“Guess what?! I just bought a plane ticket to Japan!”

Although my 21-year-old’s words didn’t shock me— he’d been talking about the prospect for months— they did make my Mama heart beat faster.

But that wasn’t the full story.

“… all by myself [so I can practice my Japanese language skills]”

M’kaaay…

“… for 6 weeks.”

Lord, have mercy!

If you’ve ever worried about an upcoming event or stressful situation that you can’t quite predict or control … like a job search, a big health diagnosis, or the prospect of your baby boy being all alone 4,877 miles from home when the largest tsunami in recorded history is sure to hit Japan’s shores … this may sound familiar.

For the next several weeks, I fluctuated between being genuinely excited about my son’s adventure (plus a little jealous) and downright terrified.

• Have I taught him all the things he needs to know to make it alone in the world?
• What will he encounter that I didn’t even realize I’d need to prepare him for?
• How do I share these last minute bits of hard-earned wisdom so that he listens instead of brushing off his seemingly neurotic mother?

As the date of his departure approached, I played whac-a-mole with the worries that popped into my mind. I fretted. I prayed. I busied myself with the chores I’d volunteered to help with: setting up an international phone plan, procuring yen, informing the bank of his travels.

It got me through.

Last week, I dropped him off at the airport. And as I drove away, I was immediately filled with peace. Ahhh! I’d made it! I’d gotten through the worst of it.

Or so I thought.

Online, I followed his journey, tracking which flight he was on and where it was now. And all was well.

But you know that’s not the end of the story— you know it’s not.

Because my baby was on a plane headed for the biggest adventure of his young life.

His flight landed safely in Japan just before I went to bed that night. (I knew this for certain because I’d refreshed the online flight tracker 6,492,784 times that evening.)

Given the time difference, customs requirements, and navigating his way to his hostel in the world’s largest metropolis— while speaking a foreign language— I didn’t expect to hear from him yet.

He’ll send a text while I’m sleeping, I reasoned. And I knew he would.

I was calm. I was confident. I could handle this.

And handle it, I did.

Until my head hit the pillow.

The thoughts that took turns ricocheting through my tired brain ranged from mundane inconveniences (What if he gets lost or sick?) to truly terrifying prospects (Does he know how to avoid sex traffickers?).

My rational brain knows that Japan is one of the safest countries in the world, and that the Japanese people are supremely friendly. But my lizard brain, which has been trying to protect my son for 21 years, was in overdrive.

I tried to reason my way out of my fears. But each time I’d dampen one, another would pop up in its place. There were just too many potential dangers that I couldn’t control.

Sure, I couldn’t control them.

But God is in control.

I know that. And I believe it. Which is why I’d spent so much time the past several weeks praying.

• I prayed that Keegan would have peace when he gets lost or confused.
• I prayed for friendly strangers to help him on his journey.
• I prayed for protection from the roving bands of drug dealers and sex traffickers that were surely waiting to pounce on my son the moment he was out of my reach.

But there was too much to pray for.

I became increasingly frantic. With each whispered prayer, my brain was getting more afraid, not less.

And then it hit me anew: I do trust God. In all circumstances.

So I uttered a simple 7-word prayer:

Jehovah, I trust you with my son.

<Deep breath>

I know it sounds impossible, but this prayer changed everything.

Each time another negative thought or horrible scenario entered my mind, I prayed this short prayer.

Jehovah, I trust you with my son.

And each time I prayed it, I was immediately filled with peace.

Why would this small prayer bring peace when a multitude of others hadn’t?

I realized that— even in my prayers— I’d still been trying to control all the details, trying to pray for every imaginable negative situation that could occur … frantic that I might miss one, or not pray hard enough for another.

But none of that was what I needed.

Instead, I needed to remember a simple truth: I trust God. And, I needed to act like it.

Jehovah, I trust you with my son.

These powerful words encompass praise, worship, and faith all at once. Plus, they remind my lizard brain what my rational brain already knows: God is trustworthy.

I’ve since applied these same words to a myriad of other situations in my life. (It turns out, negative thoughts about other life circumstances didn’t take a vacation just because my son is on distant shores.)

• God, I trust you with my writing.
• Jehovah, I trust you with my family member’s diagnosis.
• Heavenly Father, I trust you with my day.

And again, each time I uttered them, these prayers filled me with calm.

It’s so natural for me to think I have to rely on my own abilities— even as I turn to God in prayer. To think that His grace, His providence is still dependent, somehow, on me.

But this simple prayer is curing me of that.

May it heal you, too.

[UPDATE] As I put the finishing touches on this article, I received a text from Keegan: “On my way to Tokyo University. It’s been raining a bit (I think there’s an incoming typhoon), so it’s not too hot.”

Oi vey!

And several hours later he assured me he was safe from the storm: “The bigger issue is that I’m getting sick…”

Of course he is.

The prayerful refrain that continues to fill me with the peace that passes understanding? You know what it is: Jehovah, I trust you with my son.

Because I do.