My daughter, Hope, watched the missiles burn across the night sky.

“Oh my gosh!” her friend shouted, “Did you see that?”  And then the sky was filled with what looked like meteors crashing through the Earth’s atmosphere.  Adrenaline coursed through their bodies.

I’m sure they wondered why they were there.

A rooftop in Jordan definitely didn’t feel safe, but that’s where they found themselves.  After months of deliberation, their school had decided back in April that it would be okay to proceed with the plan to take students into the Middle East, as they had in years past.  And for Hope, it was perfect.  She could earn some Bible credits and have an adventure at the same time.  But this was a little more adventure than she had in mind.

The next day, the news of Iran’s retaliation was everywhere.  Deb and I read about it on our phones before taking a walk.

Then, Hope called.

“Hey Hope,” Deb said, pressing the speaker button so I could hear.  Deb motioned for me to head out the door.  She wanted to walk while we talked with Hope.

“We’re taking you on our walk, Hope,” I shouted as we stepped through our backyard gate.  We paused to look at the wildflowers behind our fence.

“So tell us, tell us, what’s the latest there?” Deb asked, trying not to sound worried.  I hunched over to look a little closer for weeds while we waited for a response.

“We’re meeting with the professors tonight,” she said, “to talk about whether or not we should stay.”

She told us they had cancelled the trips to the dig site.  It was too close to the Assyrian border, where locals heard explosions just on the other side.

“How are you feeling about it all?” Deb asked.

“Honestly, I’m kind of torn,” she said, “I like the experience we’re getting, but if we’re not going to the dig site, I don’t want to just be here to be here.”

We agreed.  The idea of having her home early got us excited, and the fact that Jordan could shut down their airports made everything feel even more urgent.  Why stay, after all, if there’s nothing really left to do, especially when there’s a war going on around them?

“Are you afraid, Hope?” I asked.

There was a pause.  The gravel crunched beneath our steps, and we turned the corner at some nearby apartments to walk across the bridge.

“No, I really don’t think so.  The professors here seem to know what they’re doing.”  Another pause.  “But I want to do the right thing.”

“We should pray,” I said.

“Good idea!” Hope said cheerfully.

“Please God, help Hope to be the leader you want her to be.  Give her wisdom to say what needs to be said and to know when to say it.”  Some people passed on bikes, and I kept praying.  “Give her your peace while she’s there.  And Lord, please bring Hope home safe to us.”

I said “Amen”, and then Deb started to pray, but I started thinking about my last sentence.  Was it okay for me to pray for Hope’s safety?  Was I being selfish?  There are Christian leaders who suggest we pray for God’s will to be done instead of for our own desires.

Was I truly leaving Hope in God’s hands, I wondered, if I was praying for her safety?

 As Deb prayed, these thoughts sent me in a mini spiral.  And then one simple question came to mind–What if God’s plan didn’t include Hope coming home to us?

We were walking uphill by then, headed to Cottonwood Creek Park.  The sun felt hot like the anxiety building inside me, and my eyes were down, staring at our shadows under the sun’s brightness.

Then, I looked up.  Just ahead, the sidewalk was covered with shade.  We were about to walk under a massive cottonwood tree, my favorite tree in the whole park.  But with my mind somewhere else, I had almost forgotten it.

Every time Deb and I walk under that tree, one of us says to the other something about how it reminds us of God being our refuge.  With those huge branches stretched out over us, it was hard to not think of His protection.

We walked into the cool shade.  Deb was still praying, but I had to stop and look up.

God’s answer to the questions in my head was all around me–in the thick branches, the leaves, and that massive trunk–whispering to my heart.  I knew God was telling me, “Being a refuge is who I am; of course it’s okay to pray for Hope’s safety!”  The truth brought relief like the shade of that tree.

God saw the deepest parts of me and brought His peace.  Not only that, but He saw my daughter, thousands of miles away.  And one week later, she landed safely on American soil just as the B2 bombers were bunker-busting Iran’s nuclear missile sites.

God brought my daughter back to me, but as I type these words, my heart breaks for the people grieving in Texas.  There were fathers who dropped their daughters off at camp along the Guadalupe River, and some probably even prayed for their safety.  So what about them?  What about those daughters who never came home?

There are no easy answers, but I know this–God sees those families like He saw me on that trail.  He understands their pain because He lost a child too.  Knowing God sees and understands brings a peace we can’t find in this world.

And those girls?  Their stories didn’t end in those murky waters.  God carried them home, and their stories continue.

God likes symbols.  (CHECK OUT MY VIDEO ABOUT GOD’S SYMBOLS).  From crosses to rainbows, they’re everywhere in the Bible.  And He’s still using them in life, like He did with that cottonwood tree.

Why?  Because when the questions come, we may not get all the answers, but those perfectly timed symbols are God’s tangible reminders that we’re not forgotten.  Whether we’re praying for a daughter in the Middle East or grieving the loss of a daughter in a flood, we can know God is with us and sees what we’re feeling.  Sometimes, knowing that is all it takes to give us the peace we need to keep going.

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