not so angry anymore

Sitting maybe three feet across from me is my best friend, the person who just gets me. He knows the intricacies. He knows my ins and outs. He requires me to offer no explanations. He just gets it. I can write an angry, massive Army venting blog and he'll go, "Okay. You got it out. Do you feel better now?" I am thankful for that. I am thankful for his ability to make me laugh. I am thankful for how much he loves me.

I know that he didn't settle. I know that he doesn't look at me and say to himself that I'm better than nothing. I was his top prize...first choice...intense desire. I was his superstar.

I have never met an individual that knew me as intimately as he did. I have never known someone that I have adored so quickly, especially with as much resistance as I dished out. I fought him. I fought him with all the might I had. But he would just smile, or call, or write, or anything and I would cave. I would crumble. I could not resist him.

Right now I am surrounded by chaos. My son is playing with an exercise ball, while my daughters are chasing each other around. The noise volume is intense. I love the sound of my children's laughter. My lobster is sitting on the couch with his torn at the knee jeans on, wearing a dad t shirt that I got him when we found out we were pregnant with our oldest.

While I sit here I think to myself that this is what contentment feels like. This is what love looks like. I wouldn't change a thing. Even if he goes away and never comes back, I wouldn't change a thing. I wouldn't give back of moment of my affection. Even if he cheats on me and decides I am no longer worth his time, I wouldn't regret a moment of my love for him. Even if he loses his mind and I have to walk down the valley of the shadow of death, I wouldn't wish him away.

I know that the very previous post was filled with my adult version of a temper tantrum, and you're probably thinking, huh!? but this is who I am. I am messy, and confusing, and complicated, and dramatic. I am intense and passionate. I am human.

I was wanting to write more...but my lobster has asked me to get off of here so that I can go help him. Off I go! Hope you're having a good night, where ever you all are! :)

here comes little angry me.

note: I am a human being and I do experience anger. I was venting emotions that I needed to vent. I will always honor, support, and encourage my soldier in whatever it is that he's doing. I admit I am impulsive and weak-willed. My soldier knows that there is no individual who supports him more than I. Last night was a difficult night with some things that came up. I will always support my soldier, the Army, and the unit he is serving with. I know, that all things have a reason and purpose behind them, even if I don't agree with them at the time. Our soldiers' Chains of Command work hard to protect, consider, support, develop, fight for, fight with, and train up our soldiers. However, they do make stupid decisions sometimes...that's all I'm saying.

I think I just might be done. I think I am almost to the point of quitting. I think I could very well end up being one of those ultimatum giving wives...I think I just might tell him it's over.

I'm just over this life. I'm sick of goodbyes. I'm tired of crying children. I am tired of more and more days and moments where my kids don't get to say goodnight to him. I am sick of a freaking job where they refuse to promote him with no explanations, no 'work on this' statements, nothing. Just...nope. You're not ready. When asked why, they fumble around with a bunch of stupid um...uh...er...you should know why answers. I'm over it.

Five freaking times. I have stood by, waited patiently, held down the homefront, supported, wrote letters, sent care packages, led FRG's, been BN funds custodian, Co led FRG's, won countless awards for 'supporting the FRG and my soldier' and on and on. I am just over it. I have prayed, I have fought, I have cried, I have surrendered, I have given more than I even know how to describe. I gave up dreams. I gave up hopes. I walked away...I. am. tired.

It's an agonizing conflict within myself. Because I feel this resentment developing. I am so angry. I am so angry that I went to bed angry and woke up angry. I can't stand that. I am so sick and tired of doing everything alone. I am sick of not being able to make plans, barely being able to prepare my children of whats ahead. I am tired of plans changing with a "oops...my bad" response. Yes cell phones, no cell phones, yes cell phones, no cell phones and on and on with the vicious cycle. You'd better buy phone cards if you want to talk to your family, but oh wait, we're going to take away about $400 of your pay too. It's all good, private, with a wife and a couple of kids. Don't worry.  The Army's  got your back. The Army will take care of you. Really!? They can barely pay their bills as it is...so what's the solution? Ask the Chaplains for food vouchers. Go get an AER loan...wow. Wow. What a wonderful solution. Or your other alternative is to not speak to your children for a freaking month. Especially when time is short and goodbye's are on the horizon. And lets be honest, for some people, it is possible those goodbyes will be permanent. We can't live in denial like it isn't possible that some people could die. Or get hurt and come home insane.

I know I have to surrender. I know I have to throw up my freaking hands and just say screw it. I know I have to roll with the punches and just deal. I know that. And I know I will. I am just so tired of stupidity. I am so sick of people not thinking things clearly. I know that if I voiced these perspectives what I'd be met with, "We are doing this to 'train'". Excuse me while I call that BS. That isn't 'training'. If it's really about training, then pay your families all of the extra bonuses we get while deployed, so that they can afford those ridiculous phone cards. Provide internet access, so that the soldiers can skype with their kids. Come on.

I am so sick of this nonsense. I am so sickened when I have wives already freaking out about not being able to pay their bills, or feed themselves. I fear not for myself. We can afford it (which has stemmed from a vast amount of planning, and preparation, in having dealt with the army for ten years). The alternative is no communication? Really? That's the alternative? You're about to say goodbye for a year, and four weeks, quite frankly, is a big deal.

I was so upset last night by a phone call that I literally couldn't talk. I got to church and I just had to pray and pray and pray. Cry and pray. Pray and cry. Life is always about control on some level. It's always about learning to surrender it and learning to let it go. I know that this is my lesson in the midst of this life. I know that God will never give up on teaching it to me until I have it down so jam packed that it's no longer an issue. I realize that.

I just don't feel like doing this today. I am so tired.

silence

I don't usually invite the lobster into my Army Wives program watching. It often times is filled with his criticisms his critiques and on and on.
"The uniform doesn't look like that!"
My response: "We have already established they can't legally wear the correct uniform."
"She wouldn't do that job." 
"She can't wear that combat patch."
This goes on and on and on and on. I usually get so annoyed that I either turn it off or miss half of the show. I have been slightly keeping up with what is going on in the current season of AW and I know someone dies. It might not be one of the main characters, I don't know. I have my own theories, but that's all they are...theories. Because I know a funeral is on the menu, I want to get through the current season I am watching, and the new season before the lobster deploys. Call it an emotional need.

Last night we watched an episode together. It was a sad one. The episode was about all of the ladies saying goodbye to their husbands as they deploy to Afghanistan. Since my family's deployment is so close on the horizon it was emotional. The night before is agonizing. The morning of is painful. The letting go hurts. Needless to say, I was heavily sobbing. We were not in the casual sniffle and tear mode folks. We were in the clothes are wet with tears, heavy sobbing place.

A couple of things struck me while in this frame of mind. First off, the lobster handed me a box of kleenex. To write this now, makes me laugh. He just gets certain things about me. I find it funny how a box of tissues can make someone paid attention to and loved. Secondly, he didn't nit pick the episode that much. He did a little in the beginning. As it got to the goodbye part, he was mostly quiet. I know he did this for me. I know he was still, in his mind, critiquing the uniforms and on and on. Thirdly, when the episode ended and I needed to just sit in silence and sort of ponder things, he didn't try to interrupt my thoughts with words. He just sat in silence with me.

I am not a panicky, freak out about deployments, kind of gal. I do grieve though. It does hurt. It has never been my norm to think fatalistic thoughts or to have dramatic thoughts. In all of our previous deployments, it has always been the goodbye part that has been hard. There is a process to this whole thing. The Army has labelled them the 7 steps. I suppose I don't feel the need to label them. It is what it is. You know? There is no way around the situation...it hurts.

My mindset this morning is strange. I know the heartache is heading my way. I know the goodbye is going to come. It doesn't really matter what I want at this point. It is what it is. Last night it felt good to just be silent and close. I am thankful for that.

For Indie :)

Have you heard that song called "Say Hey (I Love You) by Michael Franti? If you haven't then you have some serious youtube searching, or googling that needs to be done. It is the best song ever. Okay, maybe not best ever, but it's the song that for the past few weeks has been my go to.

Sometimes life just gets ugh. Seriously! Sometimes the weight of all things humanity descends on you and everything feels muffled or foggy or gray. The sky is gray, the sand is gray, the ocean is gray sort of thing. Sometimes our hearts are a muscle, and quite frankly, they're sore. Sometimes the darkness into which praying people pray feels like the only dominating experience of your life. Sometimes crap is winning, or at least it feels like it is.

