Needing people

Well, I've had a pretty tough week this week. It started with the really lonely weekend that I wrote about. Then followed some financial stressors that increased my anxiety level which then led to poorer and poorer sleep as the week went on. Which led to getting sick, which led to missing worship practice, which led to a meltdown of sorts.

Today at church the service was centered around prayer and healing; it was contemplative and spacious and beautiful. I opted out of singing because of my never-ending cold, so instead I spent almost the whole time crying. Well, sobbing actually. My friends prayed for Dan and I. The songs were prayers too.

So here's the truth: I feel like I'm failing. I don't know why, or what I think I'm failing at, but there it is. I realized today that what I'm dealing with is a lot more difficult than I thought it would be. And I think that I feel like I'm failing because I don't have as much control as I planned to have. I feel like I've been doing the right things to manage different aspects of my life but it just hasn't been enough. The truth probably is that no matter how many right things I do, this life would be tough for anybody. I keep comparing my situation to others' situations, hoping to get some sense of what normal is. I know people who have 2 or more kids, work a full time job, run a home, find time to workout several times a week and they seem to be doing fine. I'm only working part-time and sometimes I feel like I can barely keep the house running. I can't seem to stay organized, or feel healthy, or get enough sleep, or get to the gym. I guess I sound a little bit depressed, but I don't think that that's all it is.

I've been underestimating how much of a toll separation from Dan takes on me. I feel like half of me is missing all of the time and I struggle to do anything whole-heartedly when half of my heart isn't here. Sometimes I'm physically achy to the point that I can't breathe. My mind is always in two places at once so that I can't really focus, which is probably why I've been feeling like my brain is missing. It's most likely in Afghanistan. I miss appointments and forget things that people tell me. Seeing those words makes my experience real; if someone else had written them I would think it absurd to expect that person to function like every other person in a semi-normal situation. It could be that I'm struggling so much because there is no wholeness in my heart or mind or life. But there are still good things there.

Way before Dan and I started dating he used to come over to hang out, but he would rarely if ever accept my offer to feed him or give him anything. I thought it was ridiculous so I told him that when he refused to accept things from me for whatever reason he thought was valid, it robbed me of the chance to be hospitable and share with him. He actually listened to me, took what I said to heart and tried to be different, which is why I love him. I thought of this today because I haven't really been giving the people around me a chance to be there for me. I haven't verbalized my need for company or community or laughter or play. It's tough to say 'I'm lonely and I need to come over' or 'I really need someone to talk to', but that's how other people will know what I need. I ended my last blog with the question 'what if no one notices [that I'm lonely]?' It's been bothering me all week because though it felt like a cry from my heart at the time, distance has helped me to see that it's unrealistic for me to sit alone in my house and hope that someone else guesses that I'm lonely. The truth is that I haven't been at all transparent with the people who care about me and would want to help me (in all fairness to myself, I didn't even know how much I needed to ask for). Asking for what you need is a big risk sometimes but it's the only way that anyone is going to know. This is actually a really positive thing for me to learn. I've learned to verbalize my needs very well to Dan but I've never expanded that learning to include my friends, family or church community. This week I took a few chances, accepted some help and I don't think that I'll be lonely again now for quite a while.

Last weekend I watched the Time Traveler's Wife and enjoyed it immensely. I liked it because it gave me strength and hope to be able to live my life well. In another blog, I wrote that I'd be a military wife as long as I was called to because I loved Dan. Then a few weeks later I had a hissy fit because I couldn't stand the thought of being without him for long periods of time throughout our entire life. I hate the thought of not being involved in church together, or getting to take classes together, or seeing our kids grow up together. I think I actually said that a marriage like that wasn't what I thought marriage should be. I do think that actually – I married Dan to spend my life with him, not to learn to live my life in between the times when he's home. I guess even our most heartfelt sentiments can be fickle sometimes. But anyway, the time traveler's wife lived a good part of her life with a man who was there and gone with no notice whatsoever and she decided that love had given her no choice but to be with him whenever he was where she was. So I know that my life isn't exactly like that but I like stories because they make you want to be better without having to specifically tell you how or why. I'd like to own that movie but if you're thinking of buying it for me, maybe check with 10 other people first because I don't know if I'm assertive enough yet to tell you that I already own a copy. J

