"Letting Go and Trusting the Process"

I just dropped my daughter off at the airport.

She's heading to the Dominican Republic for a gap year to serve and teach, and I had this moment standing in the terminal where two completely opposite things were true at the exact same time. I had complete confidence she was going to be ok. Safe. Thriving. Ready for this adventure. And I was an absolute rollercoaster of emotions knowing it was her time to go. Just me, standing in the airport, tears streaking down my face, trying to attach the bag tags.

Both things were true. And neither one cancelled out the other. But one of them did leave a puddle.

If you play golf, you know this feeling. You step up to the tee, and you've done the work. You've hit this shot a thousand times on the range. You know your line. You know your distance. You trust your swing. But the moment you let go of the club and that ball is in the air, you can't control it anymore. It's gone. And you have to trust the process.

That's what dropping your kid off at the airport feels like. You've done the work. The late night conversations. The packing. The prayers. The letter you wrote the night before that you weren't sure you could get through without crying. You did. Barely. And then you let go.

Recovery taught me how to do this. Before I got sober, I was a mess of control. I wanted to manage every outcome, every emotion, every situation. And when I couldn't, I drank. Sobriety has slowly, and I mean slowly, taught me that I don't have to control everything to be ok. I can do my part, trust God with the rest, and let the ball fly.

That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. It doesn't mean I didn't sit in the car for a few minutes after she walked through security. It doesn't mean I won't miss the Starbucks runs and the late night videos only the two of us think are funny.

But here's what recovery gave me. I was fully there for it. All of it. The send-off dinner. The goodbye. The hug that lasted a little longer than usual. I didn't miss a single moment. A few years ago, that wasn't guaranteed.

So if you're standing on the tee right now, staring down something that scares you, something where you've done the work but you just have to let it go and trust the process, I get it. It's terrifying. And it's beautiful. Both things can be true.

Let it fly.

Not perfect, but good.

One Story. One Swing. One Gathering at a Time.