When the haze started to clear for me, this song randomly popped up in my life. It really was destiny. I never listen to non Christian radio. Seriously. I'm not interested in depressing nonsense. One day in my car, I bumped the radio or something, and it flipped to a different radio station. That Franti song was playing. It instantly took my head and heart from a no fly zone, to a head bopping, heart thumping, smile stretching kind of place. It reminded me about the excellence of love and how it just make you want to groove. It also reminded me that the sun is always shining, even if there are some gray clouds hanging out in front of it.

So this one goes out to my lobster. The coolest dude on the planet. The perfect pairing to my psyche. The completion of my malleable palate. He is my counterpart. My partner in crime. My defender of justice. He is the stable to my chaos, the embracer of my dug in heels and criss crossed arms. To him, "I say hey I'll be gone today. But I'll be back around the way. It seems like everywhere I go, the more I see the less I know. But I know one thing, that I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you!" :)

The big brother I always wanted. This one's for you MEW.

I will never forget when I first met him, it was on the phone. It is kind of funny that the two men in my life that I have loved the most (not regarding my pops) have both come into my life via the phone. I actually never made that correlation until just now. Hm. Okay, anyways...my friend at the time was going to a dance with him and I, being the protective friend that I am, wanted to make sure he was legit and nice. I don't know how I was intending to handle things if he was a jerk, but...I guess I didn't really think about things like that back then. I remember talking to him the first time on the phone...I was a social butterfly. Seriously. I have always been pretty outgoing, and I was in this instance. But, EVERY SINGLE question that I asked him was met with a "I'm not going to tell you that!" Seriously!? They weren't personal questions either. It was like, "What's your favorite subject in school? What's your favorite song." Seriously. Stuff like that. He was the most secretive, self controlled human being I had ever met. I was challenged by this. I was bound and determined to understand him. I have no explanation for my almost instantaneous fondness for him. It was in no way romantic. Not even slightly. Not even the tiniest of hints in regards to romance. For some reason, I was connected. I remember the only thing I could ever get him to talk about was football. So our friendship bonded over that. He talked about football and I talked about....well, mostly everything else, while he listened. It was an equation that worked for us.

Why am I telling you this story now? Because MEW was the first person that ever made me feel loved. Seriously. He was the first person who wasn't obligated to love me, accept me, or be there for me. He had nothing to gain. He has never liked me romantically (trust me. I promise). I wasn't someone he could cheat off of at school (different schools). We didn't go to church together (he doesn't). There was literally no logical reason for the connection.

It is very difficult for me to communicate in words my affection for him. Quite simply put, he is my older brother. Seriously. He just is, though not biologically. Let me lay it out for you...he is the only person in my life, who isn't my bio sibling that I can fight with to the point that I literally want to rip his throat out (and vice versa), not talk to each other for a month or two because we're mad, and then pick up the conversations again with no issues. We might have a casual, quick chat, about what we were mad about but that's it. We fight hard, don't talk, then move on.

We have been together through countless relationships, broken hearts, challenging life experiences, depressions, elations, terrifying situations, and on and on. We have laughed, I have cried (come on...he is a dude!), fought like crazy, supported, pointed out flaws, and had each other's backs. I will never forget how badly I wanted to kick the you-know-what of an ex girlfriend of his who completely messed him over. To this day I'm slightly bitter and I might say something if I ever saw her. But that's what you do when you love someone, right? You have their back.

The first time I knew I mattered to him was as I was coming off a year of earthly hell. The person I was in a relationship with totally messed me up. I mean, the ugly kind. I was sort of traumatized by it. Okay, not sort of, I really was. I was a basket case. I remember MEW telling me if that guy ever showed his face he was going to beat him down. I remember how mad he was. It was in that moment, through that situation, that I knew that hard hearted, stubborn as all get out, "I'm-not-going-to-tell-you-that" individual's heart had softened to this insanely outgoing, ballsy, borderline cocky (he would completely tell you that I am insanely cocky and enter in a statement about me being the Queen right here), and deeply sensitive individual. It was then, that I began to know what it meant to have someone love me who didn't have to, wasn't obligated to, and had nothing to gain from it. That is beautiful.

To be honest, I have never seen a friendship like ours. Seriously. We are over ten years out from high school (and he's older than me so he left first) and we are still friends. He is still my big bro. He would still beat down probably any dude that messed with me, and vice versa. He still bosses me around, and vice versa. He still points out my flaws, and challenges my perspectives, and vice versa.

So this posting is dedicated to my big bro, who my only son is named after. You have gotten me through countless screwed up relationships, hard experiences, things I didn't think I'd be able to get through, cry fests, angry outbursts, screwed up statements I have made, and on and on. You were the only person who didn't laugh at me when I was 19 and told you I met the dude I was going to marry. You were the only person bold enough to tell me to ditch the interim dude and go back to my lobster. You were the one who, over starbucks coffee, told me that he is the only boy you have ever seen me be in love with. You helped me handle crazy-ville when I didn't think I could, without rejecting him. You accepted my dramatic antics, my black and white perspectives, my intense religiousness, my foot-in-mouth statements, my impulsiveness, and my hypocritical actions. You have always accepted me as is. I hope you always know what you mean to me. I am in awe of you. I am grateful for you.

Here's to another fifteen years, and to you, hopefully, finding a girl and settling down soon. What? I can hope, right!? :)

Work it. :)

Last night the lobster was working on his dress uniform. I know...all of my ladies are collectively inhaling and exhaling, closing their eyes, imagining the hotness of the outfit...snap out of it! We need to focus! No more day dreaming. Even as I write this I'm still secretly day dreaming. :)

He was working on the uniform and getting it all lint rolled, and double checking all of the measurements, etc etc, and it got me thinking, how many things am I really meticulous about? I have several things that I pay close attention to, deep study of, and work hard to maintain and protect.

First, and foremost is my faith. Not that Jesus needs protecting, but I hold that deeply close to my chest, and am constantly evaluating and examining if I am in line with God's will for my life. I want to grow more like Him, always.

Second, is my marriage. Truth be told, apart from my faith, this takes the majority of my time and effort. In the majority of ways, my faith directly effects my marriage. There is no single, human activity that I hold with higher regard, significance, or level of importance in my life. My husband is the single most important person walking this planet. In him I am held accountable, encouraged, and challenged. It is my heart's highest goal (and I believe the most honorable position to ever hold) in order to work to be a helper suitable to him, and to offer him the respect that is commanded by God, and desired by my husband.

Third, my chicken nuggets. No, not the McDonalds kind, but the kid kind. :) What greater calling do we ever have, than to raise children to be responsible, kind, generous adults!? I have been blessed with four little people to guide and equip. I would give my life without even blinking an eye, to protect them.

Fourth, my extended family. It's weird how things change as we get older. When someone would say something about my family, I always thought of my parents and siblings. Now, it isn't that way. When I talk about my family, I mean my husband and children. My sisters and my parents are in a different category. I know this is all a part of the leaving and cleaving aspect of life, but it's still kind of funny how we change as we grow older. They are deeply important to me. It takes hard work to maintain relationships, communication, and laughter, especially as we all go through different experiences in life and live in different places.

Fifth, my friends. I am excessively cautious about my friends. One might argue, in an extreme way. My best friend Koria (I know I never put actual names, but since that's a nickname, you will never know who I am actually talking about....security maintained! Ha!) told me a long time ago that I needed to be more choosy about my friends. She was right. I have almost become militant in this regard. My private life is extremely personal to me, and I am deeply selective about who I will allow to be a part of that. I also am constantly evaluating whether or not someone is genuine, trustworthy, or going to be a benefit to my life. Lets be honest, some people are just life drainers. You know exactly what I'm talking about, because we all have encountered them: the negative nancy's. You know those people who are constantly self berating, self defeating, complaining, whining, or "hurting" (exception: some times good friends are really going through a horrible time...this is not what I am referring to. It is our duty to stand by our friends as they encounter hardships. I am talking about the people who are ALWAYS in crisis, and never willing to grow or change. It's always the rest of the world's fault for their misery). In my older age, I have decided to quickly nix people like that from my life. I have neither the time, nor the emotional fortitude to be someone's emotional punching bag. I honestly want to shout at them to grow up. Life is short. Vent your crap and move on.

