Army Weak

There is a strange mixture of emotions and circumstances that can come to light when you are a military spouse. I am in one right now. My husband is a superstar. He is ethical, moral, loyal, faithful. He works himself to the bone because of integrity and duty to his superiors and his juniors. I adore this about him, and hate it at the same time.

He had been long overdue for a promotion. There were many factors that were a part of this that I won't go into. They don't really matter in the grand scheme, but it certainly affected him psychologically. When the promotion came, his spirit was renewed and his adoration, love, and insane work drive returned.

I love seeing my husband come alive in this lifestyle we live. I love seeing him feel about his job how he felt in the beginning of our relationship. I love hearing about his excitement as he teaches some young dude about tanks. I love how his face lights up at the notion of turning his tank engine on and fiddling around with it. I. love. it.

I hate how much he works. I hate that he works more than anyone else in this company. I don't say that in some pity party way (though I am certainly having many of those moments in my own emotional way), it is just a fact. His position requires it. I am working on processing through these things. It is hard for me.

This is not to say that I don't recognize things could be harder. He has deployed five times, so I think I can pretty fairly say I know what it's like to be apart in that regard. Yes, I realize he could be in Afghanistan or the Sudan or Korea... All of those things suck. The point of this post is not to complain about his time away. And if that's what you think I'm doing, I'm sorry that you don't know me well enough to see past that.

My point here is this is the process of adjusting for the spouse left at home (AKA: me). It. is. hard. And no one really prepares you for this! I miss my mentors who have gone away! I miss having those gals to say: "Oh my dear... he's a platoon sergeant now. You'll never see him! It sucks. But you're not alone. We're all in this together!" I miss them telling me these feelings are normal and you will come through it stronger. I miss that...

I love Chief. I love him something fierce and his walking into my door at 7pm, only to have to go back again at 9 and come back home at 11 SUCKS. It is hard to adjust my brain to being okay/at peace/comfortable with that. And this aspect has REALLY surprised me, America. I didn't expect it. I thought I would breeze into this change with no problems. I haven't. It has brought me to tears many times.

It's a strange place to be. Immensely proud, insanely in love with his dedication. To admire this part of his personality is beautiful. But to be the person who feels like a basket case sucks! And I hate that I am having such a hard time! All of these feelings are completely mine. They are my own challenges to accept and get on board with. I will never discourage him from what he's doing. I will never tell him to stop it. But I won't hide that it hurts either. Because here's the awesome thing about Chief: he's man enough to handle my tears and honorable enough to do his job anyway. He's awesome enough to be able to prioritize his duty to this calling, and his duty to me, and he has this expert ability to balance it. I am amazed by how he does it, but he does.

So, America, I've been having a pity party. I've been feeling kind of sad. I miss my husband. But I am so proud of him. And I wanted to share with my readers who are a bit lower than me (and maybe some who are higher than me but feeling alone), that this too might come across your path. I really hope that when/if it does, I'll still be around to say to you: "This is normal. It sucks. You will grieve. But then you'll adjust and you'll be stronger for it."

Final thought: Feeling Army weak, is the beginning of becoming Army Strong.

5-Seconds-of-Doing-This "Wisdom"

I have recently been blessed with people in my life who have encouraged me to garden. I live in brownsville. That my read like a joke, but it really is quite factual. The "grass" is brown. The cacti are brown. The rocks are brown, and on and on and on. I believe there is a psychological need for green, and that I wholeheartedly have it. It's amazing what a monochromatic scheme does to one's psyche. It squashes the spirit, sucks your heart dry, and then wonders why you're not "content". It's not that I don't enjoy the color brown. I'm not in that club of "brown sucks", it's just that my eyeballs, my spirit, my soul needs more than just that. So I have begun a "garden".

