The Changing of the Seasons

Ever feel like you've sailing along in life and then, all of a sudden, notice that you had a massive shifting of the very ground under your feet? Almost like the kind of earthquake that can completely alter the path of a mighty river or change the polarity of the earth. I knew that this summer would bring about such changes for myself and my family, but I had no way of truly knowing just how different things would be -- and just how different I would be -- by the time the summer began to wind down and we could finally see the start of school and fall on the horizon.

Let me give you a head-spinning timeline so you can see what I've been up to instead of blogging: got married, bought a house, packed up my children and all of our belongings, drove the 2400 miles to our new home, visited R. a couple of times in yet another state while he was working there, settled two separate households-worth of belongings into our new home, got pregnant (!!!), have kids settled into extracurricular activities, been "church shopping", and now R. is home for good. In five months time I went from being a widow and single parent to being an Army wife (again), with kids who seem to have grown up overnight and trying to figure out what being pregnant in my mid-30s is going to be like.

Don't think for a minute I haven't been blogging in my heart this whole time. I have some incredibly precious memories from this summer. My family all gathered for a goodbye meal just before we struck out on our transcontinental drive. Despite how extended family can make you happy and crazy at the same time, I realized as I looked at each smiling face what an important part these people have played in making me who I am, how they have supported my family through thick and thin, how they have grieved alongside me through the really hard stuff. To top it off, my grandmother, recently diagnosed with Alzheimer's, who has struggled with significant health issues over the last year, spoke those blessed words from Numbers 6:24-26 to me as we were preparing to depart. It has been particularly hard to leave her because I know that it could be the last time I lay eyes on her this side of eternity. While I understand that as an adult, the child in me sees my grandmother and doesn't want to let her go. I know as a Christian that this world is not our true home, and if anyone longs for her true home it is most definitely my grandmother, but thinking about my world without her voice, her smile, her laughter in it just shatters me. (As I write this she is actually doing just fine, praise God!)

Leaving my church was no cakewalk, either. I was blessed with the opportunity to serve in so many unique ways with this body of believers. There were so many times when I felt out of place or exasperated with some of the painful things going on there. But through it all, as much as I considered tapping out sometimes, it was God working through some of the people there that sustained me in ways I am only just now realizing and appreciating. Similarly, the friends we visited along our journey are some of the most precious ones I've ever made, and while I have always appreciated how they have gone out of their way to love me through thick and thin, I think I love most how they are so steadfast, unchanging in their friendship and support across the years and the miles. They are all truly Godly women that I adore and admire so much.



I think I have most enjoyed spending time with my children this summer. They are at an age now that they are fun to hang out with AND they still want to be around us! From the long road trip and all of the cool sideshows along the way, to learning how to ride bikes without training wheels and swimming, I have noticed that we've moved to a new season in childhood for them, too. With Bud starting Kindgergarten this year and Li'l G in second grade, they will both be off on the bus each day, off on their own adventures. It makes me miss them being little and needing me more. Their need of me doesn't go away, of course, but it changes as they grow and mature. I think I would rather take the needs of diapers and naps over boy-crazy friends and playground politics, thank you very much, but I digress...

As I was unpacking and putting R.'s things away, my thoughts drifted back to a day that seemed as though it had taken place in another life. I was remembering the day I left the housing quarters I had shared with my late husband and deciding what to do with his socks as I was supposed to be finding room for all of my new husband's clothes in the home we now share. Words escape me to properly describe the feelings flooding through my heart and mind as I thought about what I was doing, what it meant, the path my life had been on to get me from Point A to Point B. There are some days where I literally feel as though I could be living someone else's life, or am dreaming. Don't get me wrong -- we have a very human marriage, very human children, etc., but for me to hear this man introduce me as his wife, to hear the children scream, "Daddy!" at the top of their lungs when he walks in the door, nearly sucks the air out of my lungs each time I hear it. To really contemplate how God has blessed my family and me leaves me breathless.

As amazing as all this is, I can't help but feeling kinda lost somedays. Isn't that weird? I think it is. I know that some of it has to do with the dangerous levels of hormones coursing through my veins these days. "Who am I?" is a question I consider many days. I knew who I was back when I was T.'s widow. But now I add to that identity R.'s wife. My status as a mom has not changed (regardless of what TRICARE says, but that's a whole other story), but now we're having another baby. How will this pregnancy go? What will the family dynamic be like once #3 gets here? Will this baby be healthy? Will I miscarry? I've never been pregnant in my 30s, and things feel a little different this time around, but not too bad. How will my energy hold out for Li'l G and Bud as I progress? Where, oh WHERE will we go to church? Where is the right group with which we will worship? Will PWOC work out this year? Will I ever get to be on a praise band again?...ad nauseum...