I've wanted to share this picture for a while. Before I saw this, Dan had described to me how someone on a previous tour had planted grass and every so often guys would walk by and run their hands through it. The story felt sacred somehow, like there was something of God in the existence of green grass in a brown world, where something so ordinary could for an instant remind brave men of home. I love looking at this picture because when I see it I feel like I would if I were all alone in a strange land and I met someone who was a friend. I also feel like this is who God is to me, not a force that will keep us from struggle, but a loving person who will enter our world in quiet way and show us life and remind us of home. I also love this picture because I'm reminded of the joy that shows on Dan's face. He is the most joyful person I know and I feel alive just looking at him. And also because he's getting such nice arm muscles!

Our birdies are in mating mode again. While normally quiet during the day, they've been spending a good part of their time this week trying to tear off leaves and strands of paper to use as dancing props. They are fierce and persistent. I haven't the heart to tell them that they're both female and there are no males around to impress.

There's a field that I drive by on my way off the base that is now scattered with hay bales. It reminds me of those old music boxes they used to make that played songs by turning a cylinder covered with strategically placed nubs. I don't know why, but I seriously wonder what song that field would play if we had a music box big enough.

I love my husband, my life, and my God.

Lonely girl

I feel really lonely tonight. I don't have anyone to tell so I'll write it here. I'm achy all the time and nothing helps. Nothing should help – no healthy way of coping will eliminate the achiness that I feel. Dan is really sick with a cold. It's hard for me to see his face and hear his voice and know that there's nothing I can do. It's even more difficult when I'm already starving for emotional and physical connection. I've been wondering lately how I'm going to make it through when every day feels so unbearably long and empty.

I wonder if there are different kinds of loneliness. Does being lonely for friendship feel the same as being lonely for a spouse? The day that Dan left I went to the mall afterwards and I looked at everyone and wondered what they were feeling. The guy trying to sell me a very expensive hand scrub didn't know that I'd just said goodbye to the love of my life for two and a half months, but I wanted to tell him so. The next day I was buying a booster juice during lunch hour when the high school kids were out and when I listened to their struggles, which consisted mainly of girls not calling back or friends being nasty, I wondered again at how much invisible sorrow there is in the world. I think trouble with friends is definitely painful, but how easy it is to be wrapped up in our own superficial annoyances when others are silently crying out for human connection.

I think that I have quite a few friends, and yet even tonight I feel like there is no one to call. The need to feel connected to another human being is very intense right now. I had a very productive and much needed day of cleaning and running errands, but at the end of the day what I really need is to be wrapped up in love and community. The trouble with having a deployed spouse is that no matter how empty you are, you can't ask anyone else to fill that void. My very best friend in the city has her own marriage to nurture and her own life to live and my church community is loving but still somewhat removed from me in times of need like this. It's scary to call someone you don't really know and ask to be loved because you feel alone in the world.

It crosses my mind often when Dan is away, though I try not to let it control my thoughts, that it would be devastating to lose him. I don't think this because he's in a war zone, I think this because when he's away I can easily imagine being suddenly alone. No one would really know how it feels, no one could do anything about it. I picture suddenly being without the person who knows me better than anyone else in the world, the person who shares every little part of my life and who is there with me in every moment. Who would take his place? I could never ask it of my friends or family. I would be bereft of almost everything that makes my life meaningful. Who would I share day-to-day things with? Who would I tell my every thought to? Who would live through joy and sorrow with me? In the movie Shall We Dance, the wife remarks that people get married so that they have a witness to their lives, someone who commits to acknowledge their existence and testify to their life on earth. Not even the best friend in the world could be as close to me as my dear husband who is my witness.

So what of loneliness? It's the most despised feeling in my long list of feelings. It's the most difficult to deal with because it doesn't get easier with practice. It's here to stay for the evening. It's a feeling completely dependent on another human being reaching out and saying 'I know you're alive and I want to be with you, I remember you.' What if no one notices?

