Donkeys and Frick Ups.

Nuggets,

I am a donkey. There I said it. I give you the freedom to say it about me. I'm not afraid of your acknowledgment of my heavy list of flaws. I make no fantasies about you thinking that I was (or am) perfect. I'm not. I'm terrible in a lot of ways.

I think of all people on this planet who might try to assess my personality, you and your Dad are the most capable. You are often the audience of my weaknesses. I struggle with sin. I struggle with soul ugliness. I think you also see my strengths the most clearly as well. Yes, I hope that you will ignore the weaknesses and make the strengths the center of your parental photographs, but it doesn't dominate my existence. You will remember me how you remember me.

Truth is, I think I am better on paper. I can edit out the words I don't like, or undo the things I shouldn't say. Paper makes me seem kinder or more loving than I am. Paper doesn't hold my impulsive shouts, or my unforgiving knee-jerk reactions. Paper doesn't etch painful words in your ears in a moments of foolishness. Paper isn't impulsive. I think that's partly why I've started this blog. I can edit my f'ed up brain to the things I wanted to say, or the things I want you to understand. I can water down the disappointments in the message, and give you the purpose as my heart sees it, and the love as my heart means it.

I hope you understand that while I admit to my failures, I am resoundingly seeking to improve on them. I don't want to ever be that person who says "Well I'm just that way" and then give up and give in. It's why I feel like I'm constantly apologizing. Recognize when you have failed, apologize, and then correct the behavior. You have the power to change your behavior.

You are a part of my story, but you aren't my legend. You are not my saga. My value and worth is not summed up in the completion of your lives. I say this, because I hope that when you have your own children, you will recognize that. Your children are not you. They don't determine how great or how bad you are (or were). They are their own people.

Society is hell bent on changing and perverting that scenario. They fill the atmosphere with bullshit statements like I am a frick up because my parents were mean (or absent, or busy, or angry, or sad). It's such bull. The real truth is that someone is a frick up because they choose to be. Every single one of my sin-filled, weakness-filled, unloving-filled actions are a direct result of my choices. They are my failures, my flaws, my problems. Not my parents. As much as it would be easy street to blame my sin on grandma and grandpa, I've earned that badge all by myself. Just like I've earned my successes myself. My parents were along for the ride, giving advice (often times unspoken, in the form of role models) directing the traffic, and helping me to navigate life all on my own.

But I digress. My point is this: I am flawed. I am always a work in progress. I try so hard to help you to overcome the sin issues that I struggle with, because I don't want them to dominate your lives like they have dominated mine. I don't want you to have a life time of demons that have been following you around. I want you to be stronger, better, more loving than me. I want you to rise up out the the ashes and soar on wings... free. I want you to be free.

When you four are sitting around the living room, recalling these days we're living now, most likely laughing about me and Dad, I hope the underlying thought is always this: our parents loved us. As fricked up as they are, and were, they loved us with all that they had. Because we do, my Nuggets. We really do.

Death

Nuggets,

I don't want you to be afraid of death. Not yours, or mine, or anyone else's. I spent a lot of time being afraid of death as a little kid. It was like opening a door that I couldn't see beyond and it scared me. It seemed so final, so painful, so horrifying.

Death can be horrifying. It can be gruesome and painful and slow. Truth be told, right now I am slowly dying. And so are you. Kind of crazy to think about, isn't it? Death can also be sudden. Like the pop of a firework on the 4th of July, death can come knocking on anyone's door any second. Maybe it could happen in a car accident, maybe a blood clot, maybe a heart attack... death looms everywhere. And yet we spend so much time ignoring it.

Please, for the love of humanity, don't ignore death. Everyone dies. It's a fact: death and taxes. Even the unreligious folks have to acknowledge it. It is undeniable. I want you to live every single day with this reality present in your mind: one day you will die... then what?

What will your life have meant? What will your legacy be? Where will your story end? Will people breathe a sigh of relief upon your last breath? Or will the agony of a life without you seem daunting? Will the world care that you walked upon her surface? Will the earth itself mourn your absence? Will you have poured out so much grace, love, joy, kindness, patience that the void of your absence will send echoes around the world? What about in the people that surround you?

I don't want you to fear my death. Even when my heart stops beating, my blood stops pumping, my brain stops processing, I will still be with you. I like to envision the Angels in heaven, anticipating my arrival, like we anticipate the end of Daddy's deployments. Maybe they'll have banners, maybe they are currently counting down the minutes. Maybe they're waiting on the 72-hour-notification process. Maybe the Saints are all jumping up and down with excitement, looking for the plane, wanting the moments to hurry up! With each moment that ticks away here, I am one moment closer, there. There... Please don't ever forget about all that I have told you about "There". All of my feisty, go-getter-attitude, will still be with me when I get There. All the spunkiness, that God created me to be (my Martha personality) will still be with me when I get There. I will still pray for you, protect you, and love you. No matter what.

I try hard to remember these things in my daily moments. I try to think about what I want to be imprinted in your memories of me. I work hard on constantly calling to mind my own death. Because I want it to lead the way I live. I want my life to change the world. I want my life to pour out love on people with every single beat of my heart. I want my absence to send echoes around the world. Not in grief, or sadness, but rather in inspiration. I want my life to be an inspiration to others: love with all you have.  

Remember this: live this day, like you are dying... because you are. Live a life that echoes throughout the world. The world needs that kind of love. Desperately. You were brought here for such a purpose as this. And always remember that I love you with all that I am, was, and will ever be. I have given all I have to you and your Daddy, and it's been the best experience that ever could have happened in my life. You five, are the echoes that have reverberated in my soul, and changed my world in every single way. I will never be the same, I can't be, because of you. I hope you always hold that fact close to your soul. I hope you take it out on dark days, and it gives you comfort. Your lives already have made a beautifully massive impact. Look what Love can do.

Love

Nuggets,

Don't ever give up on love. Just don't do it. Don't ever walk away from it. Or hide your war beaten heart from it. Don't ignore it and forsake it.

If there is anything that I have ever taught you or given you the ability to understand, it is this that I hold dearest to my heart. Love always wins in the end. You just have to be brave enough, gentle enough, faithful enough to wait it out.

It's the only gift that keeps on giving. It's the only treasure that can't be priced, because it can't be forced out of you. It's the only gift that literally covers a multitude of sins, hurts, betrayals, devastations. Love makes life worth living. Love. It's the most beautiful four letter word in the world.

Agape love saved my life. It saved your Daddy's. Agape love saved our marriage. It literally brought life in to this world. Love conquered death. Not just the Jesus version of that equation either. Love, literally, conquered death, in my life. Love brought your father back to me. When every single aspect of who he was, and is, and could have been, died.

Love covered a multitude of sins. It healed the wounds that war inflicted on my body. It saved me from the darkness of fear, anger, and abandonment. Love is the greatest of heroes. Love never hurts, never betrays, never ends. Love is!

Don't you ever turn your back on love. You wait for it. You wait for it to come, like the life changing, all encompassing, magical experience that it is. You fight with every single ounce of fight you have in you, to keep it alive. You nurture it, cherish it, honor it.

Don't you ever stop giving it away. Love isn't love unless you're pouring it out on those around you. Love is giving it away.

Don't confuse love with emotions. It's not. Love is action. Love is choices. Love is waking up every single day and deciding to be bigger, more powerful, more generous than your selfish nature wants to convince you to be. Love is doing. Love is flexible. It's choosing to believe the best of people, being kind, encouraging, supportive... Love is forgiving the wrongs done against you, in the most supernatural, humanly-impossible type of way.

Love means losing your life. You can't hold on to your life, and love. Love is the act of giving your life away.

Be that person. Be that person who loves so hard, and so big, and so powerfully, that no one can give you the credit. Be that person through whom a multitude of hurts are healed, and a plethora of wrongs are righted. Be bigger than what the world will try and convince you to be.

Be the Love that changes the whole world.

Fuzzy

I was fast asleep, knee deep in a dream about decorating a home celebrating the birth of a baby, when out of the depths of my soul, a voice beckoned me back to reality. Mommy? I keep having nightmares. Can I sleep with you?

I settled you down on the floor beside my bed. Pulled my body up out of my bed, and laid down next to you. I rubbed your head, like I've always done ever since you were little. Your furry little head that has encompassed the brain that has surpassed every expectation. Your scalp is encircled by cowlicks, proof pudding that you were kissed by angels, miraculously healed, and brought forth in to this world. At the very based of your skull, you have a perfectly circular patch of blonde hair. When people glance at you, they think you have a randomly weird bald spot. But I know better. I know it's where God Himself, healed you, before you were born. It's where all of the sickness that kept me laying down for seven and a half months went away. It is what kept me from bleeding out on the operating table, and kept you from dying inside of me. The proof pudding of a miracle.

You are my miracle. One of the three that came in to my world and rocked every single aspect of it to its core. You broke down my ideas of control, brought me to my knees, and showed me what complete and utter helplessness looks like. You taught me to let go. You taught me that love walks through the valley of the shadow of death, and keeps on going even when they don't see any lights at the end of the tunnel. You taught me that fighting means laying one quarter of all of the love in your soul at the feet of God, and your pediatrician, and hoping and praying that your lungs will re-expand with air, that your brain will stop seizing, that your stomach will start working. You showed me the immaculate power of a tiny little human being's capability to defeat every single medical odd placed against it. You showed me how to not give up.