Overall I'm not terribly worried about all these questions. I trust that God will answer them in time. Or not, which is in itself an answer. I don't like uncertainty in my life; then again, who does? So many things have changed in our lives in such a short amount of time. Everything I had figured out about who I was and the world around me has been flip-turned upside-down, and once again I find myself untangling the proverbial knot of coat hangers that have been jumbled together after the move. I do know that God created me to exist in community with others, so I am most anxious to find a church home and make new friends. Other than that, I just want to sit back and savor this changing of seasons, in my family, in my heart, in my home, and take it all in.

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace." -- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Samplings From My Mental Smorgasbord

I have had six or seven different blogs percolating in my mind over the last week or two and have yet to blog about any of them. In fact, I should be loading my sleeping toddler into the car right now this minute to go pick up my daughter from school, but if I don't jot down a couple of ideas before I leave, I'm afraid I may never find them again! Rather than taking the time to blog about each item in full length, I'll give you all the Bottom Line Up Front (BLUF) about each topic over which I've been mulling:

Politics: Christine over at Red Lipstick Diaries has been waiting anxiously for me to post something meaty post-election. And while I have strong opinions and could do just that, I have kept true to my word and not blogged about something for which I had no edifying language to publish. Now that the dust has settled and the Obamas have had their first meeting with the Bushes, here's what I have to say:

Just as Christine herself said on Facebook, it's time to be the united states and time to cease being either the red or blue states. An administration can only be successful if every single person is doing their part. So we deal with the next four years shoulder to shoulder with every other American, regardless of their voting preference. If we want to be perceived as a strong, vital nation, we have to actually be one. That will be harder for some (read: me) than others, but I truly believe that's what has to happen.

Religion: See posted picture above. Really, my religion and politics opinions could all go in one big section. In both areas, it's impractical to be a purist in whichever school of thought you fall under. Contrary to popular belief, extremism is a frightening concept to me. I think there are ways in both these areas to focus on the things that we have in common and emphasize on those, rather than spend our time having conversations where no one is truly being heard. There are certain areas where people are going to disagree, and it doesn't necessarily mean that either side is not truly Christian. Just means they're different. For example, what I'm reading right now for Lay Ministry about leading worship really brings this into light for planning worship services. I'd love to explain all of the amazing things I'm learning, but I'm afraid there would be an explosion of grey matter all over the computer screen. Just too much to boil it all down.

Role of Women in the Church: I'm writing a paper about this and must admit I approached this topic with an anti-Paul sway based on what I, at the time, believed to be godly teaching. I think, if I could boil this one down to a statement, is that Jesus personally commanded each one of us to love one another. I believe that where we started having "issues" or "problems" is where our sinful human element took over and started trying to figure things out or get things organized. Do we as humans need structure and organization? Basically, yes. Do groups get priority in the pecking order? Eventually. Did God intend this? Well, dear Readers, I believe my answer to that is now no. (Ducks for cover before the tomatoes pop me upside the head...) Honestly, I really don't know that we can say for sure. I can already hear arguments on both sides and see validity to them both. I don't see this question ever being answered to anyone's satisfaction this side of Paradise, guys.

Obama's Pre-Presidential Activities: Barack and Michelle met with George and Laura this morning at Quarters 1 to kinda "get the inside scoop." Apparently the women went off to do things like talk about how irritating it is when the guys drink beer, scratch themselves, fart, and watch football or something, whilst the menfolk had a history-making hoedown in the Oval Office. Seriously, folks, do you KNOW how many eggs I would've sold to have been a fly on THAT wall! No media were allowed to follow into the OO, and no aides were on hand, either. The words that were exchanged in that room are known only to them and to God. I can't even know whether to faint from terror or to faint from excitement.

One last point before I leave the topic of politics but under the "Obama" tag. I read an AP story and heard repeated on the news that the "Obama team" is reviewing the record of Bush's executive orders. According to the AP, one of the first things our President-Elect wants to do is reverse every one of Bush's EOs to try and undo all of the legislative marks GW has left on America. All I can say is: America, hold onto yer butts. It's gonna be an interesting ride...