Sixth, the world. Honestly, the world is important to me. I want to be a giver of love and compassion to others. I am not always perfect at this (I am a work in progress....deeply so), but it is a desire in my heart. We pray every morning that God will open our eyes to the needs of others, and give us the courage and the strength to act on those needs. Sometimes it means hugging a homeless man. Sometimes it's pulling over to help a stranded person. Sometimes it's listening while someone vents. Where ever the Holy Spirit moves.

So that's my story and I'm sicking to it...meticulously. :)

Question

Have you ever noticed that there really isn't a portion of the Bible about "a man's worth" or a "virtuous man"? I was thinking about this the other day...and sort of wondering why that is. Why does God take the time to lay out to human beings what a woman's value is, and does not do the same thing for women. Is it because men have no value, so there is really no need to articulate what a "good" man looks like? Is it that all men are considered to be inherently valuable, and so there is a distinction between them and women (women, not all valuable, but men, all are)? Is it that women already intrinsically know what a good man looks like, and so we don't need to have it spelled out for us? Is it that men are so blinded by physical appearance, or smoke and mirrors, that they fail to recognize a woman's worth? Is it that women work themselves to the bone, pushing themselves so hard, that God felt the need to remind us that it is for a purpose, for His glory, that it has meaning?

Just some thing I have been wondering the past few days. :) Feel free to share any insight you might have.

lanes, rains, and mobiles.

It has been a difficult day. I am sitting here staring at a runway... It will soon be my runway.

"Hold on to him tightly tonight. It goes by so fast."

My heart is heavy, my mind is frustrated, my... I don't even know anymore. I feel almost like ripping my hair out. I feel so aggravated and irritated. I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs, or punching someone in the face or I don't even know what else.

It is rare when I have little words. I feel horrible that I am so sick of this. I want to feel differently. I usually do. I am just so tired of the BS that comes with the every day aspects of living this life. I am sick of the goodbyes, the inconsistencies, the insane amounts of deployments, the extreme difficulty with making and maintaining friends, the missing of so many beautiful family moments.

Why does every thing have to have a meaning? Can goodbye's just sucks without some ulterior heavenly purpose? I mean, is God really sitting in heaven, or in our hearts, or wherever, just pulling the strings of our day to day experience? I have heard time and time again that God doesn't care about our happiness, but rather that He cares about our sanctification...am I really so pigheaded that my husband has to deploy five times with out any gratitude on part of the stupid organization which constantly takes him away? Why?

Why did I have to be alone while my three year old son coded in my arms? Why did I have to be alone when my daughter's kidneys shut down from the swine flu? Why did I have to be alone through countless stomach flu's, countless lung infections, endless hospitalizations, and on and on and on? Why does my life have to hurt so freaking much?

I don't feel any more sanctified. In truth, I feel more alone that I think I have ever felt. I feel like He gets to come in here and confuse the crap out of me and leave me hanging in the balance and then completely change the equation. I feel like He has left me alone, or created me to hurt, or whatever.

I know from a logical perspective that these things are not so simple. I am not talking about knowledge, or belief. I am talking about emotion. Real, uncomfortable, undefinable, human emotion.

I just feel drained. I feel like I don't have any fight left in me. I feel like I am standing at the bottom of a really big deal. I feel weak and broken. I feel like the most immeasurable amount of heartache is heading my way like the speed of sound. What will I do when it hits me?

See you later, friend.

I want to let you in on a little secret: goodbye is an ugly word. It is so final. It is so permanent. The lobster and I never say it. Seriously. I can't think of one time when he and I have ever said goodbye. We always say "See ya later." When he deploys, all of our conversations end with either "I'll be seeing you" or "See ya later." We never say, "goodbye". Truth be told, he and I will never have to say goodbye. He and I both believe, and love Jesus. So even if he, or I, should leave this earth, we will see each other again.

Okay, so that was a long paragraph to attempt to segway into my emotional mind frame. Right now, not too far away from me, one of my best friends is having her "see ya later" night with her husband. I know what that night feels like. Every play moment between daddy and children is so powerful. Everything is emotional. You try so hard to put on a brave face...you try so hard to make it all beautiful. You try so hard to memorize it all, just in "case". 

It's funny because the "just in cases" always seem to be a part of our lives. They are a constant. We have a friend who went to training and was shot by a  live round. Life is so short. 

To be honest, I don't believe he will die. I don't think they do either. In fact, I am almost certain he will sit over there for a year and say at the end of it..."What the crap!?" and come home happy as a clam. But what people don't realize is that isn't the only thing that hurts. In all honesty, the death aspect is what hurts the least, as strange as that may sound. 

It's the in betweens that are painful. It's the moments when you are having the best day ever, and he isn't there to share it with. When the kids do something absolutely hilarious, or when they experience a heartbreaking moment... It's when you have simply had the worst day ever and you don't have him to cuddle with. It's the countless dinners spent without him, it's the oil changes, the changing of the seasons, the rainy Saturdays, the Sunday mornings, the alarms that don't go off at the crack of dawn anymore...

Funny how you miss the things that can be so completely aggravating when they're around. I am a neurotic freak about the things my husband leaves on the floor when he's gone. I won't let anyone touch them. I need them there. I need his shoes scattered about the house. I need his keys sitting on the bedside table. I need his toothbrush in the cup holder. 

I suppose it's all the little lies that we tell ourselves. 

I was trying to explain to a friend what that final moment together is like. You are standing there hugging, and you feel all of your willpower fading away. You honestly feel like your knees are going to buckle. Yes, you find a strength within yourself that you never knew existed, and you hear them say something like, "You have to let me go now." You are trying to memorize every final gesture. You are trying to remember it all, because this might be your last. I mean, honestly it could. If he doesn't come back, this is your final memory of his warm skin against yours. You want to make that count. So every touch, every word, every embrace, every kiss is powerful. When you finally leave from there, and find the strength to drive yourself home...

It is overwhelming. 

You cry. You laugh with your best friends. Your scream at the top of your lungs. You wish it all away. Then you put on your uniform, your combat boots, your camouflage, and blend in to society. You will be all you can be, you will be an army of one, you are Army strong. 

Praying for God to comfort my dear friend and her soldier. Praying for God to give me a thousand jokes in my head and heart, an enormous box of tissues, a BIG glass of wine, and embracing arms. Praying that His peace will transcend all understanding and that He would comfort all of our grieving hearts.

Letter to a friend

You've missed it. Seriously. You've got an enormous amount of intellectual knowledge and understanding, but you, you personally have missed the message. You have head knowledge, head understanding, but the spirit, the root, the intent has been lost on you. You haven't met my Savior yet.

Most "Christians" have the opposite of you. They hear the love message, accept that, barely measuring the cost or value of it, and accept it. They haven't analyzed it, pondered it, or questioned it. They were spoon fed something that sounded lovely and comforting so they accepted it. It is sort of like signing up for a fundraiser. It looks good, sounds good on paper and it doesn't really cost much. Box checked, situation handled, ticket to heaven purchased. I.am.good.

You are the opposite. You've done all of the pondering, analyzing, questioning. You have looked at it, studied it, and decided its value. It's enormous, intense, amazing value.

Yet, when I look at you, when my spirit connects with you, my heart grieves. Tears fall when I pray for you. Did you know I pray for you? Every day. Seriously.

I wish I could make you understand. I'm not certain if I even know how, or if I am capable of giving it to you. Do I believe you know Jesus? You bet I do. Without a doubt. I don't question it at all. Do I believe you have found the freedom that comes only from Him? Nope.

His love is enough. It's so much so enough that when a husband wraps his hands around a wife's neck and tries to kill the life out of her, over and over again, His love is enough to restore that marriage. When a woman is lonely from her fifty years of walking this earth alone, and she is diagnosed with stage four cancer, her family is gone and she is alone, fighting this battle of all battles, His love is enough. His love is enough when a woman is raped, and then sickly returns to her rapist over and over again in order to demean the significance of what he stole from her. His love is enough to hold the alcoholic who deeply wants that drink in order to wash away the agony of all that has been stolen from them. His love is enough when you are standing at the base of the biggest mountain, all alone, with no one to help you carry the burden of four children on their way to their father's funeral, who was stop lost from his ETS date in the military, and died at war. His love is enough when a father walks out on their child because she wasn't a boy. His love is enough to heal the wounds of sexual molestation, parental neglect and abuse. His love is enough to hold the woman who sold her body to men because she believed it didn't matter. His love heals all wounds, comforts all agonies, saves. His love saves. His love takes all of the crap that life dishes out, removes it, repackages it, rejuvenates it, and replaces it with His heart. His blood running through your veins is powerful enough to compensate for any agony, any suffering, any fear.