Last night there was something tangible that I could do to protect you. So I spent the night rubbing your fuzzy little head, and making certain that you knew I was present with all that I was. As tired as I was (and am), it was an honor. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Sticks and Stones

Nuggets, times are going to come in your lives where you feel really sad, and there's not necessarily a pin-point-able reason for it. There are periods of life where things are just sad. It might be sadness directly related to your life journey. Maybe you will be struggling with your spouse, children, finances, education, career. Maybe a friend will betray you or hurt you. Maybe you will be grieving the loss of someone who mattered to you.

There might come across your radar times where nothing in your personal journey is hard, but those you love are walking some horrific journeys themselves and you can't fix it. You will be helpless to their pain and that hurts. Especially if they are journeys that you relate to oh so specifically. If they are hurts that you've healed from and you remember, you empathize with, the path that they are being forced to walk down.

One of the big life lessons that I hope I can impart to you, my Nuggets, is this: sadness isn't something to fear. It isn't necessarily something to medicate, even though society will most likely tell you otherwise. Sadness should be embraced. We should give ourselves permission to grieve. We reject it all too often here in America, especially in the Christian realm. We have convinced ourselves that life should be happy, candy, la la la lovely all. the. time. This is ludicrous. Unrealistic. Impossible to attain. And then we beat ourselves up all the more for failing to force ourselves to be what someone else has decided we should be.

Grief has a very appropriate place in our realm. Grief can be horrific, but it can also be beautiful. Don't be afraid of it. Don't be afraid to mourn. Loving people means that you will experience these periods of hurt. You have to be brave enough, and strong enough, to recognize that loved ones are worth your sadness. And recognize in advance that when you open your self up to love others, their grief will become your grief. Their loneliness, will become yours. It has to. Otherwise you don't love them.

I hope you understand that when you experience your own personal journeys of strife, my soul will be grieving with you. You will never be alone in your sorrow. It's part of my Mommy super powers. I will sit in the pit with you, soak up the mud, and wait with you until you are ready to walk out on your own. I will always be your advocate. Even if that looks like me sitting there silent with you, while you scream and shout and cry. Even if that forces me into a helpless stance while I watch you embark on a journey that I oh so sympathize with.

Always understand this, about me, my Nuggets: I am not afraid of your grief. I am strong enough to hold it. You will always be worth my sadness. You will always have my platform of love to jump off of. Always.

Safety

You were afraid and you started to cry. I know it's not true, but I feel like there are eyes watching me and I'm scared. Cue warrior Mommy. "I will fight off every monster. I will defend you with my life. There is nothing that will prevent me from rushing to your aid. Me and Daddy will give our lives for you four. Without a thought. And Gus and Foofie would too." I know. But I'm just scared.

The four of you decided to huddle down together. You said there was safety in numbers and bad guys can't see how small we are if we're together. I was struck by the sheer genius-ness of that thought process. One of you had a problem, and the four of you banded together and solved it. This is what Mommy's dream about. Safety in numbers...

It raises up in me the need to be your supernatural ninja. I too, had horrible night-time hauntings. The images were so vivid, so powerful, that I can still recall them as if it were yesterday. I remember feeling so weak and powerless against the spiritual realm seeking to destroy me. I often found safety in the presence of another person there. It wasn't that they fought off my demons, or that they would be easier prey... It was the peace and comfort of knowing I was safer in numbers. I was bigger, more menacing, more difficult to take down.

This is still true today, but in different ways. As a Mommy, Army Wife, Christian... there is safety in numbers. When Chief and I band together to raise our children, we are stronger. When I am sitting in my van with my Army spouses, after we've closed down Starbucks, laughing, and sharing silly stories, we are less easily defeated by the hardships of our lifestyle. We are revived, renewed, sent home stronger and more resilient. When I am learning, studying, challenging with my fellow Catholics, then I am more able to live out loud, all that Christ has called me to.

Safety in numbers..

I hope that the four of you never lose sight of this truth. I hope you always know you can rely on each other. One day Daddy and I will fade away. Maybe it will be faded minds/memories, or maybe it will be our bodies transforming into the infinite realm, but you four will always be. There will never be a replacement, or any one else who will quite understand what it was to grow up in our family. There will never be someone who can understand things like your siblings. You all will be able to encourage each other, protect each other, defend each other like no one else. I hope you will always use this unique understanding to better push each other to better places. I hope you will always be each others superheroes. I pray that you will always wrap around the fragile, broken one, hurting one and stand together so that "bad guys can't see how small you are if you're together".

I hope you never lose sight of this moment where the four of you banded together to create safety in numbers.

Veteran's Day

It had been a really long day. We were up early, and it was go-go-go, as weddings usually are. It was a beautiful experience, watching the last of my sisters get married. Despite all of their weaknesses and flaws, my parents had successfully completed their "task". We were all married, connected, moving forward...

I was plumped down on the couch in the "quiet room" at the reception hall. My feet were killing me from those bridesmaid torture devices they call shoes. I heard a couple of people saying oh you've got to get over here and see this. I didn't think much of it, truthfully. There's a lot of that sort of thing going on at weddings. But, because it was my sister's wedding, after all, I got up to see.

He was dressed in his military uniform. He didn't actually want to wear it. To him, it was signing himself up for attention, something that he abhors, especially in this capacity. He doesn't do it for glory. He doesn't do it for accolades. He does it for honor, duty, faithfulness. He does it in defense of this beautiful nation. He didn't want to wear this most handsome of uniforms, but he did, because my little sister wanted him to. And as much as they've disagreed, fought, and battled each other, he loves her. And she's proud of him.

As I got up to look at what these women were talking about, I saw my husband, my soldier, surrounded by children. They were swarming him. Questioning him, barking orders. "Drop and give me twenty!" And he was faithful to the call. He dropped and pushed them out One! Two! Three...! "Now give me fifteen more!!!" He answered their questions as best as he could. "What do you do?" I'm a tanker. "Have you used a gun?" Yes. "What happens if you die?" Someone else stands up to take my place. "Yes, but what happens if you die?" Then my family feels very, very sad.

It was really beautiful to see the tiny glimpse that I saw. I didn't want to interrupt him, or throw off his moment, so I walked away. He told me later that he felt like these kids were so desperate to know, so he didn't want to let them down. He wanted to give them the best experience he could ever give, about soldiers. So he let them smoke him, hound him, boss him...

My heart swells with immense gratitude and joy because of these heroes. The real-life superstars. Thank you to all of our Veterans: the current fighters, defending our nation, and all of the ones who have gone before. I appreciate you with all that I am.

Bliss

The other day I was driving off to a meeting. I glanced up and saw the clouds rolling away from the mountaintop. The sun was simultaneously beaming down, punching through those misty clouds. The mountaintop was all at once flooded with light, flooded with beautiful colors, while the bright white clouds moved away. It looked like a scene from a movie. I was struck by it. It was the kind of moment where you're so moved that you didn't even realize you were holding your breath until you exhale out an audible phrase Wow. Immediate follow up thought: I'm going to miss this. 

That phrase probably hit me harder than it would for any normal individual. You see, Chief and I have not experienced a lot of Army moves. There are good reasons why I refer to being Moses'd here in the desert. I am nomadic to my very soul. When I finally up and moved away from Lake-View-Pick-A-Fruit (a term lovingly bestowed upon my childhood city by a friend of mine. It was hilarious then, and it still is. Especially if you've lived in my childhood city...), I fell in love with the idea of moving. I liked change, thrived on discovering new places. I have lived at this duty station for so long that I'm often referred to as the "old lady who's been here forever" amongst my FRG compadres.

I have been eager to move. And then that cloudy mountaintop thing planted the seed in my heart Some day you WILL move. The strange thing is, that thought stung me. It launched me into a memory-lane type of experience. It has caused me to feel differently in the midst of my conversations here. These are all fleeting. They will go away, and one day (possibly soon), we will pack up this home and move on. 

This is my "home". This is where Bruni defeated every single odd and walked down the hallway to us. This is where the trips learned to walk, talk, play... It's where I gave countless breathing treatments. That spot on the corner where the stomach flu struck through with a vengeance (and red food), dying the carpet permanently. The hole in the wall from the kids I babysat, who's mom abandoned them, and soldier dad needed help. The kitchen where countless meals, cups of coffee, quiet moments of cuddles have played out. This is where Lolli lost her first teeth, read her first book, grieved her first loss... This is where we all grieved the goodbye of our family dog. 

These walls, this roof... The memories live in my head, and I will carry them with me until such time as I become senile. It's just crazy to me that we will go, and someone else will move in. It's crazy that the next family won't know about the bathtub that had the giant hole in it when we moved in. That this new family won't know about the cabinets that have fallen off the wall, or the counter top that is still not screwed in to the cabinet. They won't know about the doors that stick when it gets hot outside, or the outlets that don't work (and never have). These new people won't know about all of the love, all of the laughter, all of the joy, all of the life that has been lived here. They won't know about our story. 

It's amazing how difficult it can be to live in the moment. To keep your mind, heart, and soul open to the reality that these are the best days. This place, this duty station, has blessed me with many things I never had before. Some good, some bad, some surprising, some agonizing. But I think that's the point of it anyway. Bliss is never what you think of it as. Bliss is the unexpected moment, where the clouds roll down off of the mountaintop and the sunbeams shine down in all their glory, and you hear your heart celebrating it.

It Comes

It comes in unexpected moments. The sun will be rising, and the curtain will be shifted ever so slightly so that a beam of sunlight dances across your face. You'll squeeze your eyes tighter as if you're trying to shut out the sun beams, and I'll be there with my eyes wide open catching it, almost as if catching a secret embrace. God danced across your face, and I got to see.

