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.

Summer Winter

The summer has come and with it the heat. And with it a sort of winterization of my heart. The story of me and you against the rest of the world is ending. With it all of the melancholy that I can barely stand to stomach is seeping out. I hate it.

I found myself curled up in Chief this afternoon feeling as tiny as I could be. Crying.

I hate feelings, I said. They always lead to hurts.
He said, But you love the feeling of my love.
Yes. But one day it will lead to the greatest grief either you or I will have ever experienced.
He responded: It's the cycle of life baby...

The years and years of therapy forcing me to accept emotions, forcing me to feel all of this shit that I didn't want to feel, suck. Here I am, wallowing. Hurting. Because I ventured to love, and I didn't want to. Because I couldn't help myself...

Stupid me.

I hate goodbyes. I hate needing someone or something. I hate the essences of my fragile humanity bubbling up to the surface of myself and being unable to contain it. I hate feeling like a mess of a woman. I hate running out of words, and yet feeling like I haven't said enough to matter. I hate wanting to know I've made a difference in your life, for the better. I hate that this is ending...

I am helpless to prevent it. I know it and you know it too. Wishful thinking can paint the sunset sky all I want but it won't really make a difference. Life goes on and things can't last forever.

I am closing the door and saying goodbye. I am grieving like hell because you're worth that to me. Selfishly I hope you are grieving the loss of me. But ultimately it doesn't matter. It doesn't make any difference if I mattered to you. Love isn't about reciprocity. It's about what I gave to you, unchained, untied, no strings... It's about how loving you changed my life for the better. It's about learning to accept that love is about giving of myself because I choose to.

I have no regrets, when it's all said and done. I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

I thought you should know.