The truth is that I should tell you how this gardening view came to be. Nearly four months ago, my children and I, as part of our homeschool, planted some seeds in a greenhouse kit. We paid attention to them for a couple of weeks and had the best of intentions. But we all ended up really sick and forgot all about it. I peeked through the lid randomly and saw they were all dead. I set it aside (WHY DID I SET THIS ASIDE!?!?!?!) and left it. Three months later, I was cleaning my home and realized this didn't get thrown away. I took off the lid and one plant was STILL ALIVE! That's right my friends... this one plant was a fighter and I determined to give him a chance. I brought him out into the fresh air and started to water him. He kept growing. I sort of fell in love with this fella. My little cilantro plant that has the ultimate fighting spirit, had won my heart. This is how I fell into having a "garden"...

I now have some indoor plants (almost all edibles because we have rabbits up the wazoo and frankly I don't want my hard work to feed rabbits... I'm selfish like that), and I'm working on a porch garden. Yes, I can collectively hear you all say Porch garden? HUH!? But the simple fact is this: I do not own my home. I am not allowed to landscape or change the yard of my home. Everything I grow must be in pots.

It has only been a few days of "green" being back in my life, but it's already feeding me. I want to be outside again. I want to get up and check on the fruits, vegetables, flowers... I feel excited when I see a bee buzzing around and I find my brain internally cheering them on and begging them to come and hang out at my house forever. I no longer have a passionate hatred for the ants that are all over my yard because ants dig tunnels. Tunnels aerate the soil, and that helps things to grow! I'm not eager to leap up and bug spray my whole yard because now I'm thinking about what killing off an entire yard of creatures will do to the soil, to the earth, to the birds, to the environment... How will the ripple effect of that one action play out?

The biggest lesson that this garden has been teaching me (again... it's only been a few days!) is patience. The value of patience, persistence, and hard work. There is very little instant gratification. There is SOME instant gratification (like: yes! I did this! Looks better than before!) but the overall "vision" I have in my mind will not come over night. I have to wait...

What a concept... waiting. I have such an instant gratification type of personality. I want things and I want them now and I'm not interested in waiting around for things to come. But my spirit/psyche/mind, like my garden, is a work in progress. I can't instantly change everything I dislike about me. I can work the ground, till the soil, get my hands dirty, make a mess, and then clean it all up and see what happens as I'm watered, fed, and put out in the sun.

I wonder what these gardens will look like a week, month, or even a year from now. I wonder how we both will grow and change. Can't wait to see. :)

Village People. :)

My life has been wrought with many ups and downs. I've had a difficult time finding "my people" (as my blogging celebrity friend puts it). I am a difficult soul. I joke constantly, over commit myself, have good intentions but almost always speak without thinking (then I fret for days and days over what I probably shouldn't have said but did...). I come across as being a know-it-all, when I'm really not in my heart. I'm probably over confident when I shouldn't be, and not confident enough when I should be. I homeschool, so I'm always around my children and I really don't get the whole mentality of sending my kids off to school for 2/3 of their day in a country where they don't really learn much... I'm Catholic. But not just Catholic, a Catholic who became one after years and years of Baptist-ism and the schooling, study, theology, Bible-leading that went along with it (in other words... I know why I am Catholic). I am obsessed with my husband. But I hope in a good way??? And I've been driven to insanity by my four kids, the four-legged love of my life, Venemous (don't ask), and Gus-Gus the Circus Dog.

That's me, up there ^^^ in a nutshell. I'm obviously much more than those things, but I hope it helps to paint a picture of why it's difficult for me to form attachments/friendships. I am crazy. :)

A little over a year ago, the hubster mentioned that I needed to find some more of "my people". I really didn't have any of those at the time, so I started to pray. I just started to ask God to open doors, bring women into my life. Give me "friends". Help me to trust. Help me to open up. Slowly, He did.