It comes when fragility, exhaustion, grief washes over and the need to protect, defend, pretend fades away. When weakness becomes the dominant language, and safety comes only with you. It whispers across my spine as my whole being sinks against your chest.

It comes when the sound of giggles, laughter, and silliness waft down the hallway as I'm lost in some mundane event. The glee-filled sound of some little person's voice saying Daddy! Hahaha! You can't get me!!! AH!

It comes when uncertainty and chaos fill every single crevice of our lives. In the midst of the insanity, your fingers intertwine with mine. Unspoken words pour through that connection, and overflow the deafening noise.

It comes when, in the most devastating moment of grief, our sobs and tears, echo through these walls in unison. When eyes are swollen shut, noses are running, and tissues abound.

It comes when we stand side by side, and kneel side by side, on Sunday mornings. When we hold hands in prayer, sometimes in a rushed, agitated plea for quick relief, and some times in immense gratitude crying out Thank You God! Thank You God! Thank You God!

It comes when we walk in to a doctor's office, ready to stand as the unbending platform for our seven year old daughter, as she faces down the demons of cancer possibilities, endless blood tests, and horrible illness. As we sit there and listen to her fate, to our fate, doing our best to be present in the moment.

It comes when we climb in to our car and drop you off to continue the war-fight; separating fingers, embraces, legs-to-legs-on-the-couch.

It comes when I feel so horrendously ugly, and your eyes glance at me from across the room, saying with the most sincerest, truest, and deepest of soul-speak You are beautiful. You are SO beautiful to me.

It comes when changing the nine zillionth diaper, cleaning up the ten thousandth projectile vomit, giving the 6 hundredth dose of medicine/breathing treatments/physical therapy exercises, and the exhaustion drops us to the floor. When people chip in with their thoughtless words, useless "advice", ridiculous marital judgments. It comes when stupidity overwhelms, and life feels nearly lifeless.

Thank you, Chief, for knowing exactly what I'm talking about. I love you more than I could ever begin to say.

Milk and Honey, Infant Christianity

It's a powerful life moment when you recognize that you are not as "christianly" mature as you think you are. The moment where it hits you like a sucker punch to the soul, and your 30+ years of seeking, trying, studying, learning, growing, believing more of yourself comes crashing down like a ming vase at your feet. You are not as grown up as you imagine.

In America, Christianity is a farce. It's a sickness that permeates through our religious society and has broken our witness. We are knee deep in Bible studies, Sunday School classes, Scripture memorization, and religious statements, but they penetrate no deeper than the most surface layer of our souls.

What is love of God? It's a soul changing, heart gutting, give-it-all-up-and-away experience. It's seeing the world with a completely different set of eyes. It's reflexive. It's your knee-jerk reactions in pivotal moments. And therein lies the answer to the depth of your "christian" maturity... when you are hurt, angered, rejected, lied to, cheated, mistreated, cut off on the freeway'd, what is your knee-jerk reaction? When you walk by the homeless person who is begging you for money/food/water, what do you instinctively do? Look away? When a "friend" rejects you for your faith, or an acquaintance spreads lies about your family, how do you respond in your heart? Is it with vengeance? Anger? Hatred? Animosity? Self pity? Rage?

If you're me, then it's probably all of the above. And it's an ugly heart exposure type of scenario. I'm going to make so and so pay for this injustice. They'll regret crossing me! Knee-jerk, almost reflexive, responses. In the midst of my rage, I heard a voice, almost whispering, "Where is Jesus in you?" Truth is, He wasn't. He wasn't present in my heart at all. The only sentiments that brought him up to my brain were self centered Why are You doing this to me? Not very Jesus-y to me...

So I freely confess, I have a milk and honey christian heart. I place myself in the bottom of the ladder and I confess that my heart is sick, and disgusting, and ugly. My heart seems to have learned these surface responses of love and kindness, but underneath it's all rage. I expose the ugliness. I confess it. Because I want to be a meat-fed Christian.

I want my heart to react with gentleness, patience, love, mercy, goodness, self-control when tested. I want my heart to reflexively show kindness and persistence in the face of immeasurable hostility. I want my love to be bigger than as long as You give me everything I want, when I want it, how I want it. I want my peace to be deeper than milk and honey Jesus.

The Apostles didn't live on milk and honey. They were tortured, tested, rejected, forsaken, starved, beaten, abandoned. Joy abounded. Joy abounded! Absorb that for a moment. They weren't launched in to a panic mode because the government cut off their paychecks. They weren't launched in to an angry, vengeful, spiteful viewpoint because the government beat them (and many were killed). They reacted with love, mercy, gentleness and faithfulness. They were meaty Christians. They were grown up Christians. They were beautiful, hopeful, and inspiring. Because the things of this world stopped mattering. The hurts, angsts, frustrations, and horrible things of life on earth washed away. Their eyes were fixed on eternity. Their minds were made clear.

I want to be that kind of Follower. I want to know Love like that. I want to live Love like that.

Impact Moments

There are moments in life where the road direction changes. It doesn't matter if you are anticipating it, avoiding it, or wanting it. The fork is there, the impact is impending, the choice is yours. Life moves in slow motion in those moments. It's you vs the questions that you don't want answers to. It's you vs all of the stuff you haven't taken the time to face. It's you vs what you wanted and reality.

The silence before an impact is deafening. They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die, but I say it happens before the choice. I say it happens as you're sitting there gutted out, ears ringing, heart aching, hands shaking. I say it happens in the instant where your whole world view becomes something different and you're left wondering what the hell to do next. I say it happens as the shock erupts through your body and forces its will upon you.

Grief hits in a myriad of ways. The loss of the life-direction can be devastating. Change sucks. Learning to find yourself in the midst of the unbalanced, unpredictable, constantly shifting chaos is powerful. Finding light in the darkness, peace in the muck, and sanity in the insane is like finding a tiny space of fresh air. You're gasping and gasping and clutching at straws just trying to make sense of it all. But maybe that's the point of it. Life doesn't make sense. It's irrational, ridiculous, and almost embarrassing when you trim it all down to brass tax.

We waste so much time trying to understand why we're not "happy". We spend ungodly amounts of money on self help books, counselors, alcohol to medicate away the symptoms of life. It's really just "okayish". I think that's sort of the trick of it. Learn to accept that life is just "okayish". Some times it's hell, sometimes it's heaven, and when the scales of impossible experiences are weighed, we should be able to say "It was okayish."

But for now, there are these moments of forks in the road. For now there are these shaky hands that won't steady themselves, and ears that won't stop ringing. For now this heart is aching and racing in such a deeply unnatural state, as it forces the mind to accept a new scenario. For now there are new scenes unfolding, and the subconscious just keeps whispering over and over again Resistance is futile. Resistance is futile. Resistance is futile. 

Resistance is futile. The change is here. Nothing will ever be the same again. Ever.

Let the Ant Love Begin

I have ant-blood on my hands. I think I could safely call myself an ant-serial killer. I have had a passionate hate-filled relationship with them for years.

I'm sure you hate them. You know you do. Their creepy crawly little bodies invading your home, your yard. They infest, bite, and destroy picnics. They invade our kitchens, and destroy our "good" days. We are forced to get out the ant spray, and clean, clean, clean. Half the time we have to throw away any unsecured/opened foods because they've damaged them irreparably. Whoever named them "ants" probably wasn't thinking clearly, right? I mean an "ant" is also an "aunt" and they're nice and fun and they bring you presents and stuff. No, you probably believe that ants should be called beelzebub or something of that sort. Am I right?

I, too, am not an ant fan in my home. We have had to clearly define the lines and limits in our relationship. But I freely admit, I'm beginning to love them. I feel a sense of aching when people load their lawns up with chemicals just to kill them off.

Did you know that ants are essential elements in nature? Have you ever stopped to consider how important they are in regards to maintaining pest control, so that our flowers, crops, vegetables can grow efficiently?

I stumbled on the discovery of ant greatness a few months back. I had a bell pepper plant that somehow became infested with Aphids and started to die. A quick google search will tell you to wrap that plant up in a bag and throw it away. No. joke. Aphids will invade a plant and kill it off if they're not contained. I tried the soapy water mix, but these aphids seemed to have adapted somehow to enjoy that stuff. They only doubled in amount! I tried the floodgate method, which didn't work either. So I put her outside, in my front yard, away from all of my other plants. I was hoping to purchase some ladybugs to maybe try to save this plant. Side note: As ridiculous as this sounds, I have become passionate about plant survival of late. They're almost like children, or pets, in a bizarre way. And in return for your love and devotion, they give you food. It's a genius relationship if you ask me!

The day after I put her in my front yard, fire ants moved in. They were all over that plant. They were covering that thing so hard that it really seemed like it was heroine and the ants were addicted. I thought to myself Well, she's for sure going to die now. Sad. Being the smart person that I am, I'm not about to try to pick up a plant and put it in a trash bag when it's covered in fire ants. Those suckers already have a passionate love of biting my flesh, so I figured I'd leave it be until they died down enough to get rid of it.

Then the monsoon season came. She was being watered by nature, and covered in fire ants. After a week, I went out to check on her. You know what I saw? A happy bell pepper plant! It even had a bell pepper actually growing on it! Not only did the fire ants not kill my plant, they saved it! They ate all of the aphids and in the process sexed the flowers so that they grew bell peppers!

