, encourage him, give him water when he thirsts, a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold when he faces and trudges up those hills.  Oh how I hope that he will just reach out for that sweet Support,  that incredible Power that will guide him--all the way to the finish line.