It started with one Italian sunbeam who came and brought me so much joy. She encouraged me (and I hope I encouraged her too!!!), and we'd laugh together, share the silliness of life, vent about the Army (mostly me doing that... HAHA!), and enjoy each other. She. is. awesome. Then He saw fit to bless me with a plethora of other sunbeams to come and challenge me in different ways! The Photographer (who I stalk. Seriously. I'm in her bushes as I write this! HA!), an Irishman and her clan, The Celebrity Blogger, The Juicer/Monsanto Hater, the Catholic, the Coffee Lover, The Jeweler, and on and on. These are my people. These women are my clan. My posse. My crew.

So this is my sappy, obnoxious version of saying to each of them. I prayed for you. I still pray for you. You are massive blessings to me. You all give me courage, encouragement, support. You help me to be a better wife, mother, gardener (poor celebrity blogger... she has a CHALLENGE on her hands!), Catholic (gotta know my stuff!!! HAHA!), and woman as a whole. I am more thankful for you than I could ever say. I hope you always know that even if time and distance causes us to grow apart eventually (seriously... the PCS moves need to come to an end!), I will always hold you dear in my heart. Forever.

So... feel special, because you are. And know that you have a purpose. Even if it's just to encourage this old broad for a time. (sidebar: I felt the need to add here that your sole purpose in life is to live for me... HAHAHA! Isn't that how that whole last paragraph read!?!?! But I knew it would make you laugh! So laugh! HA!)

You are treasures to me. :)

Radical Holy Spirit

The notion of radical Christianity has become almost as dirty as a four letter word. Even when discussing the subject in a room full of "christians", the notion of radicalism is shunned, rejected and suppressed. But when did the idea of radicalism change to include murder, evil, or wickedness? Radical Christianity is what every single follower of Christ should strive for. A change so radical, and love so intense, and spirit so consuming that we become radical.

It's sad that Christianity used to be completely radical. To be a Christian meant that you were willing to do radical things, like sell everything you owned and give all the money away to the poor. It meant being willing to have your bodies burned as torches, or to sit and pray for God to have mercy on the soul of the very person who was causing you unimaginable human suffering. To be radical meant to be like Jesus.

But now, this notion of Christianity has been so tainted, corrupted and diluted that to be a "christian" means to really be nothing like what Christ (and all of his Apostles) actually laid out for us. To be a "christian" means that we simply say some stupid statement and then roam around the planet just like every other miserable person roaming around the planet and feel like we're going to go to heaven when we die. "Christianity" today means ignoring every thing uncomfortable and radical that is clearly laid out in the Bible over and over again (love intensely, give everything, put others above yourself, etc etc etc). "Christianity" today is a joke, and I don't want to be one.

I want my days to be so intensely exhausting that the only possible way I could ever have gotten through it is by the presence of the Holy Spirit living in me. I want my heart to be so radical that I pray for massively impossible things and then sit back and watch as the Holy Spirit makes them happen. I want those things to be so impossible and impractical and unlikely so that NO person can take the credit. I want the Holy Spirit to get all of the glory.

It's a radical thought... trusting God like that... believing Jesus... submitting to the Holy Spirit... Yikes! If only we would actually do it...

Military Spouse Appreciation Day

Military Spouse Appreciation day.... What words are there? Where do I begin to define and describe this club that I am blessed to be a part of? Where do I start? I'm not really sure, but yet here I sit trying to put words to thought and heart and click away at this keyboard to convey that which feels in-conveyable....

Some of the greatest betrayals of my life have come from military spouses. Some of the deepest cuts, the greatest abandonments, the most painful rejections. Some of the hardest experiences have been at the hands of the juvenile, back stabbing, trash talking, can't handle you being Catholic-ing individuals that I've known in this life. Those hurts were deep and intense and awful.

But on the flip side of that coin... on the back side of those beautiful uglies (and they really were beautiful), are the rays of light that have been my living, breathing, walking Jesus'. The one's who've stayed up with me until three in the morning listening to me yell about what an idiot one of our "hot shot" wives is... the one's who've held my hand while I unwrapped my arms from the love of my life and watched him go away... the ones who've come to last minute get-togethers, poured cups of coffee, cried, yelled, prayed, cursed, and laughed (my favorite one...).