I wasn't sure if this was due to the ants, or the rain, until recently. It happened again. This time, my watermelon plant became infested. She was producing several watermelons when they all started to die off. The leaves were wilting and she was very unhappy. Upon closer inspection, one saw that the leaves had been invaded with aphids. (bastards) Again, I attempted to do everything to save her. I pruned her way back, cut off the fruit, sprayed her with soapy water, dowsed her in a water bath, all to no avail. Then the ant colony moved in. They came, and the watermelon plant thrived. It grew like a crazy person, and became happy again. The aphids disappeared. Watermelons are growing again. When the aphids disappeared, so did the ant colony. How do I know it was the ants? Because this time there wasn't any rain. Just ants.

Ants are plants' heroes. Maybe that's how they got their name? Plants --> ants. I like to envision the ant colonies having signs up in their houses that say things like "Aphids are the enemy!" "Plants are our friends!" Ants = Pro Plants!" "The Ant-Friends-of Plants-Society wants YOU!"

So I'd like you to think about what you might be killing off, the next time you pour boiling water down a hole in your backyard. I'd like you to contemplate how much devastation our farming community (much of it brought on by themselves caving in to big Farma, and the government caving in to Big Seed Co) has already endured. I'd like you to think about learning to live in harmony with ants, instead of hatred. They hate the smell of vinegar. Maybe you can spray that around your baseboards/windows/doors once a month instead of pesticides. It's safer for you, your children, your neighbors, your pets; and then you don't have to go to sleep at night thinking of the billions and billions of innocent, plant-loving ants, that you've murdered.

I am here to encourage you, to let the death end, and the ant-love begin. :)

Flu Shots

We have entered in to a realm in society where common sense seems to have disappeared. People blindly follow the advice of individuals without thinking it through. We have a deep mistrust of the medical professionals (AKA Doctors). It's almost like they have become the "bad guys" and all of a sudden the individuals who did not go to medical school are the "experts". I find myself often shaking my head and saying "HUH???"

If you read my blog, then you know that I have eighty thousand children, the majority of which were born in one take. I think right there I should be labelled an "expert". Ha!

I am a passionate "health freak". You can ask my dearest friends how much I harass them about what they're eating/doing to maintain optimal health. I cut out the majority of processed foods long before it became trendy to do so (I do still occasionally partake of "junk" so that my babysitter will want to come to my house. HAHAHA!) Being that I am in "that crowd" of people, you might be shocked to know that my children receive the flu shot. I know many, many, many people who are fiercely opposed to the flu shot. I can understand the arguments against it, and the feelings of nervousness in putting things in to your body that you don't really understand. It's the exact same feeling that I have when I board an airplane. I don't know how to fly a plane, and I don't know the pilots, and it freaks. me. out. I get it. It's scary. But for crying out loud, use some common sense!

If you have children with medical issues (especially of the lung sort), do you really think it's wise to not get them the flu shot? If you pay attention to all of those articles about not vaccinating, they're referring to the "average healthy human". Newsflash: if you have a child with asthma/Reactive Airway Disease/Chronic Bronchitis/any other lung "problems" then they are NOT an average healthy human.

There were two years where I did not get my trips vaccinated for the flu. Neither of them were because of any trends against such things, but rather due to two circumstances: one year they were sick too much to have a healthy window in which to be vaccinated, and another year I was very sick and by the time I health'd up, it was too late. You want to know what happened to my average "unhealthy" humans? They almost died. Yeah. My son coded (that's: stopped breathing) in my arms, at his doctor's office. Not just once either. My daughter's kidneys shut down, and I spent three weeks in the hospital where for four nights straight my helpless, dying, child cried out: "Mommy help me! Mommy help me!" over and over and over again around the clock (Nurses are amazing. And when I succumbed to the same sickness my children did, my daughter's nurse stayed at her bedside all night long so I could rest. When she had another patient she needed to care for, she left and helped them, and then came back to my child. That's heroism. FYI). I sat at the bedside of my child while she hallucinated the presence of her deployed father, because the flu had so permeated and sickened her brain that she began to see things that weren't there. Why did this happen? Because they got the flu. Why did they get the flu? Because they didn't get the flu shot. Period. Cut paste go to print.

I constantly am bombarded with articles about why we shouldn't vaccinate our kids. I get the sentiments, I really do. But I'm never bombarded with articles about why we should vaccinate (unless it's from the American Medical Association, but let's face it... those people are the evil minions trying to shove these poisonous vaccinations down our throats! Right??? -I'm joking-). I'm not saying the flu shot is for everyone. But I am saying this: on the side of the vaccination debate, I come out on the side where the best interests of my children lie. It's not about good guys and bad guys, it's about being able to adequately look at the health of my own children and recognize what is in their best interests. If the flu shot is "dangerous" as some claim it to be, is getting the flu more or less dangerous? Is all of the medical intervention necessary, to keep one's child alive should they get the flu, more or less dangerous than that one vaccine? Think things through, my friends. Don't jump on to a bandwagon without a clear picture of what happens. I certainly believe that we need to make decisions from an educated viewpoint. I absolutely believe that what's best for me and my children, is not necessarily what's best for others. However, I also believe that my children's pediatrician cares passionately, deeply, and fiercely about the health and safety of my children. I trust his two trips through medical school (here in the United States and also in France I believe). I trust his 20+ years of intervening, assisting, and helping sick children. I trust him when my child is coding in his office and he says Get in your car now and speed to the hospital. You'll get there faster than an ambulance. They'll be waiting outside for you. I trust him when he walks in while my child's kidneys have stopped functioning and says Don't worry. I'll fix everything! She'll be fine! I trust him. And every time he has given my children the flu shot, they haven't gotten the flu.

I freely admit that I, the Birkenstock-wearing-health-freak, gives her children the flu shot. Do you relate, to the need to vaccinate?

Gleaning Advice

Learn to listen and glean. Learn to utilize what is helpful for you, and forget the rest. It's a skill set that will get you through a thousand scenarios. It doesn't have to be your own personal form of hell for you to learn from it. You do have the ability to learn from the actions of others. But you also have the ability to recognize when something just won't work for you.

I'll give myself as an example. When Chief was deployed, I had a newborn. She was actually born while he was home on R&R (he left to go back the morning after we left the hospital). Everyone and their mother told me to not let her sleep in my room. Never mind that I was completely exhausted, an emotional wreck, and overwhelmed. That didn't matter. Everyone said if I let her sleep in my room she would get used to sleeping in there and would never want to leave and my sex life/marriage would be ruined.

I listened. For two weeks neither I, nor my daughter, got any sleep. The only time she would sleep was when I was holding her. So I got smart and realized that "everyone" was an idiot. Or maybe a better way to write that would be to say that "everyone" doesn't walk in my shoes, live in my home, raise my daughter. I do. (Well, Chief and I do, but for the sake of this paragraph it's much more kick-donkey to say "I do".) She slept successfully in my room for two months and then she was ready to move on. It didn't "destroy" my sex life/marriage. The thing that "everyone" didn't know (or failed to recognize) is that infants know their mom's by smell. Did you know that? They know you by your scent before sight. So when they don't smell you, it can effect their sense of safety and security. What did I learn? I know my child better than "everyone". I learned to fight for her best interests, not what everyone else thinks are her best interests.

Does this mean we should ignore all "advice"? No. Don't become the "idiot". Learn to know the difference between helpful advice and what should happen in your life. Learn to understand that people offer advice from their experiences, from walking in their own shoes. No one's life mirrors your own. But that doesn't mean that you can't learn from their knowledge. Just because I've never done drugs doesn't mean I need to go and take them in order to know they're bad for me. I can learn from those who've done them and recognize it's a bad idea.

There's a newspaper article that was turned in to a song (The Sunscreen song), where the author wrote "Be careful with whose advice you buy. But be patient with those who supply it. Advice, is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts, and recycling it for more than it's worth." -Mary Schmich (which I feel the need to point out that "Mary's" are really awesome, FYI) I will leave you with her words.

Marriage Advice Bandwagon

Chief is an asshole. He is lazy as all get out, arrogant to a T (Self degradation is arrogance, because it's still constantly being focused on one's self. So if you think you're so "humble" by constantly bashing yourself, here's a newsflash: you're just as arrogant as the people who think they're hot stuff.), insensitive, rude, thoughtless, and on and on. Right now, as I write this, he's passed out in bed, while I have already done half of the house hold duties.

Lately, I've been seeing a plethora of people focused on what makes a marriage work. There have been all of these articles/posts/comments about "the secret to a happy marriage" or "how to keep your marriage young". Here's another newsflash for you: there's no secret. There's no one-solution-fits-all answer. What works for a marriage on day one, isn't going to necessarily work on day 10,000. What works for me and Chief isn't going to work for you and billy/susie.

My husband has a plethora of flaws. I listed only a few, in that first paragraph above. They barely begin to scratch the surface. Shall I now go about listing mine? I am an asshole. I am arrogant as all get out (because I am that awesome!), rude, distracted, grumpy, snippy, immensely sensitive, selfish, lazy, demanding, impulsive, constantly joking, and on and on.

Check it out, we're two F'd up people, making it work. Two completely screwed up individuals (because everyone in society/the world are completely screwed up, and if you're in such denial that you can't admit to that, you're probably really really really completely screwed up. lol), who are walking contradictions, and we're "happy."

I think that people have become so busy being busy about something that they're forgotten the humanity of their partner. They've forgotten that they have a mouth and that you never shut up, you never stop jabbering on about what you need, what you're able to give, what you want given back, over and over and over again. No one knows Chief better than me (this is not a bash on Mama Chief, it's just the facts at this point in his life), and no one knows me better than Chief. Why? Because we made it that way. There are many, many components to my personality than no one knows but Chief (and this is not all in the romantic/sexual aspects. I'm talking about real actual elements to "me".). My sense of self has no limits with Chief. Open book (with the exception of some sorority sworn oaths of silence, which drive him crazy....). He has an all access pass.

