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Letters To War - Deja Vu

Is This Weird?

Walking through Walmart with the twins and my new fly glasses on and walked through the Men's section. I walked up to a coat and hugged it and asked, "Do you think it's weird that I am hugging this and thinking of Daddy?" Girl twin nearly melted right into the floor of embarrassment. That had me laughing all the way home.

Still laughing actually.


Blessings on your day.

And So It Begins

Hello friends!

We have officially entered a new phase in our lives: We are in the first week of what we believe to be the last deployment we will ever have to endure. It's so cool to be able to look back over the last fourteen years of our marriage and the separations that we have made it through and know (barring an act of God or stop-loss) that this will be the last. It's also a new experience for us. Every separation before this one, we knew there would be more. If my calculations are correct, by the end of this deployment we will have spent the equivalent of four years of our marriage geographically separated due to my husband's job. I am so proud of the man that I have married and the way that he has unselfishly and unfailingly served his country and provided for his family.
Blessings on your day,

Kimpo Revisited

I have been given the amazing privilege of writing for the international level of the Christian women's organization I am a part of, Protestant Women Of the Chapel and today they posted a blog that I wrote a while back. A very timely reminder. Go have a look, and stay a while. It's a great place to be....

PWOC International Blog

This Just In!

My Man!! I may be scarce for a bit.

<:)>

Kimpo Is A Curse Word In Our House

In January of 1999, my husband left for his first unaccompanied tour to Korea. That means that he goes for a year and his family stays behind. Our children were 7,6,4 and 4. The children and I packed up to California and stayed with my parents. He was due home for mid-tour leave on August 1, 1999(which meant that he got to come home for 30 days and then go back). I lived EVERY day telling myself that if I could JUST make it to that day in August that he came home, everything would be fine. That I would be fine. I pinned my very survival on that man and his homecoming. Every day as I became more and more weighed down from the heavy load, I was still somehow, breathing a teeny bit easier because I was one day closer to relief and wholeness. The day before he was due to get on his flight, the area around the border between North and South Korea was stricken by a monsoon. My husband was able to call and tell me that he was okay, but the base was on lock-down. No one was allowed to leave. Therefore, he would not be getting to Kimpo airport, or getting on his flight to come home. This was devastating to me. Do you know that screen that comes on the TV in the middle of the night when there is no more programming? That snowy/fuzzy screen? That is what I saw and heard on the edges of my mind. I couldn't think. I couldn't know how to function. I was able to get myself into the bathroom and start a bath. I sat down next to the tub and sat and sat. The tub filled and filled. And I sat and sat. Not thinking, not planning, not meditating. NOTHING. Just sitting. The snowy place grew bigger and I couldn't remember what one does after turning ON the bath. So I just sat there. I had no thought to my children or to my parents or even to my very breath. It was as though I was absent from my own mind. I remember my Mom coming in and shutting off the bathwater as it was about to flood the bathroom. I don't remember if I ever even got in it. I spent the next two days living just on the outskirts of the snowy place. I don't know if I ate, went to the bathroom, slept, changed my clothes, tended to my children AT ALL - I'm pretty sure my Mom did that. At some point she told me that I had to pull it together. Yes. Thank you. I have to pull it together. I couldn't think of that. I could only hear the soft sound of the snowy place.

This instruction, coupled with my man coming home (only one day late), helped me to get the programming back on and disconnect the snowy place.

To this day I cannot say or read the word Kimpo without cringing.

This was an extraordinarily painful lesson to learn. I cannot rely on my husband for my health, safety, or survival. People fail. The only true, unfailing, infallible thing I can rely on is my God. The God. The Creator of heaven and earth. Only He will never fail me.

Jeremiah relayed this message, "This is what the Lord says: 'Cursed is the one who trusts in man, who depends on flesh for his strength and whose heart turns away from the Lord. He will be like a bush in the wastelands; he will not see prosperity when it comes. He will dwell in the parched places of the desert, in a salt land where no one lives.'"

Wow. That is what I felt like when my husband didn't come home on time. How did Jeremiah know this? Oh, that's right - he was a prophet ~ and as he says, 'the Lord said.'

Jeremiah went on to say, "But blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in Him. He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit." (Jeremiah 17:5-8)

Wow. I have been watching for another day in recent months...the day my husband returns from Iraq. He was supposed to be on his way home yesterday. They were weathered out and were unable to get out as scheduled. I truly am blessed. There is Someone who is ALWAYS with me. I have put my trust in Him, and I did not fear when the heat came. I did not fall down. I did not run a never-ending bath. I did not abandon my children to the snowy place. Not because of my strength - but because of His.