I love being a military spouse. I love it because it's perfect for me. I love it because this lifestyle has molded and shaped so much of me. It has changed me, for the better.

I have learned so many difficult lessons because I am married to a soldier. I've learned a level of independence that has been necessary for my sanity (even though I never would have believed that 10+ years ago). But in the exact same way, I've learned to be dependent on a core group of women that are critical for my mental well being. I've learned to communicate. I've learned to say what I love and what I hate, and to hopefully do both with a humble heart. I've learned to stop fighting, to let go, and to accept the "things I can not change". I've also learned that I am strong enough to fight the hardest fights ever imaginable.

I've learned what raw humanity looks like, watching your dear friend bury her husband at such a young age. I've learned that youth doesn't mean immaturity and age doesn't mean wisdom. Pain doesn't mean rejection. I've learned to love. More than I thought myself capable of doing. I've learned to give grace. I've learned to forgive. I've learned to accept who I am, while never being content to stagnate my spiritual and emotional growth.

I have learned to survive. I've learned that nightmares are not necessarily reality, and that fear is not fact. I've learned that stereotyping (while it can be hilarious) is not always truth. I've learned to not judge a book (or a soldier's rank, or the spouse's appearance) by it's cover. I've learned that "hill-billy-hick-Sara-Mae" can be a genius, and General so-and-so's wife can be an idiot.

But most of all, I've learned to laugh. I've learned to release all of these things that I spent the majority of my life trying to control; to sit back, kick up my heels and say Heck! It's outta my hands!

I appreciate the beautiful souls who are here with me, in this aggravating, mind-boggling, military spouse experience. I honor the one's who've gone before us and made things better. I still want to kick in the donkey the one's who've made things worse (and you probably still don't know who you are because you are an idiot... Bless your heart...).

This doesn't even graze the surface. Thank you for being you, for giving all you've given. You are worth more than rubies to me... more valuable than gold. More precious than silver...

Chief

There are these moments where it feels fitting to smoke a cigarette. The kind where the words have all run out and you're left with this convoluted mess of chaos and feelings and intensity but no ability to express it outwards. The kind that you just want to exhale out of your lungs in ash and smoke because it feels so fitting. Perfect in the moment. 

I am here wrapped up in random smells and substances that are all sunbeams of you. And I feel like an addict whose run out of cigarettes, digging around for any piece of you still here. I am desperate for a smell. Desperate for a memory. Desperate for you.

It's pathetic. In a thousand ways it feels so junior high. In a thousand more it feels like magic and ecstasy and pure elation. The mere thought of your presence in front of me sends my world into roller coasters. I. a. dore. you.

In a million ways I'm a failure and a "let down". In a million ways I didn't live up to my potential of all that I was capable of being. The career plans, the future goals all washed down the drain when my ears first heard the sound of your voice. I was gone. Sucker punched by an emotion I never really believed in. Drawn in to a reality that was only music and poetry and songs. No one ever experienced that in real life.

You came around and cluttered up all of my plans, my purpose. You changed the channel and everything was different in that instant. I was spellbound, love struck, addicted.

And now your smell haunts my senses, your fingertips are the only thing that makes me feel awake. Now my purpose has become honoring you, making you proud... 

You wrap your arms around my waist and my whole sense of fierceness, my independent woman warrior ethos fade away. The real, scared, small, insecure creature is instantly exposed and I am helpless. I am helpless and safe in a single moment that I am incapable of guarding against or changing. In all honesty, I don't want to.

You wrap your words up in my brain and they dance around me all day long. Singing love songs at random moments. 

This is the one thing that I was created for. All the rest of the stuff is window decorations but this, this... You-and-me... This is the stuff that makes me go wow. This is the stuff that makes me feel like smoking a cigarette. The kind where you just need to inhale and exhale all of the feelings that you can't put into words, and watch them fade away. The kind where you run out of expressions and all that's left is just you and your breath against the sky.