I adore my lazy, arrogant, selfish husband. I adore him, even when I hate him. I adore him when he's thinking of no one but himself. I adore him, because I choose to. I almost never think about his flaws. Instead, I choose to focus on what I adore: the way his whole body lights up when he smiles/laughs, how it feels when he puts his hand on my skin, how the sound of his voice makes my heart beat faster, how much comfort washes over me when I'm so immensely stricken with grief and he just lays next to me in silence, how hard he works to provide for me and our family, how much duty and loyalty are the foundation of his personality, how he becomes a human heater when he sleeps, how he makes me coffee every day, does the dishes nearly every night, will occasionally make a meal, how he makes me laugh, and on and on. These are what I think about. These are what I focus on. These are what make me happy.

Happiness is a choice. There's a line in a book called One True Thing where the author writes (paraphrasing): Do you think I don't know about all that he's done wrong? I know better than you. But it's so much easier to choose to be happy. I just wish you would choose to be happy.

In marriage, you seriously do, just have to "choose" to be happy. It's up to you.

Chocolate

Moments come where the sucker punch is so intense you can barely see through it. The sting of grief overwhelms and your whole self is broken. This grief, this heart devastation, manifests itself in different ways. Sometimes it's crying in the shower, sometimes it's curled up on the floor staring in to space. Sometimes it's lost in silent pain, holding hands with your best friend.

Goodbye stings deeper than almost any sting. The memories become ghosts, haunting your thoughts. They randomly launch you into a happy moment, only to leave you with the grieve of the harsh reality: they are gone.

I am sitting here trying to say goodbye. Goodbye to what I envisioned, goodbye to what I wanted, goodbye to something good to look forward to. Good bye to you.

I feel sick to my stomach. I find myself alternating between functioning and disconnecting. Trying to disengage myself from the ghost of your presence is practically impossible. And I hate you for that. I hate you for hurting me. I hate me for hating you. Which leads to anger, and helplessness. Is that really the root cause of it all? Being utterly helpless?

I am so helpless. I can't do anything! I can't make anything happen, or prevent anything from happening, or keep anyone here. I can't make death go away, or the sting of loss, or eradicate grief. I am like a grain of sand, tossed around by the whims of the Ocean and His will. I feel battered and bruised and defeated.

I miss you.

Grace

If you're anything like me, grace seems like an abstract, impossible notion to effectively give in the realm of parenting. I mean, what does that look like? We have to walk this complicated, intricate balance of how to pour out grace on our children, all the while maintaining a lesson of life: there are consequences for your actions.

I don't by any means, claim to have the "know-how" when it comes to parenting. I'm just like everyone else, doing the best that I can. That being said, I feel like today my heart had a little lightbulb moment when it comes to grace.

My daughter asked me if she could make dinner. She has been reading a book about meals that people eat in different countries and asked if she could try one of them. There was an easy smoothie recipe (that supposedly hails from Australia), and she asked if that could be our dinner. I said sure! and we proceeded to make the smoothies together. We washed and cut up apples, mango, bananas, limes, and threw in some blueberries for good measure. Lolli was tasked with getting the blender out (yes, I'm one of "those people" who store the small appliances they don't routinely use in a cupboard). She started to move it to the counter and dropped it. Then she picked it up and dropped it again (maybe she wasn't certain if it broke on the first drop? hehe). Slippery fingers? I'm not certain. I was busy cutting up apples.

Let me allow you to glimpse into the mind of mothers. We are constantly cleaning up messes. Our things are dropped, broken, spilled on, stained, destroyed. It's almost like children see something that parents love and they immediately have a robot-like need to destroy it. Because of this, mother's don't always handle broken things with grace. Sure, there are those freak-of-nature-June-Cleavers (who I am convinced are really sociopaths, hence their ability to show no angry emotions when their children destroy things) that say all of the perfect things, but for the majority of Mom's in the world the response is generally something like: WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!?!?! AAAAHHHH! YOU DROPPED IT! IT'S BROKEN! YOU DON'T HAVE ANY SHOES! SOMEBODY GET ME SOME SHOES!!!! AND THE BROOM! And then we proceed to angrily, frustratedly, perhaps silently (but usually this is that scary angry mom silence...), clean up the mess that our children have made.

On this day, I did not overreact. I said Is it broken? She said I don't think so. Dad investigated and it was. So I said Maybe Daddy will go to Walmart and get a new one and then we can finish making our smoothies. Grace. Grace poured out. And maybe that's what parental grace is supposed to be. It's not "letting it slide in grace" when our children behave like criminals (and let's be honest, children really basically behave like criminals almost daily: violence-hitting, biting, scratching, stealing-grabbing whatever toy they want when they want it, lying under oath-if I have to explain this one to you then you clearly do NOT have children, and on and on), but rather giving grace when the accidents come. Maybe grace is having the self control to recognize the things out of our children's control, and not behaving in a life-long-emotionally-detrimental way. Maybe grace looks like going to Walmart to get a new blender. Maybe grace is not being pissed when they spill (and mash) blueberries into your brand new couch. Maybe it's allowing them the freedom to destroy, fall apart, and then being the platform from which they can put things back together again.

So today I had a glimpse into how grace should show up in my home a whole lot more.

Jake

They handed me a blue collar before they brought him out and turned him over to me. He was abandoned by a family who moved and "couldn't" take him with them. He was huge and gentle and energetic. Blue became Jake, but we always kept that dog collar from the very first day.

The furry four legged love of my life is dying. As I write this to you I can't stop sobbing, reminiscing, aching. It's an ache that there's little comfort for. The agony of knowing when the right "time" is, is really being selfless enough to let him go...

The justification process for keeping him alive is really non existent now. He isn't really eating well. He falls quite frequently now. His eyes... his eyes beg me for mercy. I yelled at him for giving me that look. I yelled at him for dying. I yelled at him because I don't want this.

We've set "goodbye" dates and passed them. We've made plans and ignored them. We've argued against ourselves about whether or not we should give him "one more day to perk up". We've looked at the events of the day and tried to decide whether or not we should push it because we have something going on. We've ignored, ignored, ignored the inevitable.

How do you know when it's time? I can't tell you how many people have said "you just know". Well, no I don't. Because what I "know" and what I'm allowing myself to "know" are not in sync. A grieving mind is a powerful tool at seeing only what it wants to see. A selfish heart is completely able to ignore how rapidly he breathes, how little he eats, how often his legs fall out from under him, how much he shakes. A selfish heart can ignore all of that or can mentally look for the one. thing that he still "enjoys" and say that's reason enough to make him endure all of this agony. And I have one hell of a selfish heart. Because I don't want to say goodbye. I don't want to take him to a clinic where they'll give him a shot and I'll walk out with his blue collar and no him. I don't want to walk into my house and not see his brown furry face. I don't want to sleep and not hear him snoring away. I don't want to sit on my couch and not have him irritating me by laying on my feet, or half on my lap.

You know the end is here when the conversations about him are all past tense.
Remember how he used to pull weeds in the yard? And he would carry them over to the rocks because he didn't want them in the grass? Remember?
Remember how he used to pick up all of the tiny pieces of trash on the floor so that the triplets wouldn't put it in their mouth?
Remember how he saved my sanity and figured out what Bruni needed when she was a baby? Remember how he rescued me from near hysteria over the endless crying? Remember?
Remember that time when he decided he wanted to be held and jumped into my lap and then had this sort of consciousness that he was massive and probably shouldn't be sitting there? But he just resigned himself to what he'd already done and decided to "roll with it" and how funny that was? Remember?
Remember how he NEVER let anyone touch the babies or Lolli, but he did it in the most gentle, unobtrusive way, so that people never realized what he was actually doing? He ALWAYS put himself between a "stranger" and our children. People thought he was just friendly, or annoying, but we knew it was really about safety?
Remember how he would kick out my giant teddy bear when Chief was deployed and slip himself in its place? He HATES that teddy bear!
Remember his last hurrah of destruction where he ate the Tucks pads? Still wonder if that was the first or final act in that day of household terror.
Remember when he fell in love with that stuffed animal bird? How he would carry it around like his puppy and love on it endlessly? Remember how he dug out the brand new one he didn't even know existed (we didn't show it to him), directly out of a pile of bags without touching ANYTHING ELSE?
Remember how he would always either spoon me, or force me to spoon him, and how the process was so slow and gradual that you'd never even know it was happening until you woke up in that scenario with him happy as can be.
Remember how he was every time it rained and he wouldn't leave the porch to go to the bathroom because of his passionate hatred of water, but if there was snow... if there was snow he was the happiest dog on the planet. He would bolt out and run around like a crazy dog, rolling, diving, jumping in the frozen water.
Remember the first time he experienced a vacuum? That thing was the devil and he was certain it had to be immediately destroyed.
Remember how he was during and after his first bath? Yikes!
Remember how he hates all small dogs with a passion, but you get him around a puppy and he becomes father of the year. He would take on this goal of protection, instruction, and leadership that was absolutely beautiful to watch.
Remember how mad he was at me when I dropped him off at the Kennel overnight because we were moving and I didn't want him getting out? How he wouldn't even acknowledge my existence for two days? 
Remember when he picked Foofi up off of the ground and launched her with his nose?
Remember when Foofi would jump up on his back like he was a step stool to reach something she couldn't reach under normal circumstances?
Remember the time he dragged a Husky and a Doberman across the yard while they struggled fiercely against him?
Remember how panicked he would get every time suitcases came out, or boxes were being packed, or anything "going away" was involved? Until he realized that when we left, we brought him too and then he started to enjoy it.
Remember how when Chief left for his gazillionth deployment he would sit and lick away my tears, and hold my hand with his paw until I felt comforted. Remember how he would wrap his big furry arms around me while I slept, as if he took on this charge of physical and mental protection of me, in Chief's absence. 
Remember all of the personal, and beautiful things that he has shared with each of us, igniting this magical bond between himself and humanity, that can't be shared?

