8 Days a week, I love you

I had intended to write much more often than I have over these past 9 months. I’ve come close to writing quite few times but because I’m not a trained writer, I write more from the heart than from the head. It’s a big time commitment and I need to feel drawn to write. On a more practical side, I’m just happy to have made it this far with all the things I have to take care of, so writing isn’t always high on the list. I wish that I could channel thoughts into my blog though because I’m always formulating in my mind.

Today is 6 days away from Dan being home. I don’t really even remember believing that we’d ever get this close to the end. Although the end is near in days, today it feels like forever. The base is in communication lockdown, something that I don’t think has happened even once since the beginning, unless my memory is wrong. I don’t fully understand what has to happen for a lockdown to occur but I’m pretty sure that it’s either a serious threat of some kind or something very important happening that cannot be compromised. Dan was able to text me and let me know but I am anxious just the same. I am not familiar enough with their environment to know whether he is in real danger or not. I’m very shaky at the thought of something happening so close to the end. I just want him to be able to get out and begin his way home.

The expectation so close to the end is that we’re both terribly excited. We are of course, but it’s easy to forget that it’s complicated. We have developed a routine both in our separate lives and in our relating to each other that has been disturbed with the approaching end. Dan has been extremely busy with added work since the first group left and I’ve just been trying to hang on until it’s all over. Our communication has been challenging at times and today, nonexistent. It’s very uncomfortable. I’m not sleeping well anymore because I feel unsettled and restless from excitement and nervousness. I ache for time to move faster so I’m not peaceful or in the moment. I’m very emotional and am close to crying whenever I think of seeing Dan’s face. I’m sure that this will only get worse over the course of the week.

I am very aware of the stress that I’ve been carrying. My spirit, heart, mind and body all feel very tired. Stress is one of those things that can be low-level for so long that you forget it’s there. I think maybe because I’m starting to relax a little, I’m realizing how much I’ve been carrying on my own. I can’t even imagine how exhausted I’m going to feel next weekend when I can fully let go and begin to rest. I’m pretty sure that the stress has been taking its toll on my body for a while now because I’ve been sick almost consistently since Christmas and on Friday I just found out that I have shingles. From what I understand, shingles is something you get when your immune system is compromised so either I have something that is weakening my immune system, or I’m incredibly tired and stressed; probably both are true.

I will reserve sharing about Dan’s experience until I am able to hear it directly from him. His experience is nothing that I can even imagine and I feel like it would do a great disservice to his story to try and describe something that is so foreign to me and so real to him.

I was reminded this week of just how lonely this life can be. I say this not with self-pity, although I have plenty of it, but from a place of observation. On Wed I went to the reintegration briefing held by the family resource centre for spouses and families of returning military members. I was the only spouse there who didn’t have kids so I felt out of place enough. I’m no stranger to the feeling of being not as strong or capable as other wives who have one or several kids. Afterwards, one of the wives said “I don’t mean to belittle your experience or anything, but I really think that it’s easier to handle when you don’t have kids.” So I asked myself – why do you feel like it’s so tough if you don’t have kids? I know in my head that this is subjective. Of course it’s not the same as if I had kids. It felt similar to how I reacted when I read about that woman saying that we shouldn’t complain about being in the military because moving around a lot kept us from getting tired of our neighbors and because we get to see more of the world. All true, but it completely misses the point. This time the comment was that when you don’t have kids, you don’t have to worry about anyone else’s wellbeing and if you want to, you can have cereal for supper. Yes, these are great advantages indeed. Here’s the other side: I realized this week that I don’t really fit in with the military community and I don’t really fit in with the normal world. I don’t know how many people have asked me if the military is a close-knit community because that’s the impression that the TV shows give. It isn’t a close-knit community in my experience. I haven’t really met more than a few people, and now after seeing the other wives, I know that I’d never be friends with them. Even at the briefing all they talked about was getting drunk with their husbands when they got home, which is their choice, but what’s more, they spoke with such a harsh tone in their voice that I found it hard to believe that they hadn’t seen their husbands in several months. I really can’t imagine loving someone to death and caring only that they come home to resume their household responsibilities and help take care of the kids. I want to be careful here too because these are very real longings and I have them myself; I am so excited to not have to carry all the household chores by myself and if we had kids, I’d be so excited to not be single-parenting. But these are secondary longings to me – my first longing is to be reunited with the love of my life. So I don’t fit in with the other wives. I also don’t fit in with the normal world. My friends and church have been really amazing through this whole thing and have given more than I could have ever asked for, but I’m still aware that when I just need to cry at the end of the day, some of my friends are putting their kids to bed and some of them are cuddling with their husbands, and there isn’t really a place for me there. Sure I only have to worry about my own well-being, but it’s really hard to be alone so much of the time and not feel forgotten or like you don’t belong anywhere or to anyone. Sure, I can eat cereal for supper but it’s really sucks to have to cook for yourself all the time and never share a meal with someone or have a reason to care about what you eat. Yes, it’s different for me without kids, but it’s still hard. I’ve started a new job twice, dealt with car trouble multiple times, battled illness, bad weather, depression and hopelessness, so however great it is to be the only one, I really do feel like I’m the only one in this boat.

