In Good Hands
In Good Hands
I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t prepared for the day I would send the elder of the Murphy men out into the world to become who I had affectionately called him most of his life, a man. When his sister had gone off to college, it was only a short drive, so if she needed me I could get there in less than two hours. This Murphy man chose a different path that led him a few states away.
I remember the first day we met. It was midmorning on a spring day. Some say he had the same personality as an infant that he does today. His demeanor is quiet and observant, and he has always stood out as a leader, not a showy one but one who is aware and concerned about those following in his footsteps.
His junior and senior years of high school sped by and everything was a blur. As a mother, I thought, this is happening. This is really happening. My son will make a decision soon about life beyond high school, and the grief of his impending decision began to affect me in ways I never anticipated. It began with fear and me questioning whether or not my son would be okay.
His thoughtful choice of the military would include structure and routine, but what would happen after his initial weeks of training? Would he decide to live across the country or on the other side of the world? His father and I did our best to co-parent, but had it been enough? Would he know how to discern people who may try to take advantage of his youth? After the biggest and scariest of questions, the small-and quite honestly-insignificant ones came. Would he remember that a load of jeans is only 5-6 pair and that a dash of olive adds unique flavor to pasta? Would he even remember to use the advice he’d given me over the years?
During the summer before he was to depart for training, his schedule was filled to overflowing. He spent time with friends who were headed to college and fulfilled an obligation to work with a local nonprofit organization. I tried to schedule a little time with just him and his siblings. However, due to a technology snafu, we ended up in different places. I could feel his hand slipping away from mine. I desperately tried to hold on, but I didn’t want to let on that I needed to hold his hand a little longer. There were a few more lessons he needed to learn and conversations with his aunts and pastor that he needed to have.
I was not ready.
His date to report for military training was on a Tuesday afternoon. The Sunday before, he was covered in prayer from our biological and church families. A family dinner was held. When his grandfather blessed our meal, he choked up while speaking words of encouragement over his oldest grandson. In that moment I knew; the Murphy man was not just leaving me. He was leaving a family who had nurtured, shielded, and protected him for 18 years.
The day before he left, I made a futile attempt to have a last-minute lunch. Just me and him. I wanted to look into my son’s eyes the same as I did when he was in his crib. The same eyes that-in middle school-told me no when I wanted him to pursue an opportunity he wasn’t interested in. The same eyes that also convinced me of his decision to join the United States Armed Forces. The eyes that always had a way of saying what I needed to know. We had exchanged a few text messages earlier that day, and when I asked where he wanted to go for lunch, he suggested, “I can just bring you something.” That’s not what I had in mind, but I agreed, and he delivered it to my office. As he stood in front of my desk with lunch in hand, I asked, “Where’s yours?” He replied, “I need to run an errand, so I was just going to bring yours.” Disappointed, I looked up at him ready to tell him how afraid I was to see him go, and those same eyes wouldn’t allow me to say those words, because I could see tears welling in them and feel them burning in my own. So, I simply said, “If you don’t want to see your mama cry, you can go ahead and leave. I understand.” He turned and walked toward my office door, and as soon it closed I wept.
What I learned from the look in his eyes is we were both afraid. My prayer was for God to wrap his arms around my son. Although I didn’t ask, God wrapped his arms around my heart and reminded me that the Murphy man was covered. Most importantly, it was His covering that made the difference and would cause all fear and doubt in me to subside. We-my family, children, and I-had been covered our entire lives, and I knew that wouldn’t change.
The days shortly after he started training were the most difficult, and God and I talked a lot. I wouldn’t hear his voice until eight weeks later. His words, “Hey, Ma,”was one of the sweetest sounds I’d heard. Through it all, God has reassured me countless times that my son, the Murphy man, is and will always be in good hands: His.