He has etched his very essence into my soul. He was our first family pet. I told Chief that I believed him to be a guardian angel sent to help us. He really was the only being that could soothe our daughter when she was little. He was the one who understood what she needed when we could not. He is the one who brought me, and the rest of my family, endless hours of comfort, laughter, and love. So please bare with me as I will myself to let him go. Please pour out grace, kindness, and mercy on my devastated heart. Please pray for my children, and my heart, as we say goodbye. Our children have asked to be present as he goes off to heaven.

He came into my life with a blue collar. And short of my memories, it's about to be all that I'll have left to hold. My God, this hurts.

Edited: Jake went to heaven today. He laid in my lap as I kissed him over and over again while he left this earth. The sobs are heavy and the pain is great, but he is worth every bit of it. He went to sleep hearing over and over again "I love you so much!" By the grace of God, I was able to love him enough to finally let him go...

God

To try to define our relationship feels nearly impossible to do. To attempt to put to words that which is undefinable, indescribable, incapable of being tarnished, touched by the limits of words feels degrading to that which I hold in such high esteem.

You have been my calling ever since I could remember. You have been who I've always talked to, always connected with. You've been the One who has always understood me, even when I didn't understand myself. You have been my source of comfort, my source of strength and endurance through a myriad of hell-on-earth experiences that I have lived through. You have been what's kept me going.

You have promised me you will never leave me. I believe you. But I also don't feel you. As these days go on and on and it feels like you're on one side of the grand canyon and I'm on the other: divided by a chasm so deep and so wide that I can't see you.

In the place of peace, there is torment. In the place of joy, there is angst. In the place of rest, there is exhaustion. I am lost. It's not the weight of the world that is defeating me so. It's the weight of your absence in my days.

You come to me in my sleep. I know it's you. I wake up filled with your words. My voice is filled with our songs. I find myself longing for sleep so that you will return and resuscitate me.

Please let me see you in the daylight. Please come and dwell among my heart and my household, and fill me with the peace of your presence once again. Please cast aside whatever it is that is causing this divide, and return to me the joy of my salvation.

I will wait.

Running

I set myself a goal a while back that I'd like to be able to run 2 straight miles (without stopping) by the time I'm 35. I have never been able to run. Not ever. At least not with any steadfast consistency. When I was young, I danced. In school, if you danced, you did not have to run. Below are a few things I have begun to notice about myself the more that I run.

• The more you run, the less you care about what you are wearing. You don't care if you match. You don't care if you have panty lines. You don't care if your socks are up around your ankles making your calves look ginormous. You just don't care anymore. It stops being about what people see in you when you're running, and more about what you want to be doing.
• It really can take a l o n g time for your body to adapt to running. These couch to 5k things don't work for everyone. Trust your own body. Listen to yourself. Don't feel like you have to fit into some pre-cut mold of how-to-run and feel frustrated when you aren't successful. But at the same time, don't make excuses for yourself either. Push yourself as hard as you can in a safe way.
• ALWAYS make sure someone knows where you are running. Don't be an idiot about your safety. Period.
• Run without music sometimes. I realize that for some of us, it's really difficult to do that, but I have found I have some of the greatest conversations with myself, God, my dog, when I don't have music blaring in my ears. Hearing the sound of my own breathing helps me to keep it in check, leading me to my next point. Plus, I can also very easily hear an approaching dog or vehicle and respond to it.
• Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Some of us naturally hold our breath when we're running. I don't know if it's the anticipation of hard work, or if it's some psychological broken component to our lungs, but I am definitely in that category. If this is you, work extra hard at overcoming this aspect in yourself. Concentrate heavily on how you are breathing. If you aren't sure if this category includes you, think about how running makes you feel. If it makes you tired, you're not breathing right. I used to say all the time running makes me SO tired! Then a friend mentioned in passing that when we were climbing up a flight of stairs, I wasn't breathing. It was like a light bulb went off in my head. As soon as I started focusing heavily on making sure I inhaled and exhaled slowly and deeply, running started to give me energy, instead of making me ready for a nap. Makes sense if you think about it.
• Give yourself goals and targets that are reasonable for you to accomplish. For example, I will run from this street light to the next one, without stopping. I have heard people say: run for ten seconds, then walk for twenty, but that only works if you'll count correctly or be staring at a clock the entire time. If you're like me, your counting will go from normal: 1, 2, 3 to 12345678910!
• If you can motivate yourself to run during shark week, give yourself an extra "hero" pat on the back. To run while your loins are angry and ferocious is really freaking hard, and the cramps that are already happening really suck! The fatigue, the headaches, etc etc etc, mean you deserve an extra awesome dose of "I ROCK!" when you run during this time. I don't care what anyone else says. It's. the. truth.
• If you're going to run with your dog, make sure your dog is a runner. Example: Jake (my chocolate lab) is old and frail. His hind legs have a lot of problems and it is extremely difficult for him to do any running. He would not be the ideal companion to take on a run. Gus-Gus however is a ninja. He loves to run. He is also protective of me. I like to think of Gus-Gus as my bodyguard and my teammate. He wants to run, so he pushes me to run (not in an inappropriate, dominate way... he knows who the alpha is, and he follows my leadership), which helps me to get a better workout.

Running is hard. And to be honest, I haven't seen much physical reward (I don't magically have a six pack, no chicken wings under my arms, and perfectly toned and tanned legs). But I can say this: Running is about you verses your body. It's a screaming match between your muscles wanting to stop and your will compelling you to keep going. It is hell, and it is hard. But it gives me this knowledge: I am stronger than my body wants me to believe...

Bruises

This week has been violent. The kind of violence where there's no clear definition of a perpetrator, just miles and miles of casualties strewn all around. I'm sitting here feeling oh so battered and bruised, still reeling from the week's worth of sucker punches.

My head is swollen and swore, and my heart aches. I've got a list of I-told-you-so's that I'm struggling to contain. I've got a plethora of warnings that went unheeded. But worst of all... are the blows that came unexpected.

I barely slept last night. Betrayal, devastation, dishonesty, laziness, incompetence, loneliness, hurts, weakness... Words blaring through my brain at a volume so much louder than peace. Why is Peace so often too quiet?

I wish I could define it all. I wish I could pour out my chest right here on the pages of this blog. I wish I could unleash and unload and give my soul some reprieve from this agony. But I have learned that silence is powerful, and there are wounds that cut across my flesh that are not mine, alone, to share.

So I cry.

I am angry. I am hurt. I am trying so hard to be selfless, but the wounds of the takers feel so overwhelming at times. And the wounds of my inability to heal the hurts of others frustrates me.

I feel heavy. Burdened. Drained.

I pried myself out of bed at three in the morning and I crawled into the embrace of the only Being that gets all of me. The only Being that sees as I see it, feels as I feel it, hurts as I hurt it, is angry as I'm angered by it. MY God. I pray, and I sing, and I cry.

I can feel it all falling away. It's like watching the desert sand and sun destroy. It's gradual, slow, seemingly unending. And then one day it just crashes under the weight of itself and all of the destruction that was so invisible explodes in your face. It's a mess. I'm a mess.

Anxiety is knocking on my back door and trying to worm itself in. I am tired God. I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to do this anymore. I'm tired of this desert life. I want to move away. I want to learn whatever lesson You have for me here, so that I can be freed from this destructive environment. Please take the weight of this off of my shoulders.

Explosive Love

The anticipation of the end of a separation is killer. The moments of angst and eagerness building up, developing like a firework that's about to explode, are difficult to contain. This is our life. Goodbyes, loneliness, and reunions.

Here I sit with my bottle of water, headphones on, music blaring, shaking non stop with eagerness. Chief has been away. It's been a period of doing-this-on-my-own, single-parenting, and lonely adultness (meaning, no other adult around to share the quiet with). Chief is my most favorite person on the planet. Cut. Paste. Go to print. Ab.so.lute.favorite! My idea of a perfect day always involves being wrapped up in him in some capacity. When he is away, I feel differently. I view the world differently. I struggle.

I really don't know how to define the period apart to those who've never experienced it. I also know that those who have, know exactly what I mean without me having to say a word. It's like being turned inside out, put on pause, separated from yourself, but hoping, dreaming, visualizing the day when it all goes back to the way that it was. When home becomes home again, and the world goes back to normal.

Probably the best comparison of reunion day, to the non-militarized, would be the day before your wedding. Those feelings of nerves and angst and excitement... that's the closest feeling that comes to mind. It's this feeling of insane nausea, where your brain is screaming as loud as it possibly can: hurry up, hurry up, HURRY UP!!!!!

Then it comes. That first glimpse. Searching, aching eyes get what they've been longing for... the sight of him. This sense of calm comes and I almost always end up saying something completely ridiculous. I lose all sense of filter, calm, and collection. Basically I become who I really am underneath all this "decorum" (haha): a girl insanely, intensely, and whole heartedly in love with this dude who walked into my ears on a random Tuesday and changed my whole world.