So when you ask me if I think I understand what you believe... it isn't that simple to answer. I pray every day that God will help me to show you, help me to love you, help me to accept you the way that He does. I am so weak, so feeble, and so incapable of doing anything for you that my heart would love to do. But I know that He is considerably bigger than your greatest hurts, because he is bigger than mine. Maybe some day opportunity will allow me to give you my testimony. Maybe some day God will burden my heart to share it with you. I don't really know. But when you ask me if I know the hope that I hold on to...you bet your life I do. I know my Jesus. I know what He has done for me. So am I willing to keep on loving someone who is as difficult to love as you believe you are? Of course. He is bigger than the greatest pile of nonsense, rage, controlling aspects, hateful words, than you can ever dish out at me. I believe it is my sincerest duty to love you as long as I can. Are we not all heirs to the kingdom of heaven? Then how could I ever allow one of my sisters or brothers to believe they are so unlovable?

Balls. The Army kind.

The Army has a thing with celebrating. It usually happens twice a year, unless the fellas are deployed. These "celebrations" are called balls. These balls are when us gals get to doll ourselves up (the works...dress, clutch, hair, make up, nails, etc etc etc), and stand next to our man at the single handedly most attractive point of his military wardrobe: the dress uniform.

Allow me to take you on a side trip as to the significance of this dress uniform. Truth be told, the soldiers are a bit confused about the female perspective on rank. We chicks? Don't care. Seriously. I promise you, that no girl out there has memorized rank structure or what it looks like (speaking non militarily of course). They see hot man + insanely hot uniform = they want a piece (even if that just means getting to say he chose you to come with). It doesn't really matter, to most, if you're a private or a general. That uniform has the ability to stop women in their tracks. It beholds an illusion of something that truthfully doesn't really exist amongst soldiers (chivalry), at least not the single ones.There is no such thing as a woman who doesn't want a man who makes her feel safe. That uniform, is a symbol of safety. Soldiers are trained in combat (even though us Army wives recognize the VAST array of what that means in the military), and there is nothing sexier than a man who can fend off the fears of the night.

Back to my point, the dress is deeply significant. At least to me. I don't really care how I look to any of the other people in that place. It doesn't matter if anyone else sees what I'm wearing and thinks it's unflattering, or too flashy, or not flashy enough. I do not dress for them. You know that guy who gave me a last name? You know that fella who tamed this wild beast and wrapped a symbol around her ring finger? That's who I dress for. I want him to drool. I want him to think Yeah...there's that chick I married! I want him to be proud. I want him to think and feel about me the exact same way that I think and feel about him in that uniform (this is not to imply that I think differently of him outside of the uniform. For those of you who have seen my husband, you know that drop. dead. gorgeous doesn't even begin to describe). 

So this up coming friday, the works will be done: hair, nails, make up, dress... Now if only the night didn't have to be spent listening to a bunch of boring speakers and watching a bunch of adult children getting drunk. I suppose we all need something to dream about, right? :)

Ode to my favorite tree

There was this tree, back at our last duty station. It was massive. It was the kind of tree that makes you stop. It was the kind of tree that I used to always tell my husband I wanted to be buried under. It was that beautiful. It was a solitary tree, in a giant field of rolling green hills. I love that tree.

Out here, where I live now, there is a tree that looks very similar to that other one. Except, the difference between the two is what surrounds them. That tree back in prairie land had nothing around it. No fence. No power lines. No buildings. It was free. It reminded me of how life can thrive even when it feels alone. It was a symbol of something that kept me going. That tree stood through ice, snow, wind, tornadoes, fires and Lord only knows what else, but it was still standing. It was alone. Nothing to shelter it, or protect it, but God.

The tree here that I love is at the corner of a city intersection. It is surrounded by concrete, by power lines, by signals, by cars, by buildings... Every time I see it, I marvel at the beauty of that tree. The branches reaching so high up to heaven, the trunk rooted so strongly in the midst of suffocating humanity. I feel sad for it. Yes, it is growing throughout the chaos that surrounds it. But I know... I know that when we stand alone, with only God to rely on, we grow so differently.

I am that tree. I am both trees. I was alone in the prairie land. I was burned, blown, iced, snowed out, attacked, broken down. I was alone with my God and no one else. Here, I am suffocated by the confines of human action. Concrete, buildings, power lines, etc, all stifle me and cage me. Here, I am growing amidst the chaos.

Funny how trees can reveal so much about ourselves.

sights and scenes

It's my favorite time of day here where I live. I wish I could describe to you the scenery before my eyes. The mountains are blacked out because the sun is no longer shining on them. Outlining the tops of the mountains is a slight golden hue from the sun, which gradually fades up to a beautiful sapphire sky. The breeze blowing on my skin and a glass of lambrusco in my hand makes this picture complete. I love moments like these. I am blissfully happy. How lucky am I that I get to be encompassed by this picture?

Life is all a matter of perspective. Even the brown turns beautiful at some point. The question is always, are you paying attention?

I do it for me

I am so sick of drama. I mean, seriously. I have been wallowing in my own melodrama regarding the Lobster's deployment and I am sick of it. Seriously, chick. Put your big girl pants on, soldier up, and drive on. I am sick of feeling sorry for myself. Yes it will suck. Yes, it won't be fun. But I will survive. I completely reserve the right to start feeling depressed again here at any given moment, but for right now, I am pepped up. I am ready.

I stepped up my workouts this morning. I think I had leveled out and quite frankly, I was bored with PRT. So, in a sense I am still doing it, but it got too easy and boring. I needed to make it harder. I love to ache. I seriously do. Maybe it's one of the sick and twisted aspects of my personality, but I thrive on sore muscles. I thrive on pushing my body to do what it doesn't want to do. I love the feeling of nothing being able to stop me. When I am working out, I am my own worst enemy. There isn't anyone there forcing me to do anything. It is entirely a battle of wills. Who will win? My will or my desire to quit?

I think, here recently, I have been reminded of my old self. I have been reminded of my ferocious, gonna-get-it-done, competitive, driven self. While she had aspects of herself that I don't miss, there are many things that I do. Driving myself to prove a point is sort of one of them. I think I have become too passive in my "older" age.

So anyway. Long story short, yes, I am still working out. Every single day. Do I do it for anyone else? Nope. I do it for me.

R.A.J.

I hadn't thought about you in a few days. Isn't it just like life to remind me? Isn't it interesting that the words I find so extremely impossible to say out loud, started coming out of my mouth on the tiniest scale to a friendship unexpected?

When I got my tubes tied, I was told it would be impossible for me to get pregnant. I was told that the connecting tissue between my ovaries and the ability to fertilize them was severed.

To be honest, I don't really know what I was thinking. I was so afraid, I was so messed up. I was so exhausted. When I think back on that pregnancy... Perhaps it was one of my own personal war experiences. It was a pregnancy drug laced with death. From the very beginning that's all it was. Death, death, and more death, all tongue tied up in my body. I lived like a ticking time bomb. I was never allowed to be alone. I was not allowed to lift anything heavier than a cup. I wasn't allowed to pick up my child. I wasn't allowed to sit up for longer than five minutes. I had to be baby sat when I showered, or used the restroom, or did anything at all.

"It will take two minutes for you to bleed to death."
"Make out your will, this pregnancy will probably kill you."
"Make arrangements for your daughter if you don't come out of this alive."
"Baby A will probably die, if 'it' makes it to delivery."

Abortion was never an option. To explain to you the deep disdain I have for abortion...I would never kill my unborn child. I don't care if he or she was ectopic, or if "they" say he or she would kill me... I don't really care. My God is bigger than "you" or any army that you could drag in front of me and if He thinks it worthy of my death to bring forth new life then so be it.

I held to that opinion when I carried them. I honestly don't know what on earth I was thinking. Why did I think I could sever the ties that bind? Why did I think it's what I wanted? I wish I had the answers. I remember when they wheeled me into the operating room, I was crying uncontrollably. I was playing over the possibility of my child never seeing me again. I was holding onto the baggage of those seven months of torment. In that foolish frame of mind, I did the only thing that I have ever deeply and sincerely regretted.

