April 2023, I’m standing in my kitchen at home. I’m getting ready to say goodbye to my son before he flies to Ukraine for a mission—a mission that I won’t be joining him on. And I’m nervous. My heart is already starting to race, my mind facing that familiar threat to spiral down into anxiety. I can feel the fear scratching at the door. Hey, Chad. Remember me? I have to take a deep breath and force myself to calm down. It’s all too familiar.

But it’s also different.

Hunter is about to lead another mission to Ukraine, but it’s not him that I’m worried about. If 2022 has taught me anything, it’s that my firstborn son is one of the most reliable, dependable, resourceful men I have ever had the privilege of working alongside. Since the start of thewar Hunter has made nine trips to Ukraine, most of them without me. He’s spent time with units like Safari traveling throughout the country, delivering life-saving IFAKs, training troops in TCCC and how to be spiritually resilient. His comms network now covers almost the entire country, and he has received so many reports of how his work has saved lives. He’s calm under pressure and has the most amazing ability to connect with people the world over. When Hunter talks, people listen. And when Hunter listens, people open up. I trust him to do well, and I trust God for him too.

So, no, this whisper of fear that I’m feeling is not about Hunter.

It’s about Hayden, my second son and youngest child. He’s joining Hunter on the trip. He’s never been to Ukraine before.

Hayden is a Marine, just like Hunter, just like me, and just like my father. He’s smart, clear-headed and has been working with us at Mighty Oaks for the past year. He and Hunter are going to Ukraine alone, just the two of them, to meet with Ukrainian officials and continue the work with our network of chaplains. But right now, in this moment before Hayden comes over and I say goodbye, knowing

all that doesn’t seem to be making a whole lot of difference to what I am feeling inside.

I guess some lessons take a while before we really learn them. Or maybe it’s just that if we want life’s biggest lessons to really take root, we must be prepared to practice them over and over. If we want to grow, we have to be prepared to work.

All the time I was in Ukraine with Hunter it seemed to me like I was in some kind of spiritual exercise. It was as if God had me doing countless reps of the same questions that had been raised for me back in 2018:

Do I understand that He loves Hunter more than I ever could?

Do I believe that He can protect Hunter better than I ever could?

Am I willing to trust God so much that I am prepared to place Hunter in His hands?

It took all those trips out to Ukraine, with all those moments where I could feel the weight of the risks that Hunter was facing, but eventually the learning took root.

And when that happened, the change was one of the best I’ve ever experienced in my whole life. As I was able to let go of the anxiety of what might happen to Hunter or now Hayden, I started to truly appreciate the ways in which my sons were stepping into the work God had ordained for them. As I took my focus off my own dark fears, I was able to see the beauty of God’s providence, to look upon my sons with more pride and gratitude than ever. The more I learned to truly trust God for my sons and relinquish them into the hands of Jesus, the more I was able to appreciate God’s love for all my family, and even myself.

In other words, letting go of my fear changed so much more than how I felt about those I love and want to protect. It started to change my faith too—the more I practiced trusting God with my children, the more I wanted to trust Him with other parts of my life.

That’s what I need to remember.

I believe that was God’s lesson for me all along.

And I think maybe other parents need to know it too.

It’s so tempting to want to be in control of protecting our kids or our wives. But we don’t have anything like the level of control we think we do. Cars crash, natural disasters hit, cancers grow, the geopolitical landscape shifts leaving innocent civilians to face the full force of a First World superpower. We’re kidding ourselves if we think we have the kind of strength that can keep any of that at bay.

But God is in control. He’s in control of all our lives, from the first breath to the last, though the way He exercises control doesn’t look the way we might expect. We reach for control out of fear, closing down the horizons ahead of our loved ones because we’re just too scared of losing them.

God does it differently. For Him, being in control means being there for us, no matter what we’re facing. His arms are always open wide, always inviting us to turn to Him. To rely on Him. To find that in His love, we will find all that we need.

——————

Hayden arrives. He’s not looking nervous, but he’s looking serious. He knows the weight of what’s coming. He knows what he’s getting into, what he’s risking. And he knows why he’s doing it.

“You okay?” I ask when we’re done hugging.

He nods.

“On this trip, Hunter’s not your brother. He’s your boss, and you’re in good hands.”

Another nod.

“And he knows what he’s doing. So do what he says, right?”

“I will. I will, Dad. I love you.”

“I love you, too, and am proud of you.”

I have so much more to say, but decide this is enough. Hayden needs to know that I trust him. He needs to know that I’ve got faith in him. But more than anything, he needs to know that he has a Father in Heaven who loves him one hundred times more than I ever could and he needs to see me demonstrate my trust in Him.

So Hunter, Hayden, and I all pray together.

Then we hug again. I tell them I love them.

And then I say goodbye.