I feel awkward, embarrassed, and incredibly nervous until like magic his touch takes that all away. His arms, or his hands, or his body touches mine and in an instant the goosebumps come. Time stands still, and music plays. Fireworks explode.

The waiting for that moment is rough. The awful that has to happen before that explosion of great comes, sucks. But that explosion, that display of magnificent fireworks is extremely powerful. It's the sort of thing that fairy tales are made of. For the last 10+ years, I've had the pleasure of experiencing that over and over again. And what makes all of this so astoundingly beautiful is that this is what eternity will be, magnified a million times over, when one day I stand in front of God and have the most intense emotional fireworks explosion ever.

I am waiting with great anticipation and eagerness. Screaming at the top of my lungs hurry up!

Spock and Princesses

I live in a world that I've created for myself. It's filled to the brim with meetings, tasks, events. It's an overloaded calendar and a way-too busy schedule. It's a sea of stress and over exertion.

Today I looked up and my eye caught the gaze of one of my children. She was standing about ten feet away from me, watching. I was busily working away at the computer. Emails, homeschool lesson plans, facebook pages all demanded my attention and I "needed" to get it done.

Come and play with me, Mommy.

My instinct was to say Just a minute and the truth is on any other day that's probably what I would have said. More than likely I would have said it in an irritated tone that hinted at "How dare you interrupt me?" But for whatever reason that I can't possibly give myself credit for, I got up. I walked over to her, smiled and picked her up. I spun her around and she laughed and laughed in the way that only she is capable of doing. She kissed my cheek and I stared into her brown eyes. She had a small patch of her curly hair over her eyes, between her glasses and her face. I brushed that aside and said You are SO beautiful. She proceeded to Vulcan Death grip me. I reminded her that I am immune and in my most serious super villain voice I said BUT YOU ARE NOT!!! MWA HA HA HA!

She jumped down, screamed and ran off down the hallway. She did so, in a beautiful tone that hinted at "Come and chase me Mommy!" I happily obliged, and turned myself into a Star Trek bad-gal out to get Ms. Spock (that's who she likes to be).

When it was all said and done I had this overwhelming sense in my heart that this is what I want them to remember about me. I want them to reflect back on their childhood and remember that Mommy got up from whatever it was that she was "SO busy with" and played. Even if she didn't feel like it. I want them to remember us playing with legos, barbies, and baby dolls. I want them to remember pillow fights, Sardines, and dog-piles. I want them to at least know, for a period of time that I hope to make last as long as possible, that they are safe, they are adored, they matter. Especially since reality will come in like a hurricane one day and tell them the opposite of all of those things. When it comes, it will chip away at their foundation, and I want to have built up enough of it to be able to withstand the destructive components of "you suck" that wash over children in puberty.

I want them to believe me when I tell them about how much God loves them, because I have lived a life that has shown them how much I love them.

I can't give myself credit for getting up and playing Spock. I have no idea why I did it. But for a moment, however brief it was, and how little it damaged my unending to-do list from being completed, I made my six year old brown-eyed girl feel like the center of my world. It cost me nothing, but it gave my heart so much joy.

Rain

There's a refreshment to the spirit that can come when you have eight thousand days of sun, and then the rain begins to pour. It's amazing how much you can take it for granted. The smell... The sound of gentleness in the air. It's amazing how the brown looks less brownly when there's rain all around.

My thoughts drift off to a thousand days of insanity in greener pastures. I am reminded of what life was like so many years ago. No kids. No husband. Just me. Me and my goals, against the world. It was all so much more complicated back then. Isn't that strange? Back when I had only myself to worry about, life was more complicated than it is now.

To have a family was not what I envisioned for myself. To have a husband and eight zillion kids was not what I believed I wanted. One day it all sort of happened. I resisted, and ran, and fought, and one day I had the balls to give in. That day it was more humid than I could ever remember. I was terrified, and all of this anxiety about a promise was welling up in me. A promise I knew I would keep. I would have to.

Down an aisle I went. Chief cried. I remember looking at him thinking I'm supposed to be crying. Why am I not crying? Force one out! Force out a damn tear! (plop) What's wrong with me???? Oh crap! My turn to talk! (vows) Promise done. 

I remember going out to the landing before we got in the car and thinking it was so surreal. I just gave away my entire life, and I felt "normal". I remember feeling like I had to put on some show for everyone else around me. Like everything had to be done their way, their standards, for their picture of what "a wedding" looked like. It wasn't funny, or beautiful. It was not a reflection of either of us in any capacity. It was just motions. I hated it. But then the moment came where it was just the two of us. And boom! The tears. The power. The might of that experience. I looked out the window and he grabbed my hand. He said "Hello Mrs. Jones!"

It rained on our way home. We had a tornado that night. Funny how storms make me think of that day. The day I married the greatest person I have ever known, in the most ridiculous of ways. It took seven years, a change of religions, and an iPhone Priest to rewrite that picture of a wedding ceremony. On that second day, it was overcast, but it didn't rain. Inside of the church, it was filled with warmth, and silliness, and the most sincerest of passion. And I cried. Not because I felt like I needed to, but because I couldn't not. Because it wasn't about what anyone else wanted. It was just this crazy, dramatic, fiercely fragile girl making her promise all over again to this boy that changed her world. As our four children looked on, I couldn't help but ignore the beauty of him. He has given me so much. And almost all of it I never knew I wanted.

But for the here and now, the rain has come and the brown looks less brownly, and the green looks more greenly. Life is less complicated now, than it was so many years ago. I am blessed.

Death

A child is dead. It's a horrible, awful, ugly experience. It feels like someone pulling the shades over your very soul and erasing the sun from your memory. It feels like being gutted and sucker punched, and hollowed out simultaneously while demanding that you maintain a strength, clarity, and endurance that you are not capable of. A child is dead and it's awful and painful and devastating.

Burying your face in your hands, or being incapable of tears, because the weight is too much to bare. Screaming out between the heaving and the sobbing "Why? Why? WHY?"

The misinformation is astounding. How quickly people make assessments and opinions and determinations. You weren't paying attention. This is your fault. You should have been more aware, more present, more attentive. This wouldn't have happened if you had done something differently. You should have done random drug tests, or stalked their cell phone. You should have placed armed guards outside of their school. You should have fed them only organic food. You should have carried those babies for much longer than you did. You should have, you should have, you should have.

As if everyone else's version of "you should have" somehow could drown out the chorus of it playing over and over again, like a broken record in your own head: Why didn't I? Why didn't I? Why didn't I?

Tragedy is ugly. Why are we so uncomfortable with accepting it? Why do we have to make laws, or have protests, or need vengeance? Why does there always have to be blame? Why do I always have to find blame?

A child is dead and I'm angry. I want justice, vengeance, change. I want to "be certain" that this will never ever happen again. But I can't be. I can't undo the actions of cells going crazy, or lake's with quick sand, or gunmen that are insane, or a body that just can't.keep.going... I can't undo the very actions of God, or prevent the hurts from happening to someone else. But I can embrace and pour out love on a tragedy that is consumed with loss. I can weep and mourn and celebrate the life that existed. I can honor the memory of the person I loved.

A child is dead. It's a horrible, awful, ugly experience.

Fireworks

The display was over. We sat outside on our lawn chairs, looking up at the sky. The smoke was slowly fading away into the air. I leaned over and whispered to Chief Thank you for enduring real bombs so that we can enjoy watching these pretty ones.

Fireworks do something to me. They move me. I mean they really move me. They propel my mind into scenes and displays that I have not yet been forced to personally endure. They play scenes of bombs exploding everywhere. The loss of life. The loss of American lives. The pounding thumps in my chest and flashes my spirit into what Chief has lived too many times to count. My mind wonders how it was during the American Revolution and the Civil War when so many people heard the pounding of the explosions not meant to delight, but to destroy, all around them. The fear, the angst, the devastation.

Fireworks make me remember. They make me think of the RPG that only killed one, because it didn't explode inside of the tank. They make me think of the sound of the IED that went off and forever changed the picture of the world for two dear friends of mine. They make me think of the ongoing, never ending, psychological effects of war for our soldiers, and the people who adore them. They make me think of a group of people who were willing to sacrifice it all, give everything they had, for an ideal, a beautiful picture of what the world could be. They make me think of how in our own way, Chief, my children, and myself have taken up that call and laid the greatest delight of our lives on the line. We've said Here you go America. Take him. The cause of freedom is worth it to us.

I spent the entire time praying. Praying for America. Praying for my Gold star friends. Praying for our soldiers in the midst of death and destruction right now. Praying for our military leaders. Praying for our nation. Praying for Chief. Praying for our FRG leaders. Praying for our military spouses. Praying. The bombs kept going off and we all smiled and cheered and thought about how beautiful they were... And I leaned over to my husband and whispered that small thank you that couldn't even begin to scratch the surface of the depth of my gratitude.

To all of my readers who have endured the toils of war I make this humble, and sincere statement: Thank you for enduring real bombs, real bullets, real hell, so that we can enjoy the pretty ones of last night. May your gift to America never be forgotten. May your names always be remembered.

Letting go.

It's astounding how utterly difficult it is for me to let go. At what point will I tell myself You've done enough. It can't be your problem anymore. You're exhausted. You're drained. Let. it. go.? Probably never. This is the battle that goes on in my brain every few days.

