Coming Home

Well, it's official. Mitch is on his way home. We got a call from him yesterday, and he was being transferred out of his platoon as we spoke. He says he is sure this is what he needs to do, and we don't have any other choice but to trust him, and move forward, having faith that he made the best decision for himself at the time. That is really all any of us can do. I do know that he struggled, and that he gave it his all.
We have known for a while that all was not well with him. It has been really hard, knowing he was really struggling, not being able to talk to him or know what was going on, and having absolutely no control or say in what happened to him. I don't think I have ever prayed as much or as hard as I have these past 3 1/2 weeks. The funny and confusing thing was that through everything, both Dan and I had this underlying feeling of peace, that Mitch was going to be okay. Then we would get another depressing letter from him, in which he did not sound at all like he was okay. I have realized that at times our idea of okay is not always the same as God's idea of okay. I thought my good feelings meant that Mitch would make it through boot camp and go on to be a Marine. Now I think it meant that he was having experiences that would change him and shape him and help him grow, and that he will come out of this stronger and better than he went in. That is what I am continuing to believe.

There is a lot I don't know. I don't know how soon he will be home. I don't have an
address to write to him. I don't know how he will feel when he gets home. And of course there is always the mom-guilt and the woulda/coulda/shoulda's. But I can't wait to put my arms around him and have him back at home. We will give him a soft place to fall for a while and then help him stand back up again.