When I came out of the haze that was that period of my life, sorrow overwhelmed me in regards to my actions. A deep spirit of repentance washed over. I was so broken. I was sincerely wrong. I prayed and begged God to forgive me. I begged Him to heal my body and to undo the stupid thing I had done. I know that He is bigger than even the greatest of my sinful actions. I know that He could allow me to carry another beautiful life, if that was His will. I know He is bigger than what I had done. But I recognize that my action was about control. My action was a representation of a belief that my perspective, my desire, my "decision" was better than what His plan was. In essence, I thought I knew better. If that isn't the greatest display of wickedness then I don't know what is.

I can't tell you how many times I have knelt before His throne, in complete repentance, desperate for Him to fix me. I also knew, and completely resigned myself to, the possibility that He would never undo my actions. I deserved to suffer. I still do.

When you came along it was the last thing I expected. I suppose I had closed the door on that possibility. But all of a sudden, there you were. Growing, living, thriving, in me. You were my secret. You were our secret. Your daddy and I decided to wait before we spoke up. I think he was afraid you were ectopic. I think I just wanted to thrive in the private and beautiful knowledge of your existence. I didn't want to deal with the stupid comments that people would inevitably make, "Do you think it's another set of triplets!?" or "Wow. What if you have triplets again?" So it was just the three of us. My body was acting crazy. I was nauseous. I was hungry all the time. I was sore. I was tired. But it seemed to be that God had undone my wickedness.

It was an early Sunday morning, when you left. The pain of you leaving startled me awake. Despite all of the physical sufferings that I have endured...that pain was unique. It was intense. I still remember your daddy asking what I wanted to do. I still remember him saying that we didn't have to go to church if I didn't want to. I still remember bawling my eyes out in church.

I have been  told that the fact that you were conceived at all, means my tubal ligation didn't "stick". I don't really know. Truth be told, I was never supposed to conceive you are any of your brothers and sisters. Each of you have been beautiful miracles.

I suppose I can't help but wonder... did you leave because of my wickedness? Did I bring about your loss? Was God punishing me? Or were you simply just not meant to be?

I wish you were here. I wish I was holding you right now.

Manic Mondays

Mondays are one of my favorite days of the week. I know that this perspective is abnormal. I realize that the majority of Americans hate Mondays with a passion. I, however, do not really understand why.

Okay, I understand in the cognitive, I-have-the-capability to logically hear why, but my thought process works like this: if you really hate what you're doing so much that you can't stand to go back to it, then why do you work there? I know that every individual has to earn a pay check so that they can live. What I don't understand is why folks aren't a bit more imaginative about what they like. Why don't people create environments for themselves that they enjoy? Is it that people are inherently self destructive? Do we have a need to resent our lives, feel sorry for ourselves, and so we then surround ourselves with things that make us irate? Or is it that we just don't really think about it and the process of life has brought us to this place by chance?

I say, if you don't like it, change it. If you need the money, then change your perspective so that you enjoy it. If you're going to spend the majority of your time doing it, you might as well get comfortable! :)

What grace looks like

Have you ever had a failure kind of week? You know what I'm talking about...the kind where it just seems like you can't do anything right, and all of your flaws and imperfections are screaming at the top of their lungs at you. Despite my cheery disposition and my outpouring of all things emotional deployment, this has been my week. Last night all of these things came to a head in my self and one could say I sort of disintegrated.

I used to have so much "potential". I used to be ear marked for something "big". I used to be smart. I used to have all of the answers. I used to read grown up books. I used to be physically active. I used to dance. I used to have a body that I enjoyed. I used to not be lazy.

My husband and I were in bed, ready to go to sleep. He turned the light off and I have no idea what triggered him to ask me, nor what triggered me to unload, but he said, "Are you okay?" The next thing I knew, everything was coming out. All of these feelings that I had almost forgotten how to experience were flowing out of me. "I used to be somebody. I used to have goals and ambitions. I used to be smart. I used to know how to argue. I used to have something meaningful to say. I used feel useful. I used to fight people when I thought they were wrong. I am so lazy. I am a terrible mother. I'm a horrible wife." He interjected here that I was not a horrible wife, and then I proceeded to tell him how I was. The house has been a mess lately, the dishes not cleaned, I have barely cooked for my family. The stupid laundry hasn't been completed. I am rarely home, and when I am home I am exhausted. I always say the wrong things. I think I make him look bad at his work. I am too outspoken. I feel so unmotivated. I feel so unhappy. I feel so angry with myself, and what am I going to do if he doesn't come home? I can't seem to get things done the right way with him here to help, what the heck am I going to do if he dies?

When my forty five minute self deprivation finally ended, and the crying took over, there was nothing but silence. I thought he might be angry. I think I might have wanted him to be angry with me.

I said, "Are you angry?"
He said, "No. I'm in love."

Grace is the most beautiful of all gifts and the greatest of all comforts. That beautiful man who decided to give me his last name has single handedly, in four words, taken all of my feelings and wrapped them up, covered in grace, and replaced them with love. I am so unworthy. I am so blessed.

What If

Here it is nearly one o'clock in the morning and I can't sleep. I wish I had something profound or meaningful to say. I don't have much. Tonight I am just hurting.

What if he doesn't come home? It's one of those questions that to say out loud is almost like screaming a dirty word in the middle of a church service. Tonight I am asking it. Tonight I am mourning the very possibility of it. What if he doesn't come home to me? What if these moments are the last ones? What if these kisses are our final ones? What if my children, our children are spending their final days, hours, minutes with their daddy?

What if I'm not good enough to do this alone? What if I'm not smart enough, or clever enough, or good enough at communication? What if I don't have all the answers or the ability to see things from their perspectives and talk them through it? What if I fall apart and don't know how to put myself back together again? What if I have to plan his funeral? What if his last breath, his final thoughts, his dying whisper is nowhere near the vicinity of where I am? What if I am given a flag instead of warm open arms?

What if? To fathom it is intense. It is emotional. It is ugly. To have it happen is a nightmare that truthfully I cannot comprehend. What if?

My husband told me once that he imagined I would be that woman who would not let go of the coffin in order for it to be buried. Truthfully, I have no idea.

Who would comfort me in that nightmare? What words would help? Does writing this here, now mean that it won't happen to me? Where would I be standing when they came to tell me? Would I believe them? Would I scream? Would I fall? Would I sense that he had left me here?

I hate war. I hate death and destruction. It sickens me.

I know I can make no bargains with You. I know that what You allow in to our lives is for Your glory. I promise You that I will be faithful to You no matter the cost. I will praise You even in the midst of intense suffering, but please don't take my love away.

Soldierly advice. Can I get an amen? :)

Dear Sirs,

Let me just lay a couple of things out on the table for your understanding. We (Army wives) know that your job requires you to go away. We are aware that you have to deploy for your job, that you don't want to go. We really are quite intellectually capable of processing this information. I promise!

Let me just give a tip to you newbie deploying soldiers (and if this is your first married deployment, then you're a newbie). When your wife is crying because she is going to miss you...DO NOT say to her, "I have to go. It's my job." (All Army wives are collectively nodding their heads in agreement, probably giving out a "mmm hm!" and shaking their heads.) It is the WORST possible statement to ever tell your wife in that moment. Please also do not assume that she cannot handle your deployment, doesn't trust that God will take care of you, or is disintegrating before your very eyes. Let me announce something to you that perhaps you have never thought of: if she isn't crying, then you have something to be concerned about. Seriously. If I start to get emotional about my lobster leaving me for 365 DAYS (you really have to shout that amount and say it in a movie announcer voice in order to get the full effect), and I stop myself, in my head, and say: "Don't cry. It's his job! God is going to take care of him. I am Army strong!" and then proceed to never shed a single tear... I promise you that in a matter of a few days, he will seriously believe I no longer love him.

To be honest, you want us to cry, you need us to cry. It's sort of like your counterpart releasing her emotions on both of your behalves, and it also reminds you that we love you very much. What I wish that you could make me understand is this: why do you all say all the wrong things when we're crying? Let me just tell you this, because it is so simple and not complicated at all. When your wife cries, you hold her, kiss her, dry her eyes, hand her a tissue (Why is this critical step almost always missed by dudes? When girls are around each other, we also hand out tissues. It's almost like instinct!) and tell her over and over again "I will miss you too. I don't want to leave you! I have no idea how I will get through this year. This sucks." That's it. You don't have to remind her it's your job (TRUST me, the wonderful Army does not allow her to forget what your job is), or that God has you all in His capable hands.