On a different note, I have been wrestling with the idea of Margin. This is a spiritual practice of sorts that involves leaving space in your life. The easiest way to understand this concept is to relate it to the more common definition of margin, which for most of us is the space around the edge of a written page. Another definition I like is: “a boundary indicating the limit beyond which something should not go or below which something should not fall.” Anyway, it’s a difficult concept to understand because it’s fairly subjective but the idea is that it’s important not to cram your life full because we’re not meant to have every moment so full that you end up missing out on the most important things. I started thinking about this again because it was included in a book I just finished called Good and Beautiful God, which I could say a hundred wonderful things about. The example the author gave was something like this: “Not having margin is like being late to an appt because there was traffic and you were 10 mins late picking your kid up from school because you were 15 mins late leaving work. Margin is having time to get somewhere early and not have to rush.” I really love the thought of margin. I remember saying to Dan a while ago that I hated (strong word, intended) the idea of being so busy that I was rushed and late getting everywhere and that I barely had time to get from one place to the next or do anything I enjoyed because my life was so full. That kind of life is the ugliest thing I could imagine. I really like the idea that I could have a life with space. Putting this into practice is entirely more difficult than liking the idea. Here again we could talk about how having kids makes it even more difficult, so when I have kids I will again wrestle with this idea. I think though that it will be a central practice in my life because it’s necessary for my well-being. So right now it’s not too difficult because I live at least 30 mins away from my friends and very close to work which means that I get to work easily, but I don’t see friends more than once or twice a week because it makes the nights very full to drive an hour plus visiting time. I’ve committed to being involved only with worship at church because after a weeknight practice, I spend all of Sunday morning there. I also want to fit in exercise and music lessons at some point. Plus time with Dan, and God. And enough time to wind down before bed to get a good restful sleep. There aren’t many things packed into my life really, but they’re all good things. What does a person do with all the other good things that need to get done? Like volunteering, helping friends, etc, etc. I don’t know. That’s something I haven’t even worked out, but the best I can tell is that having margin creates the kind of life that makes it possible for you to stretch the margins once in a while without risking a complete breakdown, so that sounds good.

The other thing that I’ve been contemplating is my attitude. I guess somewhere along the way I must have really started hating parts of my life because it seemed like until recently there was nothing I really liked about it. I know that I was unhappy with areas of my life – my relationships were draining, I worked jobs that I really couldn’t stand, I had no purpose or direction and I just felt heavy. I don’t really know why but sometime before Christmas I was driving to the chiropractor, I think, and I remember asking myself – “what is it that you dislike about your life now?” And I honestly couldn’t believe that my answers were so different than years before, yet I was still behaving as if I hated my life. In place of draining relationships I had friendships that were nurturing and invigorating, in place of jobs that I hated I had a new accounting diploma (this is funny now because I’m back in a job that I’m not sure is good for me, and some days, yes I hate it), in place of having no direction or purpose I had a wonderful life of my own with a great husband and in place of heaviness I had a whole lot to be thankful for and joyful about. But it was still really surprising to me that I’d been so blind to the reality of my life. I think what’s more is that I was so used to looking at the world a certain way and behaving a certain way about it that I hadn’t even taken the time to realize that my life’s landscape had completely changed, yet I had painted a picture in my mind that I kept looking at as reality. It was very eye-opening. So since then I’ve kind of been paying attention to that concept when I look at my surroundings. I remember reading somewhere that if living life with God is supposed to grow you into a more joyful, free, loving person, then it’s amazing how many people when they get older end up beaten down, resentful and bitter. This is not what I want to be when I get older. God himself said that he is doing new things in us and one of my friends always said that if God is alive in us, we should always be growing in our ability to love and extend grace and forgiveness and all of those fruitful things. So I guess this is just another way that knowing God actually is supposed to change your life. It’s not like things change all at once, but they do change and we should expect that they change and look for the new things that are coming so that we don’t end up looking through the lens of our old life when we have a completely new one. I feel sad now for the people I see who live as if something that defined their life at one point will be true for them forever. It really is sad because that’s not the truth – the truth is that God is making all things new.