Parenting: Having some significant issues these days with Bud. Not end-of-the-world, kicking-him-out-of-school issues, but ones that I just don't know how to handle. I feel completely inept to handle this, and I realize that parenting is mainly learn as you go kind of stuff and trusting God to give you guidance along the way. The BLUF here is that I see in Bud many of my characteristics. Many of my not-s0-good characteristics. I know which road they led me down at one point, and it grieves my spirit to think of that being in his future. I'm fervently praying that God will help his teachers and me to flip a switch in that little round head of his before he grows up to be an out of control teenager in a mean, viscious world. Or at least let me be dead before he ruins his life. (Just a joke, guys.) :)

Grief/Loss/That Whole Drama: Things have really been piling up here. I think, in particular, needing T. around to help me parent a son has been weighing heavily on me. To make it worse, I have had dreams so vivid I can still feel the softness of his lips or hear his mellow voice as I wake in the morning, and my reality comes crashing back down on me like an Acme anvil. With R. being there for me emotionally but not around physically to spend time with me or just take care of me, let me curl up in the crook of his strong shoulder and just weep, I have felt as though I would burst. 11/30 is just under three weeks away, and I'm already dreading it. Funny, it affects me differently every year. While the happiness and love in my relationship with R. is proof-positive that things in my life are moving on in a promising direction, the struggles of being a single parent, and how I became a single parent, really rain on that parade. I've read and re-read scripture about this, and it's not that I don't take comfort in that. It's just that scripture and God don't replace my loss. Plain and simple. Some days I just need to be sad without religion and salvation getting mixed in. While memories bring joy somedays, they feel like Chinese water torture on other days. November's just a hard month.

Looking for something positive? Well, that depends on your description of that. I've been accused of being a chronically negative person. OK. What's yer point?!? No really, I just have a very different way of seeing things. I see beauty in suffering, growth in change and painful times, and realize I must give my children up each day to God. I can't swing from the rafters with a smile on my face like some people. My way of being positive is to continue walking in the soupy fog, knowing that God will always provide a path for me to go down. And that's really enough for me.

Step By Step

"Hope does not necessarily take the form of excessive confidence; rather, it involves the simple willingness to take the next step." -- Stanley Hauerwas

I woke up this morning and had to remind myself it was Saturday. Then, being the number-obsessed person that I am, I was groggily trying to figure out what that made the date on the calendar. ' October 4th. Oh my gosh -- October 4th!' And then I lay there with a smile for a minute.

Twelve years ago today, after some "pre-event festivities" in the dorm, the juniors in the Corps of Cadets at Texas A&M formed up behind Duncan Dining Hall, just behind the band. They milled around with their dates, if they had one, looking around nervously for seniors who were looking to smack them on top of their heads and rattle their bonfire pots (helmets). The rest of the attendants of Midnight Yell practice that night were already assembled at Kyle Field in the student section of the stadium, straining to hear the distinct thud of the bass drums echoing throughout the massive east Texas campus as the procession of the Fightin' Texas Aggie Band and the following entourage would make their way through campus and onto the football field.

Upon walking into the stadium and onto the sacred green grass, the crowd cheered wildly as they did every other time. The yell leaders roused the assembled group into a maroon frenzy as they led the yells (not cheers at A&M; that's for sissy schools with female hussies cheerleaders). Finally, after the "Beat The Hell" yell, as per usual, the lights were turned out at Kyle Field and the smooching began! For about three minutes, in the electrified darkness of the football field, those with dates got to kiss in keeping with Aggie tradition. When the lights came back on, a few more yells were done, everyone proceeded out of the stadium, and we probably don't want to know how the night ended for those in attendance...

If you could've been in that crowd looking down on the field at a dashing, young man in a red Company L-2 t-shirt, you would've seen him look sheepishly down at his date, give her a grin, and have his first kiss with her, a kiss that would begin almost a decade of love, children, the military, and end so quietly on November 30, 2005, in Shreveport, Louisiana, a kiss that can still be felt even today. You would've seen a ditzy blonde who had had one too many margaritas (I think; can't remember!!) who had been swept off her feet by this tall, dark, and handsome boy and had waited for over a month for him to finally ask her out. That's where it all began, folks, and the rest, they say is history...

