The awards banquets have started.
All the thank you’s and slide shows and farewell speeches are rolling.
We are down to the famous, final scenes. Graduation is coming.
Savannah just finished her third and final, culminating Winter Guard season. Her team took the State title for the third year in a row. Then they travelled to Dayton, Ohio for the World Championships where they competed and made it to the semi-finals—an achievement that no other Arizona Winter Guard has ever earned.
It’s possible my fierce little warrior has already thrown her last rifle in competition.
For me, it feels like it all went as fast as it takes her to toss her rifle into the air, watch it rise, arc, and spin back into her waiting hands. Just one long breath.
Weeks ago, as Savannah stood waiting behind the towering black curtains for her team’s turn to take the floor in Dayton, my heart was beating as hard as hers high in the stands of the arena. As I sat in my seat, I said a silent prayer that she could have her moment. As I looked around me at all the other mothers and fathers in that arena, I knew that they were surely saying the same prayer for their own children. Help them. Help them do their best. After all the hours and tears and bruises and sacrifices and energy and effort, help them to have a moment where it all pays off.
That’s all we want as parents.
On Friday, I went to the temple. One of the young women I taught and loved was going through for the first time. She leaves on her mission in a matter of weeks. As I stood in the celestial room watching her embrace her parents, I thought about that prayer again: Help them. Help them do their best.
And I was overwhelmed by the love of a Father, who knowing of our incredible need beforehand, provided the perfect help and a sure way back. As I watched the morning sunlight stream through the stained glass around me, I was overcome by the tenderness of his concern for each of us and the magnitude of his foresight.
He knew what my friends would want and need for their daughter. He knew what I would want and need for mine: Help. Please, send help. We cannot do this alone.
He’s just like me after all. He’s a parent, who loves his children. His heart beats and hopes and loves as hard as mine.
Don’t worry, he reminds me. Help is always on the way.