Today was fairly peaceful at our house. Only one major tantrum — yes, it was over spilled milk, as a matter of fact — and Boy played semi-quietly with a new friend. So with my little kids fairly contained, I have been able to train my powerful laser beams of worry on another target — my big kids.

I have three stepkids in their 20s whom I usually don’t blog about, mostly because unlike my little kids, the big ones can read. But today, my stepdaughter is front and center in my head. Tomorrow, she and her husband get on a plane bound for Kenya on a mission trip for their church.

When she first told me about this trip a few months ago, I thought maybe it won’t happen. They’ll change their minds, she’ll get pregnant, something will come up and they won’t be able to go. I prayed that would be the case. My husband immersed himself in news stories about the areas they’re going to visit, and that was as helpful as Googling a disease. We told them it could be dangerous; they told us not to worry, they’re on a mission from God. That’s hard to argue with, but we tried anyway.

So I prayed some more, this time taking a different tack. Keep them safe God, I prayed. This prayer applied if they stayed or if they went. Whatever happens keep them safe. Soon after I started praying that way, I got an overwhelming feeling that everything would be alright. That feel is something akin to peace, I think, and I have clung to it.

So now, if you’re reading this blog post, I ask you, friend, to pray the same thing, just for the next two weeks, until the plane touches back on home soil. Keep them safe, God; whatever happens, keep them safe.