Love is all there is

I have a few other things that I want to write about at some point - nothing life-changing, just glimpses of day-to-day life - but tonight I feel that I need to write about life as a military spouse. Today on the way home I picked up two books that I had on hold at the library: My Love, My Life (an inside look at the lives of those who love and support our military men and women) and Home Fires Burning (married to the military – for better or worse). That got me thinking about what I would say to someone if they ever asked me about my life. You did ask, right?

You'd really think that when your husband is away on deployment, you'd avoid all books and movies about the military/war/separation. Well, not only did I not avoid them, I went looking for them. Why? I don't know – maybe out of curiosity, partly out of a need to be connected to stories that are bigger than mine but still linked to mine, mostly because immersing myself in the reality of my life helps me to be attentive and to live it well. I started with Dear John, Nicholas Sparks' movie about a soldier who falls in love while he's home on leave. I wanted it to be a comforting story about how love and commitment can get you through anything and I was hoping that it would give me hope. Sadly, the two characters don't even end up together at the end. Sad, indeed. On an impulse, I rented Taking Chance with Kevin Bacon, a movie based on a true story about a high ranking officer who volunteers to escort the body of a fallen soldier home to his family. I really enjoyed the journey of respect that I got to go on with this movie, as you basically follow the fallen soldier from the preparation of his body right through to the funeral. The military member who meticulously prepared the body said at one point, "It was an honor to get to care for him, Sir." I found myself crying as the casket moved through airports with workers paying their respects, traveled in a vehicle with a trail of civilian cars behind and arrived at the funeral parlor where the family waited to receive his personal belongings from the officer. Definitely a hidden gem. Finally, because of Woody Allen's Oscar nomination, I rented The Messenger. This one was definitely the most difficult to watch as it opened the door into the life of the soldier(s) whose responsibility it is to notify the next of kin of their husband/wife/son/daughter's death. All I can say is that I sure hope that I'll only ever have to watch that scene played out on a TV screen.

It was the first book however, that got me thinking the most about my life. The book is basically a collection of letters written by military spouses interspersed with comments by the author. I admit that life in the military is a difficult one to describe to civilians and it's often misunderstood but one letter written by a 'Mrs. Jane Doe' was appalling to me and I'm hoping that her choice to remain anonymous was in some way an acknowledgement that what she wrote was insulting and insensitive, even if she chose to send it in to a newspaper. Here's some of what she had to say (I'm paraphrasing):

• Military members are not the only ones who are away from home because of work. Civilians also go on business trips alone and have to drive on bad roads in bad traffic through bad weather conditions.
  
• We all pay heavily for freedom; at least you have a military family – the rest of us only have our own families and are isolated from co-workers.
  
• Civilians are able to buy homes and put down roots but we also have uncertainty in the job market. At least you have a secure job, so why can't you just buy a house?
  
• An advantage for military spouses is moving, because a change of scenery can be refreshing. (This one makes me either want to laugh out loud or uproot the arrogant person who wrote this, I can't decide which)
  
• By moving frequently, military families don't have time to become enemies with their neighbors and usually try to work out any problems to make their brief time together peaceful. (Can you believe this?? Do people really think these are valid points?)
  
• Changing schools is good for children because it gives them more life experience.
  
• Just because you're in the military doesn't mean you can complain about spouses missing family functions (or births or funerals or birthdays, etc). Most people have some family missing from functions at some point.
  
• And my favorite – "Our country asks just as much from us as it does from the military." Bravo.

I know that my comments are weighed down by sarcasm but I'm really not terribly upset at this letter, I'm just shocked at the naiveté of some people.

Anyway, the truth is that military life is a struggle for many people. Dan and I are in a somewhat manageable stage of life – we have no kids and no house – so I realize that my experience during deployment is much different (and I daresay, easier) than that of other military wives. Still, I know that no matter what our life looks like, I want to be married to Dan and I want to be wherever he is for as long as we are both alive.