Please also acknowledge that her suffering is real. Her agony is intense. You have no idea the amount of strength it takes to be here while you're there. She is angry, she is helpless, she is hurt and she is scared, and those feelings fluctuate based on her current moment, her current feelings and whether or not she is processing your deployment. You have a real opportunity here to stand up and be her man. Do you realize that? Stop feeling guilty for leaving. It doesn't help her and it doesn't help you. Stop being mad at her for her emotions. Again, it doesn't change the situation you're both in, together, even though you'll be worlds apart.

Please use caution when making statements like: "I want to deploy." To be honest, I always only hear those words from the mouths of fellas who have never deployed, or who hate their marriages and want to get away (with only one exception... KK). Even if you are eager to "do your job", do not say it in front of your wife. You know why? This is what we hear: "I can't wait to get away from you!" Seriously.

For those of you who also have children, just think on this: if you have ever spent 24, 48, 72 hours or more with your spouse gone and you all alone with your children... are you realizing the mountain that she is facing? I went out of town for a weekend and left our four kids with their pops (my grandma died). He literally almost fell apart. I kid you not. My house was a disaster, no laundry was completed, the kitchen was a mess (and I have no idea how that occurred since they did nothing but eat out), and he seemed to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown by the time I got back. His first words to me, I believe were "Do not ever leave me again." Sure, he said it with a smile, but still! It drove the point home, being at home with children alone, is extremely difficult. Your wives have even GREATER justification for bawling their eyes out at random moments. You just need to stick to your party line, "I will miss you too. This will be so hard. I have no idea how I am going to get through this year away from you." That's what she needs.

Finally, allow her to be your support too. Even if you are eager to deploy, and excited about doing your job, you do have moments where you get scared, or you feel sad. If you don't then you're either a liar or inhuman, and neither of those are wonderful options. Lean on your wife. Give her the opportunity to comfort you. Allow her to hold you too. I promise you that we are not SO weak that we can't put on our big girl panties and comfort you with the same sayings that we need from you when we're upset. Let us hold you, and if you feel like crying then do it! It helps us to see that it hurts you to be away from us.

So this is my advice for those of us who will soon be saying goodbye. You're going to fight. You're going to cry. It's going to be ugly. Just remember, you're feeling all of these ugly feelings because you love each other. In closing, absence really does make the heart grow fonder, and you will survive this. These are just some lessons my lobster and I have learned throughout our four deployments together. I am not really excited about number five coming up. :-/

For BK and DF

Soon the giver of my last name is going to go away and he will be very far away for a long time. I will miss him agonizingly so. It will be painful. I will cry. I will be angry. I will be frustrated. I will feel helpless. I will probably write some angry, waterfall-sobbing, unhappy blog posts. I will probably spend a lot of time on the phone reaching out to those that I know will support me. I will have difficult nights, extremely long days, exhausting experiences and on and on. I wish to convey with the greatest level of capacity within myself that I. will. be. okay.

I will get through this entire experience. I will survive. I will endure. I will laugh sometimes. I will cry sometimes. I will be lonely. I will be comforted. I will worry. I will feel secure. I will be afraid. My faith will be tested and it will grow. I will have wonderful opportunities that I would shoot down if he was here. Doors will open. Others will close. I. will. be. okay.

The last time my lobster left, was very different from this one. To be perfectly honest, I felt extremely alone. I had "friends" but none that I deeply related to or connected with. You see, despite my cheery demeanor, I am exceptionally picky about those people that I desire to spend an enormous amount of time with. I'm even pickier about who I will be vulnerable around. You have no idea how many of my dear friends have never seen me cry. I am just that uptight about my emotions. I would also rather be the one cheering people up than the one in need of it. You have no idea how many people have been in my life for a long time and don't know that much about me. I have trust issues. I accept it. I recognize it. I live with it. I also have a lot of pretty good reasons for being this way. I would also like to point out that even Christ had an inner circle. He loved all, gave to all, but only a select few were a part of his support system.

You had to know that when I started writing this post, there was a purpose behind it. You had to assume there was a "but" that was going to come in here somewhere. Especially when you consider how horrifically angry my last post was. Well here is my "but"...the tripod.

I am a member of a group of three, and I have collectively named our friendship the tripod. I have never had friends like this. To be perfectly honest, I really genuinely love them. I love them so much that when I start to think about it, I get emotional and teary. For those of you who know me well (or at least have for a long time) you realize how utterly shocking this is. I hug them! I'm serious! Without prompting! It's amazing! They are so encouraging. So often on a horrible day, or an angry day, or a whatever day, we all get together and it just fades away. I forget what I was upset about, or I vent and release it, and then I go home feeling so much better. They love Jesus. Not just in a superficial, "yeah, I like him" kind of way. No. They really love Him and want to grow and be more like Him every day. They love their husbands. In the same way that I love mine. Desperately, deeply, and intensely. Their husbands love them the same way that mine does. The six of us (tripods, plus spouses) are ALL friends! Not in a "I accept your friend's husband because it's important to you" kind of way, but in a way that the three of them really enjoy each others company! Even when us girls are not around! As much as I love each of them and think about them and pray for them and want to help them, it is equally reciprocated. There is no feeling like I'm doing everything or all the giving and they're just takers. No. They think about me. They help me. They are there for me. We are all parenting very similarly. And I actually like their children! I like being around them. I like my children being around them. They are my village. They are my "family" here.

Do you have any idea how exceptionally rare this is!? It is all entirely God. Seriously. To have a group of three without anyone feeling like the odd wheel or left out is so rare. To have our husbands all like each other equally is also rare. To have us all like the others' kids and want to be around them is also rare. To all live near each other is rare. To have two girlfriends who don't gossip and who are NOT negative central is rare. To all get along, to all support, to all have the same faith, to all be a part of the Army, it's just so mind boggling that I don't have words.

I know that whatever comes from this deployment will be okay. I know that when I have the ugly cries (that always come) and when I have the sad moments, it will be okay. I am not alone. Me and my tripod will make it through this together. I wish I could describe to you what this means to me, how comforted my heart is. I am more thankful for them than I have words to say. I really love them. Deeply. As we each go through our unique challenges of the next year (two of our hubsters deployed, and one doing basically non stop field training) will be hard. But we'll be all right. In a tripod, all three legs lean on each other to hold themselves up, but are ultimately held together by a connecting force. Christ holds us together, and through leaning on each other, none of us will fall.

Love you BK and DF. And I am totally crying now. I hope you're satisfied. haha

I try to draw the line, but it ends up running down the middle of me most of the time.

There is an element of self loathing in me. I feel like I am speeding along a road at ninety miles an hour, except that I know there is a brick wall that is going to appear soon...

I am blessed beyond measure. I honestly have nothing to complain about. I have one amazing husband (just in case you were wondering if I had two), four beautiful and intelligent children, two precious dogs, a home to live in, food, water, clothes...

Why is it that when someone starts listing all of the good things that they have, you always know the "but" is going to come in eventually like an invited, name tagged, and place-carded character at a formal dinner?

Well here is my but, "you".

You are like a poison. You are constantly looking for more than what you currently have. You jump into these waves of self destructive actions. You know that you deserve nothing, that in fact what you have is ridiculously amazing and wonderful. You feel like you need to be punished. In fact, I know that you enjoy it. You crave suffering. You thrive on it.

And damn it why does your smile haunt me so? Why does your face come into my dreams and intrude on my thoughts? I don't want you here. I don't want to think about you, wonder about you, relate to you. I don't want to feel connected to you like a force that I can not contain. I don't want to write about you. I don't want to cry about you. I wish you would just go away. I wish it with a level of intensity that I don't even know how to control. I am helpless in your presence. I act differently. I become someone else. Do I love you? How do I even begin to discuss that word in regards to you? It is so menial, so tiny... And you will be like everyone else and pack up your stupid things and leave. And you'll be wrapped around my finger.

It really doesn't matter how angry I feel, or how much I cry. It really makes no difference if I say anything at all. I am helpless. I am utterly helpless. So I spend my days trying to make you laugh. I spend my lonely moments thinking about you. I pray and I pray and I pray and I pray. Yet for someone reason, it feels like God isn't listening when it comes to you. Maybe He just wants me to be uncomfortable. Maybe He wants me to hurt. Or maybe I do.