I usually remember and celebrate this date, but I must admit it snuck up on me this year. I will always remember it, however, and I know it will always make me smile and chuckle a little at how young we were (and how stupid I was to drink all those margaritas!) and all of the good times we had, especially in college. It's a good memory.

I immediately fast-forward to the first summer after T. was gone. He had died 8 months earlier and I was realizing that I would probably want to have another relationship. This brought me no guilt; perhaps it should have. T. was a man of his word. He had told me more than once that, if anything should happen to him, that I should remarry. I, of course, told him that he was bound to me for eternity and, should he remarry, I would haunt him and the heffer he was with, so he'd better not chance it. At any rate, I was interested in men but was very nervous and insecure around them. Basically, they scared me to death. I hadn't dated in ten years -- had things changed that much?!? (Answer: more than you know!)

My first "relationship" after T. was weird. I tried the online dating thing, too, and all of my friends and family (who, conveniently, were married) freaked out at the thought of me going on a date with a perfect stranger met via these sources. It was a liberating feeling knowing that I was able to attract people, but I was also very afraid of letting them too close to me or the kids. There were many, many times where I figured this was my cross to bear, like it or not, and I was destined to hell on earth be alone forever. My friends would get to prattle on about their husbands, complain about what a drag it was to "have to" have sex with their husbands, get to be invited to things for couples, find out that they were pregnant (again! tee hee!), go out to dinner and watch a movie together, etc., and I would get to watch from the sidelines. My bonus prize for being a widow? Getting to hang around married people. Getting to hear moms complain that dads would rather take a nap or go hunting that help out with the kids ("I swear -- it is so hard to do everything by myself! I mean, he really does not know what I go through!"). Have to pay double to stay at a resort or go on a cruise because the rooms are meant for double occupancy. Eat alone at a restaurant. Go to the movies. Alone. Mow my yard, install and repair things in the house, maintain the vehicle, teach my kids to fish, fix broken furniture, etc. Alone. While the married couples rolled their eyes at each other.

I remember where I was when I realized that I was created for companionship. I was sitting at church, and my dear friend and pastor at the time was preaching about adam and eve (not capitalized on purpose; that's a whole other blog). At any rate, it is "right and salutary" that we should desire relationships and connection with others, especially male/female relationships and marriage. I guess I was waiting on a green light from God, and I felt like I had it.

There are scores of people who have lost a spouse that are, for whatever reason, unable to reach even this point. They dwell in the safety and comfort of that relationship, and for some it is all they say they desire. I would venture to guess a couple of things here:

1) The pain of losing their spouse is overwhelming, and eventually, the pain they feel becomes their companion. To be rid of that pain of loss would be akin to the complete absence of that person. They would rather hold on to the pain because, in an indirect way, it keeps that person close.

2) The number one reason that you hear (and honestly I question): issues of fidelity. Personally, I blame this on the modern, western concept of heaven. People romantically envision their spouse waiting patiently for them at the pearly gates, where they'll join hands and walk into the light to spend eternity together. *insert chirping birds and release the white doves on cue... To give one's self to another man/woman, even emotionally or romantically, much less physically, is to violate their marriage vows. They have become a cheater just because they didn't want to be lonely. How selfish of you. Bad widow/widower!

3) Maybe their marriage was less-than-ideal and they are finally free from emotional or physical bondage. To enter into another relationship seems like opening up a raw wound. Why would I want to let history repeat itself? they might ask.

4) They risk being hurt again, and quite frankly, they have checked off the "personal tragedy" box, thank you very much -- no need to ask for a second helping there. I think I myself fall into this category, but I didn't necessarily fit here at the beginning of my journey. My fellow heartbroken peeps just don't know how or if they'll survive a break up, a cheater, etc., in addition to having lost a spouse. The griefwork they already have to do is a heavy task, so why add to the load?

5) They perceive factors that should keep them from being "on the market" again. This could be age, appearance, children, and a kajillion other things. I most definitely fell into this category at first, although I have moved past it. My biggest factor was my children and their ages: Li'l G was 2 1/2 years old when T. died, and Bud was 9 months old and still nursing. Who was going to want to raise two small children with me? Or worse yet, who was going to find a stretched out, post-partum body attractive? T. was still attracted to me, but he saw my body when it was young and perky and watched it change with time and maternity. I was beautiful to him, but not in a single guy, lemme-put-dollar-bills-in-your-thong sort of way. You know what I mean.