When I realized that I loved Dan (many years after he realized that he loved me), I was visiting him in Halifax where he was posted. By the end of the trip we knew that we wanted to date at some point, but we also knew that it would be serious if we did. I didn't want a long distance relationship and I wasn't prepared to move to Halifax because I was too afraid. Shortly after I left, Dan put in for an honorable discharge (is that right, dear?) and planned to move back to Saskatoon at his own expense so that we could even have the chance to date. He left behind a job he loved and was exceptionally good at and a city he loved just for the chance to be with me (Navy life is no life for man with a wife). Even now that simple yet complicated act of love overwhelms me. As we dated, got engaged and planned our wedding, he worked hard at jobs that paid little and gave him little or no purpose. Neither of us had any idea at that point where we wanted our lives to go and we were drifting aimlessly, though we were happy together. I remember exactly where we were the day that I mentioned to Dan that maybe he should join the military – we were downtown at the corner by Fandango – and when I said it, his face lit up like the candles on the cake at my 30^th birthday party. I knew then that because I loved him, I wanted him to have the freedom to live a life that gave him purpose and meaning, whatever that meant for us.

Now Dan's deployed with the Air Force and I still feel that way. We've had some really tough times in the two and a half years since we got married. We've moved across the country twice, sacrificed time together for studying, gained weight (is that right, dear?), been apart for long periods of time and lived life with much uncertainty. We've also had wonderful adventures, uninterrupted time together, glimpses of God and an exponential growth in love for each other. And I'm really made for this life I think, as long as Dan wants it – I'm independent when I need to be, resourceful, curious, ambitious, resilient and strong. I'm going to do well with this life, not because it's easy, but because I want to do well. Most of all, I do it out of love for my husband because he's really great (have you noticed?) It's important to me that Dan follows God's purpose for his life and that he lives his life even if that means that I sacrifice a bit more. If being in the military gives my husband joy and purpose then being a military spouse gives me joy and purpose too.

I love you, husband of my heart.

Darkness, aloneness, caught without my cell phoneness

If you're wondering whether the title to this post makes any sense or is at all related to what I wrote, the answer is no. But it's from an episode of Corner Gas where Davis gets locked in a car trunk for 10 seconds and writes a poem about it. It makes me laugh every time.

It's unusual for me to accept that for a time I will have no answers. But when Dan and I started looking ahead towards his deployment, we found ourselves in two distinctly different places: he had a good deal of certainty, and I had very little. Of course there is always uncertainty no matter what you've been told about what you're getting into because everyone's experience is different. We knew for instance that Afghanistan would be very (maybe almost unbearably) hot, dusty and smelly and that Dan would work long hours, have few days off, be very tired and have sore feet. We knew that we'd miss each other terribly. I knew that I would be alone, and that's about it. I'd had some experience being alone while Dan was away on training during the past year but in large part I had no idea what I was in for. I had no idea what to prepare for and I came to accept that I would have no answers until we were well on our way. So we're on our way, and I'm getting my answers.

According to the deployment preparation package that the Family Resource Centre sent us, here are the normal feelings and behaviours for the first 3-6 weeks of deployment: Lack of focus, anxiety, overly emotional, physical symptoms, increased dependence, insecure, distrustful, sleep disturbances, resentful and regressive behaviours. Thankfully, I haven't noticed any feelings of distrust or resentment and I'm not sure what they mean by regressive behaviours, but the rest are fairly accurate. Mostly, I just feel like part of me is missing, which it is. I feel alone, but not necessarily lonely. Our support system has grown noticeably since the last time that Dan was away – I regularly have people asking me how I am, sending emails, reminding me that we're being prayed for. I have good friends now, and growing friendships coming from unexpected places. But I still feel alone a lot of the time and will probably feel that way until the end. The hard part about being alone is that I'm used to having Dan around to bounce ideas off of, make comments to, share things with. He is my companion and without him I feel lost.

The reality that both of us have come to accept is that without the other person around, God is the only one left who can fill that space. I like the idea – I'd like to talk to God more than I talk to Dan, need God more, rely on God more, believe God more – but I don't, yet. It feels awkward. I hope that the length of this challenge will eventually get me to that place.

I can't help but feel thankful when I compare where we are to where I thought we would be. There are things that I always knew would be true – that Dan and I would be faithful to each other without question, that we would each be challenged to grow as individuals, that we would maintain a close friendship and that God would be unrelenting in His pursuit of our devotion and generous in His care for us. There are other things that I wasn't sure about – like whether we'd have friends that we could lean on, a church to belong to and a life. For a long time I didn't think that we were even close, but in the last two months it just feels like all of those things that started so slowly have grown into really wonderful things that make this all much easier.