I feel so disgustingly ugly in ways I can't even verbalize. I have no ways or means of expressing the stupid emotions dog piling up in my girlish mind. I am often hidden underneath a canopy of armor that is so affluent in my life that I forget it's there. Who am I underneath it all? Why do I so desperately want you to peel back the layers? Why do I want you to expose them? Why do I want you to examine me, figure me out, and then put me on your shelf of all things contemplated, studied, pondered, categorized, and then fought for? Why do I want you to fight for me? Or is it that I want you to fight against me?

You are like a drug that I cannot get freedom from. Why is it that the truth is always revealed in the things not said? Why is it that you can say so many beautiful, eloquent words, but yet the words are not at all what you're saying? I only hear your meanings. I don't even know if I really know how to talk to you. I come across so bossy, so controlling and you come across as so freaking prideful. You know you're smart, and I suppose I know it too. I think I know it probably much more than anyone. Yet I find it so ironic that you have this constant, driving need to prove it to everyone around you. All they end up hearing is that you're an A hole, and all you end up feeling is frustrated and defeated. No body ever wins in your self protective society. You are the top dog and yet you randomly give me snippets of my ability to impact you. I love it. I love it so deeply that I crave it and I find myself hungry for more and more of them. That disgusts me.

I want to save you. I want to save you from yourself and protect you from the insanity that is your life and our life and this life. I want to be your hero. The fact that I can't is mind numbing, emotion boggling...like water rushing through fingers. There are only trace elements of what it is that I am capable of holding on to.

I want to know you more than I have the ability to. I want to sit and hear you talk for hours and hours...even though I know that the words you say are so irrelevant in the grand scheme of what you are conveying. I see you, perhaps better than you can see yourself. I think that you know that and it frightens you. I think that you know that and it intrigues you. I think that it makes you feel comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. I think I am a problem that you want to know how to solve. Perhaps that is what has kept you around.

I know the time is coming when you will leave. And your impact here will become almost non existent. You will just be wrapped around my finger. It makes me so angry. I hate being helpless.

So tell me baby, who are the bad guys here? Is it me? Am I the enemy that you have been fighting all along? Where is the poetry in this moment? Have you really gotten everything that you ever wanted?

I know why the caged bird sings. Okay, so I'm being dramatic.

I miss dancing. I miss letting loose a plethora of emotions to choreography. I miss forcing my body to express what my words can not. I miss creating. I miss story telling.I miss singing. I miss performing. I miss acting too. I miss playing volleyball. I miss tennis. I wish I had someone who would play tennis with me. I miss being physically challenged by those around me.

I am completely immersed in mom-dom. Momdom is very similar to kingdom, except that it is filled with a lot of children and very few adults. It's the girly version of ruling a crowd. On a side note and off topic: have you ever noticed how the very word "kingdom" implies nothing to the effeminate? It is completely  masculine. As are a lot of words in the English language. 

Back to topic now. :) I am trapped in the confines of my gender. I feel like fighting. I am in a fighting mood. Not fighting in the sense of arguing with my lobster (I actually hate that). I mean, I just sometimes miss the challenge of taking on all of the big boys and playing their game and doing a better job at it than they do. There was this guy in high school... He was my male nemesis. Okay, not really... he was actually a pretty cool dude. But he and I were competitors. He was smart, but I was smarter (I can say this with a certainty...because one of us was valedictorian...and one of us wasn't....that's all I'm saying. haha). 

I just miss being fired up. I miss getting my passionate juices flowing and having a knock down, drag out, crazy, inspiring, beautiful, sensational, amazing fight. I miss going against the grain. I miss being unique. I miss being able to start up the engines and take on the world. 

I usually feel quite content here in this life that I live. For some reason today...I just miss being...different. I feel so conformist. I feel so stuck.

I am sure it will pass momentarily. I think I just need to flex my book-loving muscles...and not "The Cat in the Hat" kind. :)

freedom

I am so thankful for my husband. He is such a beautiful treasure of a man. I was talking to him last night about a long list of things on my heart and mind (it seems like I write that often here...), and he said something that was self berating. I seriously laughed. The idea that he finds himself to be worthless is so silly to me.

He is the greatest man I have ever known. I do not say that lightly either. All of my faithful friends, family, and readers know the experiences that he and I have been through in our marriage. I am blessed that God has given me the freedom to love him wholly. To love him this freely, this deeply, this way... My heart could be so grieved. Society wouldn't begrudge me, and quite honestly, most Christians wouldn't either. Many would say I have a valid excuse to hate him...to resent him...to despise him. 

I wish I could show you the grace that he has given to me. 

Do you know how beautiful it is to be wholly loved? To have someone that loves you despite the fact that you often, unintentionally, act like a fool, or talk too much, or do other things that aren't "supposed" to be done? (I feel the need to clarify that I am not referring to infidelity or any thing that would jeopardize the purity and sanctity of my marriage.) He loves me, trusts me, and sets me free to do what my heart is burdened or convicted to do. He loves me with freedom. It is interesting to note that he is the only man who has been capable of giving me that. I have been in a few relationships in my day (seriously...wish I could say differently), and all other men saw me as a wild, uncontrollable, fascinating force of a woman and they wanted to tame me, control me, change me. They wanted that or at least to bask in the off gassing of my bold statements. I don't know. They always wanted me to be something different than who I was. It seemed like they found their manly value in being able to mold me in to some cookie cutter image of who they wanted me to be. 

But not my lobster. When I met him I instantly knew I would never be the same. Here was an individual that from a spiritual level, instantly impacted me. It was an instant connection like none I had ever had before. He loved me quietly. He loved me freely. He encouraged me to continue in my independence with education and schooling. He set me free to be me. And in turn for that freedom, I cancelled our wedding, broke up with him, and started dating someone else. I. walked. away.

For most people that would've been the end of it. That would've been the point where they would say...that chick is crazy. She is out of control. She is probably a lot of bad words. And maybe he did some of those things. Yet, despite all of my instability, he still loved me freely. He stayed single throughout my nearly two year long relationship with someone else. He occasionally would call me to check in because I was his "best friend" and you "just don't walk away from that." I was aloof. I was even mean, and he still loved. 

Eventually that other relationship ended and God allowed me to be reunited with my heart's mate in every way. He has so preciously, and beautifully, loved me through controlling outbursts, attitudes like you wouldn't believe, laziness, panics (let me tell you...the two and half years at the beginning of the triplets existences were not pretty), and on and on. 

What I find a little funny is that he attained the goal of what so many before him could not do. I wonder if he saw my ability when I couldn't. I wonder if he knew that the only way to achieve that change was to accept me for who I was and allow God to do the changing. I don't know. I've never asked him. For him to have known that takes immense wisdom. It takes heavenly discernment. 

I am in awe of him. I have the utmost respect for him (and that is something I don't give out easily). I cherish him more than I know how to describe. I am so blessed. I am so blessed. 

God has given me so much joy. Yes, I have had periods of immense suffering and agony, but the result is extremely worth it. There is so much freedom in love. Real love sets you free. 

That's amore...the only way I see it. :)

Love has been on my heart a lot this past week. I wish I could say that such and such happened and is the reason why. I don't really have a situation like that. Love has just been on my mind. Perhaps it's because all around me I see so very little of it offered genuinely, and so many people in deep need of it.

My love (AKA the lobster-and in case you've been wondering why I call him that, it's because lobster's mate for life and the only way out of this marriage is via death...which you could sort of claim as very "gang" like...blood in...blood out. But hey! I've always been an intense gal, and that's the only way I would ever get married. hehe) and I were having a lengthy conversation about love tonight. I was sharing with him about some of the matters that had been weighing on my heart and asking for his leadership on how I should handle them. My heart aches to love people. I desire it desperately. I know how deeply my heart, my soul, my spirit ached for it before it was so generously given to me.

I believe in love given with strings not attached.

It's quite honestly the only way I know how to love. If I love you with expectations of grandeur or praise or even kindness returned, then is it no longer love, but rather a purchase. Isn't that sort of like paying for something that you want?

The needs are so immense. The broken hearts are so intense that I experience the near trembling of my bones as to how I will ever be able to give each broken heart a piece of Heavenly love. It is so much like a drop of water to dry and dehydrated lips and my arms ache to give more and more and more.

