Anthony and Kate in Liberia last year. Photo courtesy of AJ Beephan

In which I feel the familiar fear for my children’s welfare creeping in but choose to fight back with gratitude.

As each year passes, I become increasingly aware of the fragility of life. We’ve lost friends and relatives to intense battles with cancer. We are in close relationship with others who are unemployed. We have friends in Liberia who now have a deadly plague raging through their homeland. As we launch our eldest son next week, I feel anew the sharp realization of how little control I now have in his life.

During my tenure as parent, I have fought off legions of fear. I’ve laid in bed when I should be sleeping and prayed—no begged God to protect my sons. All the while keenly aware that death will indeed steal hundreds, perhaps thousands of children that very night. Living in this fragile tension can be crazy making. Literally. The what ifs occasionally extinguish my joy and dominate my thoughts.

Today, this week, this season, I refuse to give in. This does not mean that I dissociate or pretend. It means that I choose to have a thankful heart. That I offer sincere gratitude to the one who brought my son to be twenty-one years ago. It means that I will intentionally delight in this wedding—that I will marvel that he and Kate found each other.

When our sons were young boys, my husband and I began praying that they would marry early and marry well. Thank you God for answering that prayer. Thank you for this beautiful, smart, passionate woman who said yes to my son. Thank you for the means to celebrate. Thank you for our lives. Thank you for love. Thank you for a reason to celebrate in these dark and confusing hours.

(I’ve been writing a short post every day for the past five days. Scroll back through if you want to catch up.)