Worship on Sunday was wonderful. I prayed often enough to keep my fear and nervousness at bay, but mostly I just wanted to be present and attentive. I wanted to be there to witness whatever God wanted to do and to remember what it felt like to be a lead worshiper. I loved being able to sing again. It was the best time I've had in a long time. I had many positive comments afterwards, but the most rewarding thing was to hear that people responded to the Spirit of it. I love that because perfectly executed worship is nothing without Spirit and Spirit makes our mistakes and shortcomings fade into the background. If the Spirit is there it means that I've gotten out of the way and I'm so happy about that!

I have more to write but I've been at this for a couple of hours already so I'll save the rest for next time – which means that I'll have something to write about in a couple of days, making this the most consistently blogged week of my life. Huzzah!

Ordinary Time

I miss my husband. Today, seeing his picture is painful in the most wonderful way. I think of him starting his day and feel so proud of his quiet strength. He has been gone for just over a week and up until now I've felt mostly normal. This morning the distance between us hit me like a ton of bricks and I ache to be with him. He's been unfailingly generous in his efforts to call me as often as he can but the past few days have been long and busy for him and our conversations have been shorter than normal. He said yesterday that he knows of some couples who are comfortable talking once a week because they don't normally have much to say even when they are together. This seems unimaginable to us and having limits on our conversations will be one of the most difficult challenges of being apart.

Even though I don't write, I'm always thinking of things that I can put in my next post. Yesterday night I was hit strongly by the need to write about two things: community and prayer.

Dan and I have been attending Trinity Baptist since around Christmas (see my last post for an introduction). We are just starting to remember the way of life of being regular attenders and so have been inconsistent; after almost two years without a church home, it's easy to stay home instead of getting up in time to drive 25 mins to church. Still, we have slowly but surely been meeting new people, making new friends and getting involved. At the same time, we've been preparing our home and life and relationship for this extended period of separation. Two Sundays ago, Dan's departure hovered over us like a cloud as we made our way to church. Before the service, one of the pastors came over and asked if it would be alright if he prayed for us and with our consent he proceeded to lead the congregation in a pastoral prayer for us and another family. They prayed for protection over Dan and for strength for me. They included us as part of their church family and acknowledged the challenge that lay ahead for us while committing themselves in prayer and service to us. This sounds ordinary doesn't it (isn't that what churches do)? Well it marked a turning point for Dan and I.

I hate to admit it but being away from church for almost 2 years has left me with a critical and judgmental spirit. Instead of living in community, I sit back and rate (however subconsciously) how well a church is functioning. I form opinions based on appearances. I make assumptions without getting to know people. I compare services to what I think should be the most meaningful way to help people meet God. And I'm ashamed to say that I've done this all while attending Trinity. Along with all of these things, and probably in spite of myself, I've also been earnestly wondering for quite some time if God wants to do something new with me by taking me somewhere different and if that is the case, what does he want to do?

Anyway, the unexpected thing about community is that when you're really in it, nothing else really matters. Trinity enfolded us in community when we expected to go unnoticed. They gave us a gift that has blessed us immensely in a time of struggle. On that Sunday and for the few days afterwards that Dan and I had left together, we felt that God was hovering especially near to us. Sometimes you can just feel it in the air and the gratitude we felt for that change was immeasurable. I like the word 'enfold' because it's beautiful and accurate. We are surrounded by people who hold us before God.

Tomorrow morning I lead worship for the first time at Trinity. It's a hilarious thought in some ways given what I just wrote, that I would be entrusted with the job of being a lead worshiper. But maybe God is just doing a new thing. When I lead worship I like to lay down as much of myself as I can, partly because I'm nervous in front of people and when I am able to worship, God can lead others along, and partly because God does the most when I've done all I can and still feel like I haven't done enough.