I wish I could show you my Father's love. I wish I could unskin myself and clothe myself in only His beautiful embraces and hold you. I want with all of my heart for you to know that I see your aching heart. Please be assured it is by no ability of my own, but only that which the Lord allows me to see. I make no boast in my self. I am lowly and merely human and I am quite honestly incapable of giving that which your heart desires. I have no idea why God has allowed me to see the suffering that you are hiding. I don't know how to even explain it in words so that you can understand. My heart is so grieved for your desire. I am daily, constantly, in prayer for God to give you the yearning of your heart. I know, with complete certainty, that He will satisfy you. I pray wholeheartedly that God will allow you to know, to experience, that you are not alone in your thoughts. You are not alone on this earth. There are people who see you. There are people who love you, and accept you just the way you are. There are people who see the beauty that dwells in your heart. You are so beautiful and I honestly believe you have no idea how amazing you really are. My heart loves you so deeply. With no strings attached.

The quiet that inevitably comes...

I am sitting here on a beautiful afternoon. The weather outside is amazing. There is a gentle breeze... The sun is shining through the sheer curtains to my right. It's almost like feeling radiance on your skin. To just stop and stay still enough to experience the beauty of the sun... this is something that I struggle with doing. I am often moving at a thousand miles a moment. It is rare when I get to sit still and just talk to someone for moments without interruptions.

Today I feel almost eager. I want to climb out of my skin and experience so much that is beyond my capability. I often feel trapped in the confines of my circumstance. Not in the circumstance of being married or a mother. I am  talking about human existence. There is so much beauty that surrounds us. We are often distracted, or embarrassed, or discontented to such a point that we don't notice it. Many times we spend a thousand hours with questions and situations where we simply can NOT know with certainty the answers. We are distracted by our fleshly ability to barely experience moments. I want to throw off those inhibitions. I want to be able to sit in a car with my children, waiting on whatever it is that is to come, and enjoy the beauty of that moment. I want to sit and talk to someone for two hours about theology and grow and be challenged and cherish the beauty of that experience. I want to sit here in this room enjoying the breeze as it blows through my curtains, and the feeling of sunlight on my skin. I want to relish in it. I want to cherish it.

So tell me...why do I feel so guilty when I sit still?

I love to laugh! Ha Ha Ha Ha!

I love to laugh. Seriously. I spend time every single day reading jokes. I think it is so important to have a laugh about the aspects of life. People are way too serious. We spend so much time all day long wearing these big fancy serious pants, that we completely forget to just let loose and act silly. For the young in bones (as opposed to young at heart), the only way to "let loose" seems to be to get completely wasted, act like an idiot, end up broke, and blame it on the booze. I however think it is much cheaper, and less hang-overy, to just act silly minus the alcohol.

Now it might be difficult for some of you to behave like a complete lunatic without an excuse. You see, I have a built in excuse for my lunacy: the triplets. For now and for always, I will always be able to say that my triplets have caused me to be insane. I like to think of it as one of the perks for the amounts of energy they deplete from me. I mean, don't get me wrong. I am not complaining. My kids are one of the greatest resources of hilarity. They are SO much fun. At any given moment one of them will do something so extremely hilarious that I am often laughing throughout my day by their facial expressions, actions, creativity moments, etc etc etc.

But, I digress. Back to my topic. People need a good excuse for complete and utter ridiculous behavior. To clarify, I am not referring to ridiculous behavior of the jerky-donkey-not very nice individual kind. I'm referring to the kind where you just laugh SO loud (as opposed to the more "polite" quiet, lady chuckle), or you give out a WOOOHOOOO, or you dance in the grocery store, etc etc etc etc. I think most women have built in excuses, but sometimes we have to be creative. Maybe you're an Army wife...then you can always blame your lunacy on your "profession" (and lets be clear...being an Army wife is a profession. One must be highly educated, very politely political-it is EXTREMELY difficult to remember all the people's names that you have to remember and their rank's, caring, a professional manager of baked goods, caregiver, multi-gendered-hello! you are mom and dad!, repairman, psychologist, warrior against all things individual-Yes housing, I know you said you fixed my closet, but it still won't open, and on and on). If you're a mom (even if you just have one), then you've got a great excuse! Um...your kids. If you're married...you could use that one. If you're single...you definitely have an excuse (especially if you're upholding the whole, no sex before marriage philosophy).

So now that you've figured out an excuse...go ahead and try an act of lunacy today. Maybe you could climb into an elevator and face the back of the elevator. If you're really brave, you could start singing row, row, row your boat. And then just watch the faces. It will be hilarious. I promise you. Or maybe walk through your grocery store aisle and jump up and click your heels together. It'll get you laughing. Dance with your child in the waiting room to whatever it is that you are waiting for. Better yet, get one of your other kids to sing the music that you're dancing to. Have a tickle fight...with yourself. Well, maybe that's going to far. But either way. Do something hilarious today. I promise that your frame of mind will drastically improve. And if you should choose, tell me the story. I always love a good laugh! :)

little old ghetto me.

It has been a crazy week here around this military household. I have been soldiering through some weird random stomach situation. After three weeks of almost constant nausea, today I woke up from a haze.

Okay, back up...rewind a bit. I will explain the haze.

On Sunday when my lobster wanted me to go to church, I was sick in the bathroom (do I really need to explain that any further?) and told him I couldn't go. He started to get upset and said, "Why is it that for the past three weeks you haven't been able to go to church!?" I was like, "I'm sick! It's not that I don't want to go."

But it got me thinking...wow! Has this really been going on for three weeks!? Yikes!

So I asked the hubster to call the appointment line (he wakes up at the crack of dawn and I do not!) and make me an appointment. He did, and I went.

So the Doc ordered me a little drug called Fenergen (and a plethora of tests that I do not feel the need to elaborate on here) to take in order to help with the nausea. She casually mentioned that this drug might make me kind of sleepy, so I should try to use it cautiously. I told her, look Doc, I can't stand taking medicine at all, so I probably won't take it if I can avoid it.

I should probably mention that when doctor's say a drug MIGHT make me slightly drowsy, it really translates into it will essentially work like a general anesthesia on me. For example, Benadryl, a lovely little drug for allergies. It's not supposed to anesthetize people, it's supposed to make them "drowsy". Yeah, ahem. That's not the case for this chick. I take two benadryl's and I am rendered unconscious for approximately sixteen hours (or more). Good luck waking me. It won't happen.

So I took this Fenergen last night right before dinner. I thought to myself, hey! It's dinner! Hopefully I can eat it. The lobster was home so I wasn't too worried if it did make me tired. My brain felt fuzzy and weird after a half an hour, but the nausea was weird. It was almost like my body wanted to be nauseous but something wasn't allowing it. I ate my saltines and drank my sprite. I felt fine. Then eight o'clock rolled in. I'm not kidding you. It's like some thing turned a light switch off to my brain and I could not stay awake. I literally went into my room and went to bed, texting my husband (who was in the living room. Yes...that tired!) that I was going to bed.

Now, I am usually a light sleeper. When the lobster comes to bed, I wake up. And stay awake for a while. When he gets up for work, the same. When the kids make noises...I'm awake. When the dogs...well, you get the picture. Last night? I didn't even know my husband came to bed. I barely heard his alarm blaring in my ear in the morning. I didn't even hear my children (which motherly freaks me out, but thank the Lord they were fine). This is what Fenergen did to me. After 13 and a half hours of sleep, I awoke wanting more. But my madar (mom-radar) kicked in and told me my children would need to eat breakfast eventually, so I had to get up.

I realize that was a lot of back story to get to this point in my day, but heck. It's my blog. Nanner nanner nanner. :)

The Fenergen seemed to help immensely. I didn't have any nausea today. So tonight, for the first time in ages, I got to eat dinner! It was absolutely magical!

We BBQ'd hot dogs and had some fresh strawberries. Yummo! They were so good.

After dinner, I was feeling brave (and a bit ghetto) and I told my husband I wanted to roast marshmallows. He said, "On what?" I said, "The bbq!" He literally laughed at me. Now I suppose it probably looked really ridiculous, me holding a marshmallow roasting stick over our BBQ, but hey! It was an adventure. After I came in to show the lobster my perfectly roasted marshmallows, he wanted in. So here's the picture: my large family, all huddled around our BBQ, roasting marshmallows. I'm sure the neighbors were laughing in their homes about the ridiculousness of it all, but this is the fun in my household. These are the moments that people remember when they get older. The total random acts of fun-ness.

Now, I have four children running back and forth from their bedrooms to the bathroom, getting ready for baths. I have to laugh. It's been a wonderful day.... BBQ'd marshmallows and all!