Dear husband, I pray that you’re safe and surrounded by God’s protection and care. I love you.

Deeply

Has it really been two months since I last wrote a blog post? I suppose I'd have a ways to go if I ever wanted to work as a writer.

As it happens, I am only writing right now because I am deep in God's spirit, overwhelmed with gratitude and overcome with emotion at the absolute beauty of this life. My path to the computer tonight is almost comical in its makeup, yet I feel heavily (and heavenly) surrounded by angels or something of God. I spent most of the day looking at this screen working on our budget and financial plan and updating my resume and looking for jobs. I made waffles for supper because I couldn't find anything else to make on short notice and I've been craving sugar like all get out. I watched an episode of Glee that had to do with faith and it upset me because shows always generalize faith in Jesus and say things that aren't true. It upsets me because people believe those lines and never question whether they're true. On the way back to the computer I stopped at the piano to sing a little and I ended up playing songs from my old Michael W Smith books. It's sometimes funny to revisit songs from when you were 15 because they're out of date in so many ways and so packed with memories in others. I played songs about saying goodbye to good friends and praying for each other and the truth of the words hit me really hard because of the reality of the life we are living. I am deeply in love with our life even though I didn't want to move here and yet I know that we are not here forever. I played songs about being hopelessly tangled in God's love and alive with his breath. These too are things that I am deeply in love with, and they are here forever. For whatever reason, these songs have opened in me a well of grief and gratitude, love and loneliness, fear and courage. They take me back so many years to a time when I was first discovering just how much of my heart I had already given to God and they take me now right to God's feet where I sit with tears streaming down my face at the reality of how far I will go for love of God.

I had planned to embed this in a long blog post about Christmas and other reflections on life, but it is pouring out of me now and nothing will stop it. My dear husband, the love of my life, has heard the call of God and is following the path to become a military chaplain. (sob) In case you're worried, these are tears of joy. I am overwhelmed. I wish that I could express all of the reasons why this makes me cry tears of joy. I will try.

I feel like every particle of my being is bursting with life that can barely be contained, just from being able to witness first hand the intimate work of God in Dan's life. In a short period of time I have watched as God whispered possibilities into Dan's heart, as he asked more firmly for Dan's obedience, as Dan questioned whether he'd heard God's voice, as he gave himself humbly over to God's call and now how he stands securely in love on a road that only God can see. I never want to doubt that God works in the small moments of our lives to bring about things that are beyond our imagination.

I am thankful in a way that leaves me feeling like a grain of sand or a snowflake. Small and insignificant, yet infinitely loved and worthy of blessing beyond anything I could hope for. Out of all that my life has been, out of all the pain and mistakes, out of all the broken relationships and darkness, out of all the ugliness and hopelessness, there is something beautiful being made. I am married to the best man I've ever known. I'm married to him because God knew more than I ever knew about what my life would look like. I'm married to a man who takes risks for love. I'm married to someone who loves God just as much as I do, which seems ordinary, but I know that it's not. I care more about knowing God and having a living faith than I do about anything else in my life. I'm surprised at how much I love God sometimes. I feel close to bursting. My dear husband does not claim to have faith yet live as if God were a stranger. He loves in a way that changes me. He believes who God says he is and he believes what God says is true. He knows what God's voice sounds like and he listens to it. In the midst of war, he still calls me 'darling, precious wife'.

I know that this is not all about me. I feel like I have been given a gift to be able to spend my life serving God with the love of my life. That is something that I didn't know I wanted, but something God knew I needed. What a privilege to be the wife of a chaplain.

Dan and I celebrated our 3^rd wedding anniversary this past December. It's hard to believe that it's been 3 years already. We are so different from who we were as a couple when we got married, yet we are so much more like ourselves. Dan makes me laugh more than anyone else I've ever met. I have relaxed into marriage and I am much more vulnerable. Even in a time when marriages end with little thought or effort, with all we've been through we've seen that perseverance grows beauty, faithfulness is a gift from God and that love never ends. Marrying Dan is the best thing I've ever done and I know that he'd say the same about marrying me. We are together forever: husband, wife and God.

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.