Last night, after fighting uneasiness for several days, I really needed to feel God near me so I wrote for the first time in a long time. When I write, it’s almost always addressed to God because I need someone to talk to and I’m usually at the end of my own strength by the time I get to the blank page. I started my journal over 2 years ago and I named it Ordinary Time after the long season in the church calendar that is between major celebrations. Most of my life feels like it happens between anything big and it’s the day to day stuff that I feel I need to record in some way.

We do not need to carry out grand things in order to show

a great love for God and for our neighbor.

It is the intensity of love we put into our gestures that

makes them something beautiful for God.

~ Mother Teresa

Sometimes when I write, I find myself slowly writing a prayer line by line. I stop in between and feel around, testing the waters for where my gut tells me I need to go. If I stray too far from what I need to say, I start to feel uneasy, like something is unfinished. Then I reread the last line I wrote and try to stay on that path until I feel peaceful moving on. I usually end up writing quite a few repetitive lines to fully explore an area before moving on. Dan taught me to pray this way – to surrender to God and to ask forgiveness. Praying this way changes our heart before we ask God for things. By the time I get to the part about asking, I’ve already gone through the excruciating process of admitting my faults and my mistakes and asking God to forgive them and start over. (Once when Dan and I were praying, I was stuck at the surrender stage for most of the prayer and only got out a couple lines. I couldn’t do it - turn myself outwards again and stop holding on to my plans and my convictions, my adamant claims to what I thought was true and right). When I eventually make it to the part about asking God for anything, I just want God to stay close to me and always be near me. Anything he would want from me or ask of me at that point would be a given. Before I started praying this way, I would often only tell God things that were bothering me or making me anxious and only occasionally would I end up following God’s leading to pray for things that my heart needed to say, the strong passionate things, the pleas for forgiveness or clarity.

I'm reading a book called Living Prayer. In it the author describes an especially difficult period in his life when he struggled with depression. He went to a friend for help and while his friend was trying to get him to answer a question - 'Do you know the rhythm of the mass?' - all he wanted to do was complain and get quick answers. Finally, he gave his friend room to speak and what his friend was getting at is that in the rhythm of the mass, confession comes before we receive the Word because sometimes there's no room in us for the Word until we live in confession for a while. Sometimes we are so full of ourselves and our reasons for where we are that we have no room to see or hear where God wants us to go. Sometimes we pray for God’s leading but we’re not actually prepared to go there because we mostly pray out of wanting God to assent to the path we’ve already chosen. But what if we emptied ourselves of our sins and our control and waited for what God actually wanted to say? What if we left room for the Word to dwell in us?

Dan is safely in Afghanistan. The trip there was long but relatively smooth and all their baggage arrived with them. They are safe despite recent reports in the news about attacks and such. When they stopped in Dubai, Dan said it was so hot your skin tingled like you were in an oven. Afghanistan is hot but not as humid and you get used to sweating all the time. The dust is so fine it just hangs in the air. The air smells but according to Dan it's bearable. Their rooms are comfortable except for the broken air conditioner which has hopefully been fixed by now. Dan wrote this to me in an email: "We really are quite lucky, our government has done a great job of making sure we are taken care of. From how nice our rooms are, to how nice New Canada house is. A lot of other people and countries don't have the little luxuries we have. I'm quite proud of our government for working so hard for us. Now if only they could speed up time and make the next months fly by, would be great." Even so, the environment is a serious one with building-high cement barriers and barbed wire. Everyone works hard over long hours and it's definitely a focused effort in a war zone. Despite this, Dan has said that we can rest assured that they're doing a lot of good over there and that we can be proud of our country and our military.

My new favorite song of late is called 'Show Me' by Audrey Assad. It's special to me because it's full of beautiful imagery but mostly because it includes mine and Dan's special symbols from God: a tree and a warrior in battle. And it also has water. This song helps me to hope that if I'm ever broken that God will make me into something more beautiful.

You could plant me like a tree beside a river

You could tangle me in soil and let my roots run wild

and I would blossom like a flower in the desert

But for now, just let me cry

You could raise me like a banner in a battle

Put victory like fire behind my shining eyes

I would drift like falling snow over the embers

But for now, just let me lie

Bind up these broken bones

Mercy, bend and breathe me back to life

But not before you show me how to die

Set me like a star before the morning

Like a song that steals the darkness from a world asleep

And I'll illuminate the path you've laid before me

But for now just let me be

Let me go like a leaf upon the water

Let me brave the wild currents flowing to the sea

And I will disappear into a deeper beauty

But for now just stay with me.