And let me interrupt the blog right here to talk about plastic surgery for widows. If anyone out there wants to get upset that some of us do this, let me invite you to go sit on a pincushion. HARD. The perception is that, now that they roll naked in billions of insurance dollars on a daily basis and plot ways to throw away blood money, all widows go get themselves a pair of knockers because they've got "all this money to spend" now. Please, feel free to go stand on a subway track at rush hour and report back on how that felt. Most of the people (usually women) who do this, like me, feel completely undesirable and embarassed at how they will be perceived by a potential mate. If these people can do anything at all to restore a shred of confidence in themselves, then I say go for it. As long as they aren't snorting nose candy or becoming abusive alcoholics (which happens WAY more often than you'd think) and neglecting their kids, let these people get on with their lives without criticism. Chances are you wouldn't last a day going through what they go through.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled blog post. Where was I? Oh, yes. It is such a huge step to take back on to the dating field after loss. Terrifying. Worrisome. Stressful. I won't even lie. I'm in a fantastic relationship with R. and even then I still worry about things. But I have found that the risk has been worth it. I have learned lots about myself, but probably more about other people. I have learned that I'm really in this on my own. I know three other people, out of the scores of friends and family I'm blessed to have, that are in my shoes, one of whom is another military widow we served with at FT Riley. No matter how I explain things or look to my married friends for advice, sorry guys, it's just not working. We operate in such different spheres. I have to switch into my once-married brain just to be a part of conversation with them and function, much less not get my feelings hurt. It's not their fault they are still married, be it happily or not. And I'm so very thankful they cannot understand what my life is like; if they did, geez. Beyond terrible. Don't want to think about it.

I'd love to talk about how rewarding my relationship with R. is, but at his request, I try not to mention him on the blog. As I've said before, that's hard because I feel like I could really be sharing valuable insight and experience with other people, like me, who feel like they're all alone in this weird journey. All I can say is that every step has been important, and I have learned so much along the way. I was so scared that I'd never feel love again, as in, never have the capacity to love like that. (And it's hysterical at what a big deal the marrieds make out of the whole issue of sex, too. There are so many other things to worry about, but I digress.) I was scared about making myself (and my kids) vulnerable. I didn't realize how much "dirty laundry" in my heart I had to do until I was in the throes of my relationship with R. He doesn't realize it, but in needing to open myself up to him, I realized I was hanging on to unfinished business with T. In order to fully make my heart available to him, I needed to have some closure on those issues. It has been real work, let me tell you! But sooo worth the risk involved. And it has all been one HUGE opportunity to learn about trusting Abba.

One of my favorite verses I found recently was Psalm 116:5-8, and I keep it posted on the mirror in my bathroom:

"The LORD is gracious and righteous; our God is full of compassion. The LORD protects the simplehearted; when I was in great need he saved me. Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you. For you, O LORD, have delivered my soul from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling."

I have needed reminding all along the way that I can rely on God, that he is consistent and faithful. It's an easy lesson to forget.

I don't know if most or even half of all who lose a spouse ever decide to take that next step in their lives toward loving again. I can tell you it's worth it, if you are someone out there in this position and wondering. (I can tell you NOT TO BRING THIS UP IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE FUNERAL or even for the first six months if you are someone trying to console a person who has lost a spouse.) After all, as Stanley Hauerwas said, the simple willingness to take the next step may be the biggest step you take of all.

Among God's best gifts to us are the people who love us.

Wow. All I Can Say Is "Wow."

So I went over to Shortybear's page since she left me a sweet comment. This is what I read. All I have to say is, that's what love is all about. Wow...

Dearest Tom...

Dearest Tom,

I don't why I feel compelled to write to you tonight, but I do. R. just came out for a weekend visit and returned home tonight. The kids and I had a great visit with him, and it means a lot to the kids that he made a special trip out here just to spend time with them.

It's so weird. I understand and oftentimes accept the thought of moving on for myself. It has been a different story for the kids. Most days are pretty routine for them, but some days or moments strike their hearts and they long for you. (In that respect, all three of us are a lot alike.) Then they, too, meet R. and fall in love. They still (and always will) call you and know you as, "Daddy," but the love and admiration in their hearts for him just makes my heart ache. Sam thrives on his approval and masculinity. Grace curls up in his arms and unabashedly lays her heart in his strong hands, just the way she used to do with you. It breaks my heart that you're not here to experience this, but it uplifts me to see how God has provided fatherly love for our kids.