I am an FRG leader. For those of you who don't know what it means, it's essentially working a full time job for a company commander supporting, caring for, equipping, assisting, listening to, and encouraging all of the spouse's, mom's, dad's, girlfriend's, fiance's, sister's, brother's, children, etc etc that are associated and affiliated with the company. I have been one of these FRG leaders for nearly 9 years (there was a short six month break of psychos where I walked away to preserve my sanity). I have held hands and assisted in the births of children, assisted in the loss of infants, been to funerals for soldiers (and children, mothers, siblings), supported Commanders, defended first sergeants, brought the chain of command's mission and viewpoint to the spouses, and advocated on behalf of the soldiers and their families to the CO. I have sat with spouses as they reported their soldier's domestic violence. Helped spouses with alcoholism, and psychological disorders (theirs, their soldier's, and their children's). I have made meals, grieved with and laughed with so many spouses I can't even remember them all. I have not been the FRG leader for any married Commanders (so no spousal help there). In fact, none of them have even had girlfriends at the time. I have consistently and genuinely fought the fight, defended the cause, and been loyal to both the Commander and the company.

I have been thanked ONCE. One time. By one person. A spouse who was assaulted by a soldier. After she found safety, she called me and told me how much I helped her and asked if it would be okay if we remain in contact. We still do.

It's not that I do this for gratitude. I don't. I don't do it for accolades or to feel important or significant. To be honest, nearly every phone call/visit/interaction, SOMEONE is angry with me, or the commander, or the first sergeant, and is dumping it onto me. Or they've had their heads filled with such negative views of FRG's that they pretty much dislike me without ever getting to know me. No one helps. Not anymore. The younger generation of spouses have little to no idea of camaraderie. They're "independent" and they don't "need anyone". Until they're attempting suicide because their soldier is in the field and they haven't spoken to him in "days"... And then it's not the FRG, or the spouses who have lived through eight million deployments and days away from their soldier that they want, but only the soldier. What could I possibly know? It's not like I've lived through hell on behalf of the Army... right???

I am tired. My ability to care has run out. I recognize this fully. And I know I must step down. I have already determined to do so. I have resolved in my mind that I have little left to contribute. I am done rallying the troups. I am through listening to spouses with way more financial resources than me telling me they can't feed their children (as the new coach bag glistens on their arm). I'm tired of always making jokes, being supportive, when I think their soldier is a POS. I'm tired of not being able to talk to my husband about all of the things going on in my normal day, because it will make him loathe the soldiers who work under him. I'm tired of not being able to say what I want without having to constantly analyze whether or not I am disparaging the commander or the company name.

On the other side of this equation, I feel this burden of responsibility. I feel this pull on my heart towards the new spouse who just showed up to this installation with no idea about what she's getting herself in to. I feel this agony about myself that I used to feel when I was a "newbie". I remember how amazing it was when Judy loved on me, and my fellow new spouses, and welcomed me into this giant new life. And it is a GIANT new life. It's big and it's hard. It's also why we need each other (military spouses/moms/family members).

So I have this argument in myself. I have gone back and forth and back and forth again and again. I will probably feel sad, to some degree, when it's officially over. I am able to say, though, that I must let it go. I am able to recognize that my time doing this is finished, for now. I will move on, and I will have given so much of my heart and my time. I hope that I was able to make a positive difference in people's lives. I hope that the next FRG leader will be surrounded by grateful people. I hope she will be showered with thank you's and we appreciate you's. I hope she will have the stamina, wisdom, and passion to make something great.

Mine

There are moments in life where you can see the storm clouds coming upon you. They're off on the horizon, and they're rolling towards you. You can see it as it starts the happen. The sun hides away, the wind begins to blow, the rain begins to pour... There are also times when the storms sneak up on you in the night unexpectedly. You wake up to a grey, overcast experience. Your heart feels heavy and burdened and you didn't really anticipate it.

I talk about emotional exhaustion because I experience it. I have very few people in my life who replenish my emotional reserves. VERY few. It's not that people don't try, want to, or that I don't want them to either. It's just that not everyone has that unique spiritual gift which is able to. This isn't an insult to them (or me), just a matter of facts.

I relate so wholly to Moses. I make a lot of jokes about being "Moses'd" here at our duty station (which I think Moses approves of... FYI. HA!). At a time when it was (and unfortunately still continues to be) most popular to ignore the books of old and look to the new testament, I connected to this amazing individual from way back in the past. I found myself in him, with every page. I found a God who got him, accepted him, and called him even though he so clearly did not fit in with any of the current (as in modern times...) religious stereotypes. Moses is my rockstar, and I'm a bit of a superfan.

Moses was called to something he didn't really want to be a part of. He felt weak, incapable, afraid. Moses was reluctant and battled God constantly. He was impulsive, angry, and gave of himself entirely to others... often times leading to his complete exhaustion (and desire to stop living out of the weight of it all). He was a questioner (But what if...?) with nearly everything God said. He was completely honest and vulnerable with God. He would throw temper tantrums with God, he would yell at Him! He took himself and laid bare all that he was and is and could be, right down in front of God and said "IN YO FACE!" Okay... he didn't really say "in yo face" but you get the point. He was real. He was feisty. And God expected a lot from him. Obviously because he was capable of handling it, even when he felt like he wasn't.

In my own life, I have been called to many situations where I "couldn't" handle it. I have, personally, had those conversations with God where I was begging for Him to end my life (this is not the same as suicidal... in case you are wondering). I have experienced, a million times over, emotional exhaustion to the extreme. I have desired to hide myself away, to withdraw and retreat from society, and I have done so in order to be alone with my God. And He is MY God.

I do not presume to consider myself as important as Moses was in the history of the world. I would never be that ridiculous. Obviously his calling and mine are not equal. But his spirit, his tenacity, his passion, his fatigue... I relate to. I connect with. I can't wait to meet him and say "Thank you for existing!".

The needs of the world are so intense. The needs of the Church are equally so. She is so broken. She is lost. The weight of that is immense. The weight of being called to the problems/challenges/hurts of those around me sometimes feels like too much to bear. I feel lost in it, without these moments of retreat where I take all of it and pour it out on my God. Where I am called to remember I raise my eyes up to the mountains. From whence shall come my help? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth (Psalm 121.1-2).

I know my spiritual gifts. I know the calling that God has placed before me. I am grateful that He deems me worthy enough to handle it. It doesn't mean it is easy. I think we, as a Church, have gotten way too hung up on the "yoke being easy and the burden light." We've come to believe that God's callings are supposed to be a walk in the park. We've come to expect angst as "not God's will. We've lost the beauty in burdens. Moses' burdens were great. They were also immensely overwhelming. They were not "light" or "easy". What they did do, however, was force Moses to not get ahead of himself. They reminded Moses of his humanity, his vulnerability, and his need for God's presence, peace, healing, and leadership.

I am learning to be thankful for exhaustion. I'm learning to stop, when these times come, and immerse myself in my God, my King, my Savior. I'm learning to see these periods as reminders of my need for God's presence, peace, healing, and leadership in my own life. I'm learning to view them as God saying to me: This burden is heavy, and it's hard. That's why you need me. That's why I'm yours. I am bigger than your weakness. IN YO FACE! (God is funny when He comforts me. Don't get an attitude... HA!)

He is mine. In the most beautiful and magnificent way, He is mine.

Beautiful Battles

It isn't often that Chief and I draw the battle lines and have a good row. It isn't often that we're shouting at each other and furious. When it comes, it comes big. Adrenaline pumping, fists clenched, gritted teeth, yelling... It's quite the eruption.

Today was one of those rare occasions (to explain how rare, we fight maybe once a year... no joke). We were fighting about a stressful situation that had already been resolved. It's funny, isn't it? The ridiculous things that will cause two people who adore each other, to fight.

We dug in our heels, had our hands shaking, and forced ourselves to shout it out. We didn't walk away. We didn't throw out BS fighting terms (divorce... And I will say it's always BS to throw that out there in an argument), we didn't throw things, or slam doors. We sat there and shouted.

In the middle of this marital earthquake, Chief shouted at me: I don't even know why we're fighting! I LOVE YOU! and I laughed. I was thinking the exact same thing in that moment. I was about to say those exact same words to him! I laughed because I love this type of fighting. We weren't fighting against each other, we were fighting towards each other and that is beautiful. It's a beautiful battle to be fighting to get the muck that builds up between us out of the way. It's a beautiful place to be where you can be so angry, and have some one be so angry with you, and the words I love you are an active part of the dialogue.

Chief and I used to fight so ugly. We used to rip each other to shreds. We used to be our own worst enemies. I can't pinpoint the moment when that changed. I can't communicate the hurts that have been heaped upon me (and vice versa) out of his mouth. What I can say is that I married the most perfect person. I married the person who feels about me the way I feel about him: desperate love. I can say that we fight to be together, not apart.

I am so thankful for what God has given me. I'm so thankful for the miraculous healing that has been poured over us. I am thankful that I can sit here and say that my marriage has been through the fiercest aspects of hell, and now when we're angry... fighting! we're shouting out "I LOVE YOU!"

This is the kind of love that I pray for, with desperation, for our children. This is the kind of love that I dreamed about when I was younger, but didn't believe existed. This is the guy that I would die for, a thousand times over, because I know he would do the same for me and then some. This is the person who fought himself out of psychological death to come back and be next to me because I needed him to.

So today we had one of those beautiful battles. Today Chief stared me down, and even in his angriest moment, his eyes were filled with the most intense love for me. Today, when we were so angry our hands were shaking, love for each other was pouring out, instead of hate. Today we showed our children that two people who are nuts for each other, can have a fight and still display love. Beautiful.

Thanks be to God.