I love you husband of my heart.

The Way You Know About A Good Melon

What a busy string of days it has been. Well, 10 to be exact, although I'm only able to say that because of how long it's been since I last posted.

Dan has only been in Quebec for 9 days but it feels like much longer. On the weekend he and a couple friends visited Old Quebec, took a bus tour and ate at a great restaurant. We've added it to the list of places to visit when we travel. And miracle of miracles, Dan has learned to order a large double double in French! Today he began fighting a cold, possibly because the heaters haven't been working in the barracks, and they started combat first aid which, from what I understand, is not pleasant. On Sunday they're off to Florida, farther away from home, but day by day getting closer too.

Being apart has such a rhythm to it in a way. When you're first separated, the feeling of emptiness is strong and overwhelming. As the days pass you adjust to being apart and you move normally through the day. Once in a while you remember the other person's face or the sound of their laugh or the comfort of ending the day together, and it's fresh again. So it goes, in and out, like waves.

Remember in When Harry Met Sally, during one of the clips of the older couples reminiscing, one man remembers walking across the room to his future wife and saying "I'm (John/Gary/?) Small of the Coney Island Smalls" and she says "I knew then, the way you know about a good melon." Well it turns out that knowing the way you know about a good melon also applies to churches! By recommendation, on Sunday I went to Trinity Baptist in Sherwood Park which is not at all close to our house. Don't think me superficial, but I was thrilled to see their winter decorations - crystallized branches, glass snowflakes and candles. (I've had a special place in my heart for snowflakes since our wedding). The worship was wonderful, not only in song choice but in sound mixing and cohesiveness of the worship team. And of course, we sang Amazing Grace (my chains are gone). The worship alone filled me with joy because I've come to realize how important accessible and beautiful worship is to me in my search for a church home, but there is enough there for its own post. The pastor, Wayne Larson, was wise and confident, well spoken and encouraging. But best of all, as I turned to leave, there was my friend Sam and his wife Nancy who are members of the church. Later I met the pastor and it turns out that he was associate pastor with Cal in Lethbridge and dedicated Beth when she was a baby! Then on top of that, I met a newly married young woman who is starting a young couples small group and whose father is in the military and whose husband is in the RCMP. I was thoroughly overjoyed. I knew the way you know about a good melon.

This week I finished, for the second time, a memoir entitled "The Best Day the Worst Day," a book written by poet Donald Hall about his life with late wife, poet Jane Kenyon. I read it for the first time during our one and only summer in Ontario. We were newly married then (only about 6 months) and I was struggling to adjust to a new life with a new husband. I loved it instantly for its warmth and candor and as I immersed myself in it I only came to love it more. This book opened my heart to the glory of marriage more than anything else has before or since. Donald writes of their life together, beginning with the day of Jane's death from leukemia, and weaves a story of love and loss, joy and sorrow, all through their years of togetherness. Even now I feel a tightness in my chest, feeling the loss of separation keenly.

There are two spans of time in this book that have profoundly changed me. The first is the many days, months and years of the life they led together - they spent much of their time together on their farm, writing, walking, loving. They had lifelong friends, exciting travels, impressive accomplishments, but most of all they had beautifully predictable days of quiet gentleness and companionship. In my heart I know that this is what I want, even when I get caught up so easily in the thrill of exciting events, parties, the idea of having a busy, energetic life with lots of friends and lots to show for what I've done. At my heart, I like to be home; I like most the quiet days with a book, good food and lots of time with Dan. The second is the the period of time during Jane's bone marrow transplant, when she was the sickest. Donald's life came to be nothing other than taking care of her - getting her to appointments, making sure she had her medication, finding appetizing things for her to eat, making sure she was comfortable. She was utterly vulnerable and dependent on him; she let him take care of her and he loved taking care of her. Reading it I came to realize that I knew without a doubt that if it were me, Dan would be there without question. There's something beautiful in knowing that about the person you love to spend your life with. In sickness and in health. For what we are, and what we will be.