How is it possible to love and to mourn simultaneously? To move forward and yet bring part of the past along with you? To yearn for the love torn so quickly out of our grasp, yet not desire for anything to be different, lest the precious new love be lost forever?

This is where I live -- in a garden of vibrant colors under a veil of thick, grey fog. There are more and more moments where the fog breaks long enough to reveal colors so intense and beautiful that it almost hurts my eyes to behold. It is the light of God's goodness and love shining down on His unimaginable blessings that I know I'm experiencing, that I thought I'd never experience again after that fleeting moment in which you were gone. That fog turned the colors of my landscape to shades of grey. It is only now, two and a half years later, that those colors have returned...

...I am so blessed and so lucky to have found you both. I just can't wait to tell you all about it someday. But, then again, I bet you already know...

"A Town of War Widows"

FYI -- Just wanted everyone to know that the article is out! "Why, what article do you mean, GGG?" Oh, only the ARTICLE FOR WHICH I WAS INTERVIEWED BY GLAMOUR MAGAZINE! Coolio!!

By clicking on the title of this blog, you can read the article online, which is only part of the experience. The picture you see of all of us standing there is a full, two-page spread on p. 332. I am towards the back due to height discrimination. (Yeah, all of us tall girls always get crammed in the back where no one notices us...) It's a great picture. It was taken at the new Central Texas Veteran's Cemetery (is that the right name? Not sure...) on a blustery day in January, and we were all popsicles by the end of the shoot. Thank goodness I had done my research and watched several seasons of "America's Next Top Model" and knew how to "bring it" and "look fierce" even in subzero temperatures. (OK, it was really only about 50 degrees, but for a Texan w/ no coat on in the wind, that's a fair assessment of the weather...).

Turning the page, the picture at the top of the page reminds me of my reaction to being at this photo shoot. This cemetery is very peaceful, near FT Hood, but far enough off the beaten path to be quite serene. The rolling hills and excellent view of the central Texas landscape are quite fitting for soldiers of all ages and walks of life who have gone to that AA in the sky. (For all you non-military types, "AA" isn't what you think -- it means, "Assembly Area." That's a phrase Tom used just before he died.) Anyhoo, this cemetery has barely been open for 2 1/2 -- 3 years. I was instantly struck by how many graves there already are; it simply took my breath away. Then, as we all emerged out of our cars to await instructions from the crew, it further wrenched me as I looked at all of us and realized what it meant. For every woman there, there was a man who wasn't. They represented entire families who will walk around for the rest of their lives with this scar tissue on their hearts that will be like the remnants of a tattoo that's been removed: you can't see its details anymore, but you can see where it was, and the scar tissue may heal over time, but the outline of the tattoo is never completely gone whether or not you want it to be...

If you look down at the bottom of pp. 334-335, there are some pictures of our guys. There is a picture of Tom standing in water at the beach holding our son when he was 4 mo. old on our one and only family summer vacation to Destin, FL. He is right on the crack (how fitting! haha!!), top row, on the left of said crack. He would just die if he could see himself in a nationally circulated magazine w/ no shirt on! hahahaha!!!!!

While I wasn't mentioned by name, I did actually get my own paragraph, but it doesn't sound very good. My paragraph is the one that begins, "One widow, in her early thirties with two young kids..." The guy that wrote the article didn't accurately relate what I was trying to convey about how my faith has played into all of the events post-11/30. He says that I mention that my faith has allowed me to, more or less, gloss over stages in the grief process, which couldn't be further from the truth! I told him that my faith has helped me to navigate my grieving process more smoothly than some. I also said that I never really had that angry, "I hate God; it's all His fault," feeling. I also never felt the need to question why this happened; it was enough to know that God had a plan and that all things work for good for them that love God (Romans 8:28). To add a rotten cherry to this funky dessert, he paints a picture that everyone sitting there at the table is making faces at me or rolling their eyes or something. Didn't happen! What I told him in the interview was that some people, especially some at FT Polk, didn't buy what I was trying to tell them about how God was getting me through every day and so on. Now all that talk about the plastic surgery IS true; we sat there and talked about it for quite a while. Out of the 20+ women there, I would bet that at least 50% or more of us had breast implants. But that's a whole other blog!!!

