Yesterday, Matthew left for Air Force Basic Training.

We dropped him at the airport. Final hugs. A picture together - Suzanne, Matthew, and me, right before he walked into the terminal. He flew to Orlando, then on to San Antonio after checking in on base here and getting his orders.

By now he's somewhere we can't follow, becoming someone the military will shape.

The weekend was full of last things.

Last meals he wanted. Last places he wanted to see. Last time sleeping in his own bed (for now - he keeps reminding us he'll be back soon).

Every moment had a weight to it that ordinary weekends don't carry.

Saturday we went to hit some golf balls. Sunday we went to Mass at the Basilica where he and the boys wanted to go, and ate at one of his favorites - Kyoto hibachi grill. Monday night we went to the Cardinals game - the whole family, plus the altar servers from the parish, and a few of Matthew's friends.

He's not leaving alone. He's leaving from something. And that something will be here when he comes back.

Yesterday, before we left for the airport, Andrew and Joseph were there with Suzanne and I as I prayed over Matthew and blessed him:

All-powerful and ever-living God, when Abraham left his native land and departed from his people, you kept him safe through all his journeys. Protect this airman. Be his constant companion and his strength in battle, his refuge in every adversity. Guide him, O Lord, that he may return home in safety. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

His brothers watched. Suzanne watched. I prayed over him the way I've laid hands on hundreds of people as a deacon - but this time it was my son.

That's what ordination is for. Not just for strangers. For the people closest to you, in the moments that matter most.

The day was exciting, nerve-wracking, and emotional all tied up in one. He's nervous. We're nervous. It's an unknown.

But he's going to do great.

I don't know what the next weeks will bring - for him or for us. Letters. Silence. The strange limbo of a parent whose child is somewhere he can't reach.

But I know this: the seeds are planted. The word has gone out. The sower has done what sowers do.

A few weeks ago I preached on Father's Day. The Gospel was "Do not be afraid." Jesus says it three times. And St. Paul reminded us that the gift is not like the transgression - grace overflows.

I believed it when I preached it. I'm trying to believe it now.

Matthew carries what we gave him - the good and the broken, the faith and the doubt, the prayers and the silences. He carries eighteen years of seeds we planted, not knowing which ones would take root.

And now he goes where we can't follow. And the harvest is God's.

Go, Matthew. We love you. We're praying for you.

And we'll be here when you come home.