I will leave you with Jane's poem 'Let Evening Come'. Goodnight my dear. In the words of Julia Child's husband, "You are the butter to my bread, the breath to my life."

Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon

shine through chinks in the barn, moving

up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing

as a woman takes up her needles

and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned

in long grass. Let the stars appear

and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.

Let the wind die down. Let the shed

go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch. to the scoop

in the oats, to air in the lung

let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don't

be afraid. God does not leave us

comfortless, so let evening come.

Promises

I wasn't going to post tonight, but I need to write away my anxiety and what better place to do it than here! (I very boldly use exclamation marks in my writing nowadays even though I used to tease Beth about using them - I rather like their exuberance)

Dan is safely in Valcartier, QC after a long day of travel - and by long I mean up by 2 am and not in bed until late with the time change. His accommodations are mediocre and consist of a 3 person room with 2 mature roommates, communal showers and not-so-horrible mess food. Unfortunately the whole place apparently smells like pee. Fortunately, he calls me from the pee smelling building using a payphone with doors and nowhere to sit down.

I am struggling with anxiety today. I feel unsafe when Dan isn't around - not physically unsafe of course, I'm sure our birds would scare anyone away - but safe in a 'not sure that I can handle what life throws at me' kind of way. I feel unsettled with so much change on the horizon and so much uncertainty in day-to-day life. Today the heavy sadness has lifted a bit, but it's only day 1 really and there's still a pervasive feeling of grief somewhere inside of me. Dan is such a sweet husband and I feel like nothing is quite as good as being with him.

One area of anxiety for me is finding a church in Edmonton. We've been looking half-heartedly since July but the process is difficult when Dan is away. I prefer to spend Sundays at home resting rather than visiting random churches by myself. I have made a list now, but my heart isn't in it when it's just me. On top of that, I don't really know what I'm looking for at this point and it's frustrating. The biggest problem with all of this is that I'm suffering more everyday from the lack of community. Although I like being alone, I'm starting to notice signs that I need somewhere to belong: I am critical with people, I have little energy, I feel less joy. The catch is that finding community takes time, even if you've settled somewhere, and I am definitely not settled. And not only that but as the months go by, Afghanistan looms closer and I will not survive it without friends and a church.

For some reason before both of Dan's trips I had run ins with Chris Tomlin's version of Amazing Grace. Both times I felt undone by the 3rd verse:

The Lord has promised good to me

His word my hope secures

He will my shield and portion be

As long as life endures

I really don't know why yet. Maybe because I often wonder what good things there are in store for me here. I'm living in a city with few friends and I'm approaching an extended time away from the love of my life in which we'll talk less and see each other less than we have in years. Maybe because I haven't been able to figure out yet what my life is going to look like and who I am in this life I'm living. Still, I believe that the first line is true and that good has been promised to me even if I can't look 12 months ahead and see it (heck, I can't even see it next week) and I feel somehow undone by the fact that my heart responds to a promise that my eyes can't see.

I know what it is. I wish I could write this beautifully but I fear that it will be pieced together, just as I am. Dan being away has left me feeling incredibly vulnerable. It seems that I've rested many of my hopes on our life together. After all, he has loved me into my future (I read that expression once in reference to how God loves us but it fits here as well as Dan has loved me that way). He taught me to love myself and stand up for myself; he saw beauty in me when it wasn't easy to see; he believed in the person I would become; he loves me in action and words; he makes me want to be better. It's incredibly difficult to give your heart to a person and still rest all your hopes first and foremost on God. Being away from him has been a constant reminder that life is fragile. I so often feel, when people I love are close and when I have 4 walls around me, that life will somehow go on forever. Even if there is no danger in us being apart, the truth is that if something happened to him, all I would have left is God. I'm not ready to be without him. I want a long life growing old with him. But I can't help but come to terms with the fact that it is God who will still be with me if our fragile life ends. I can't tell now where my sadness belongs. I miss my husband immensely and I feel that I need to let God have his place. I don't know how to do this.

Goodnight, my dear. You make me happier than I ever thought I could be.