It is a loooong article. For the most part of what I have skimmed, the guy who wrote the article did a pretty decent job. I think my part was a little botched, but then again I don't always say things the way I'm thinking them, so it's possible I wasn't a very good communicator. I was very disappointed that one girl got so much press time, but I won't say anything here that is negative. I'll just leave it at that. I do think, however, that I came away with the overall feeling that military widows are hung on their late husbands and can hardly move forward after their loss. They feel all this guilt, they drink a lot, they crave physical contact with men but are unwilling to date again because they feel it's too soon or they worry that others think it will be too soon. I have to say, I feel NONE of those things. I wonder if that makes me a terrible person, to be quite honest. On one hand, I consider myself one of the better adjusted of these people and am incredulous that everyone else hasn't grown a spine yet. On the other hand, I worry that my progression through my own grief journey is viewed as irreverent and like I never loved Tom. I certainly don't begrudge these women their own time to work through things. I do believe that sometimes people bog down and allow their new status to define who they are, and I find that to be massively unhealthy. As for myself, I know better than anyone besides God just what all I've been through, what I have sorted out, prayed about, sought guidance about, what things about which I cannot talk about to others for various reasons, what things will always break my heart regardless of passage of time, etc. I answer to God alone. Case closed.

So, for what it's worth, read the article and let me know what you think!

Bienvenue a Louisiane

I travelled back to the Pelican State this past weekend for the first time since I moved to Texas in the summer of 2006. Upon seeing the sign greeting me as I crossed the Sabine River into Louisiana, I had such a bizarre sense of deja vu. I had made this trip, quite literally, in my sleep so many times before; yet, there was a sense that this was a completely different trip, unique and heretofore never experienced. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the road had been repaved (usually a sign that you have crossed from the Promised Land, a.k.a. Texas, into the Seventh Circle of Hell, a.k.a. Louisiana). Other than that, I felt like I was in a time warp, zipping through the time-space continuum in Bill and Ted's gnarly telephone booth.

I was excited and anxious about going on this trip. Excited to reunite with dear friends, sisters of the truest sort, and anxious about how I would react to being at FT Polk again. What would be the same? What minute differences would there be? Knowing what I know about this part of the country, the locals fight tooth and nail against any progression other than that of the pine trees, spanish moss, and underbrush. I braced myself for any myriad of emotions and experiences as I rolled into Vernon Parish.

As I should've known all along, any gathering which is centered on God and celebrating His gifts in your life is going to be just one step short of getting to peek behind the curtain of Heaven. We stayed first with J. and then barged into S.'s home. Let me pause here to say this much:

J. is truly a mirror in which you see the heart of Christ. When I was left all alone a week after Tom died to begin my life as a household of three, J. came and stayed with me. She listened as I just talked about him, cooked dinner for me, and truly loved and prayed me through every single day of my life since November 30, 2005. She is one of my sources of accountability, intercessory, and fellowship, and is one of the closest friends I've ever had.

S. is the Proverbs 31 woman, the wife and mother I long to be but feel I will either never have the chance or the ability to be. She, too, has come alongside me and cared what I was going through when most others kept me at arms' length. Teamed up with her sweet hubby, she has been consistent with her love and support and words of encouragement, and she, too, has lifted me in prayer more than I'll ever know.

I could give you the play-by-play for the entire five day excursion. But the bottomline was that the weather was cold, the homes were cozy, my friends were warm and inviting, and being back in town was like reuniting with an acquaintance that you didn't realize was actually your friend all along. God took the potential for emotional disaster and instead weaved it into a tapestry that captured all of the blessings that this place was for me during a chapter of my life. It was another important step into my future to retrace steps from my past.

Now Let's Flash Forward...

(If you haven't read, "Socks," yet, read that blog first; this will make much more sense if you have, I promise.) So step across the calendar by 18 months to today. Obviously, and thankfully, I am not at that same point in my life. I don't know that time necessarily heals all wounds; rather, I believe that time lessens the rawness and the sting of the wound. That has certainly been the case for me. There was a time when my thoughts were constantly, "This is my life now. This has really happened. This is who you are." I had to remind myself daily because, as any mother of toddlers knows, one can really lose themselves in the mundane, everyday tasks of running a busy household. Once I got to the point where I didn't have to do that every day, I felt like I either needed to get busy living or get busy dying. My life cannot always be about my loss, cannot always be defined by my unique circumstances. This man that I love and was married to will not be part of my future, and that's a weird thought sometimes. Most people, upon getting married, really take for granted that they will be a part of each other's lives for an undetermined number of years that will span a long lifetime. At first, I really rejected the thought that T. would not always be alongside me. I didn't like it and, quite frankly, didn't appreciate all the reminders that my life was different from everyone else's.

It wasn't until I consciously decided that I really believed that I could have a future of my own that I was even remotely open to love. And I mean love. Not this crap you see in movies and VH1 CelebReality shows. I mean the kind where not every single day is necessarily sunshine and lollypops. The kind of love that says, "I accept you and adore you for who you are, even when you irritate the crap out of me!" The kind of love that allows you to feel sexy even when your stomach looks like someone let the air out of it after having two kids. The kind of love that says, "This is scarier than the thought of having a root canal without novacaine, but I love this person so much, I want to let them into my heart, broken and mending and ridiculous, because I want them alongside of me through it all."

I never guessed where, how, or when this would have transpired for me. R.'s and my romance has been so completely unusual, not just for us but for anyone. It has been in falling in love with him that I have learned to quit trying to measure my life by other's yardsticks. God provided R. for me in direct answer to prayer. Even the fact that I have the emotional capacity to experience love again is a direct answer to prayer. It has been so hard for me to let go of the reigns of my life and give them over to God. Those of you who know me well know that I should have, "RNTM," tattooed on my forehead. (Right Now This Minute, for those out of the loop.) Having to be patient with God to make good on His promise to bring to me, not just a companion, but a soul mate, having to be patient with God to bring our future together to pass on His timing, and so on, are excruciating for me. But what amazes me every day, when I hear his deep, mellow voice coming from 3500 miles away, is that he's here in my life, that I'm being given a second chance at happiness that so few others seem to get even the first time around. It just blows my mind to see how far I've come in such a short amount of time...

Socks

For those of you who haven't read my blog on MySpace, this is one dug up from my archives. Every now and then I get a creative burst of energy and come up with something that I am proud to share with the public that really expresses how my thoughts flow. This was one such blog. So here it is, back by popular demand... I give you, "Socks," written on June 20, 2006...

As moving day nears, and I begin to get the house prepared for movers to come and pack and rifle through everything I own, I've been trying to get rid of stuff. Clothes that the kids can't wear that aren't nice enough to hand down to friends' kids, the millions of baskets people gave loaded with candy at Easter, and the other quirky things that accumulate under the kitchen sink and the likes. I evaluate which things will go where, and then I come to his drawers...

OK, so I have this theory about the married couple living inside my head. The woman is very sentimental about every thing; the man being the practical side of my thoughts. These two are constantly in conflict over what they think I should do in every situation, and it wears me out. I usually err on the side of the man in the argument here, since I am usually a practical-minded person; however, the woman wins some of the bigger feuds, and I guess the score somehow remains even.

Back to the issue of the day. Socks. Tom's not using them anymore. They're taking up an entire drawer in our chest-of-drawers. Yet, they are his. Here's the drama ensuing in my mind:

Woman: Are you insane? Get rid of them? But he has touched them. They used to protect his feet, carried him many a mile on those infantry roadmarches, and there was something special about his feet.

Man: Oh good grief. They're just socks.

Woman: But by moving them out of the drawer, or completely getting rid of them, you are moving him out of your life. It has begun. You are no longer in love with him.

Man: They're just socks.

This goes on and on. I look at the socks, many of them beginning to be threadbare and a few with a hole or two. I think of the hard times we endured financially. It was an easy choice for us when I became pregnant with our first child that I would stay at home with the kids. However, it was not the easiest choice to endure. Having a family of four with big bills on one income, being a soldier no less, was no picnic. Those socks symbolized to me all of the things that Tom went without so that his wife and children would never want for anything. He had more integrity in his little finger than anyone I've ever known. (Don't get me wrong -- he had his moments, as do all of us...)

I moved the socks from his drawer to the bed, pairing them all up, wondering what to do. Rather than toss them onto the bed like I usually do, I laid them out gently and softly like a little girl lays her baby doll in a cradle. They're just socks, but they were his.

I got rid of Tom's socks today.