"The Lord is my strength and my shield; My heart trusted in Him, and I am helped; Therefore my heart greatly rejoices, and with my song I will praise Him." (Psalm 28:7)

Tomorrow I will be singing the offertory. I will be singing these words with the utmost conviction and a peace that passes all understanding....

If all I had was one last breath, I'd spend it just to sing Your praise...just to say Your name.
If all I had was one last prayer, I'd pray it 'cause I know You're always listening.
If all I had was one more song to sing, I would raise my voice to make the heavens ring!
If all I had was one last chance, I'd take it, I would stake it all on You!
I know You're there. I know You see me.
You're the air I breathe, You are the ground beneath me.
I know You're there, I know You hear me.
I can find You anywhere. I know You're there....

(you can hear the song in its entirety here)

Adventures in Destruction Lawncare

Contrary to popular belief, crop circles are NOT formed by aliens visiting our planet. The secret is now about to be released....

They are formed by desperate housewives on broken lawntractors.
You heard it here first.

Time To Face The Music (Stinky Music)

Let's face it. The kennel needed to be dealt with. So I attacked it with the pooper-scooper in hand. I filled the bucket nearly to overflowing. Then I raked under the bushes, cause sometimes you miss some droppings when you can't see them through the leaves, and there are broken branches from Angus trying to climb the tree. What? Are stray dogs the only one's allowed to have superpowers? The next order of business - cut the grass. Although the rest of the lawn (especially the part that all passers-by see) is dormant, the kennel grows a bit of grass and some happy winter weeds, and a bit of mint here and there. Plus there are two Gardenia bushes and one other giant one that I don't know the name of that are green all year long, and I am growing vining roses on two sides of the fence - to deter the lovely Madison from digging to china (it's a little harder to do when you keep getting poked). If you've known me for any length of time, you proably know that the push-mower is my nemesis. I do not prefer to use it, however - the riding mower will not fit through the gate. Such is life. When hubby was in Korea the 2nd time,(Oct. '05 to Oct. '06) I had so much trouble with this thing. I could not start it most of the time, and when I did get it started - I actually pulled a muscle in my right arm from the effort of it. The neighbor looked at it - said he couldn't figure out what was wrong - but he did start it for me. I sent that thing to a lawnmower repair guy who claimed to have serviced it and did all he could do for it, and I still could not start it. I know you don't need me to point out how small frustrations like this can become so daunting when you are doing everything yourself. Before hubby went overseas this time, he serviced that thing like nobody's business and says he really doesn't believe the lawnmower guy did anything to it at all, but that he is confident that I will be able to start it with no problem now. PLUS - because he left in November, he did the last mowing of the entire property for the season, because it goes dormant for the winter. I LOVED this. Well, today was the end of that party. At least for the push-mower anyway. After picking up the rake pile, and locking the owners of the property in the house (because they think they are death-defying stunt dogs who need to bite at dangerous-blade-spinning machinery.)I grabbed the key and headed determinedly to the barn, talking with God the whole way about how I was sorry that I had neglected what He had given us and thanked Him for the opportunity to set it right and on such a beautiful day, and how I would sure like to not have to brawl with the push mower. My BRILLIANT idea: I will put gas in the mower, prime it, and attempt to start it IN the barn so that way, if it doesn't start I won't have drug it ALL the way across the yard and have to drag it ALL the way back. And also - if I am unsuccessful, no neighbors will see me and laugh. (Who cares? Oh yeah - my pride. dumb. can I EVER put that down for even a cotton-pickin-stinkin minute??) Guess what? It started! First try! Yay hubby! And THANK YOU JESUS. Okay, so I let it turn off and drag it out of the barn and to the dogyard when I remember that there were a few balls I came across while picking up the mess that I forgot to pick up and move. So I did that. When I came back and pulled the string....the mower did not start. No. I am not kidding. Self-control is a fruit of the Spirit. I calmly walked to the side of the mower, looked it straight in the engine, and told it, "If you do not start the next time I try you, you will be ferociusly dismantled to your smallest part and mailed by parcel post to different parts of China to be painted with lead paint and made into children's toys." Okay, I didn't really say that. I just primed it again and moved it to the most level, shortest grass area I could find, and it started with just a slight sputter. Do you know that I STILL ran over doodoo? These poor animals. I don't think they had even an inch of bare yard to do their business on. (and I have said a million, cajillion times that I do not exagerrate.). Now the kennel is all nice and clear for landing....lol!

Those yellow brackets along the fenceline? Yes. They are for hotwire. I completely installed it myself when hubby was in Korea because Madison the wonderdigger kept trying to go to China, or to each and every neighbor's house, or across the street where dogs get smashed regularly. There's no wire on it now because she had stopped digging and we planted the roses to help deter her, but the brackets and the main power box remain just in case I need to hook it up again. Yep. Philippians 4:13 - all the way - I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me! This was one of the many things I pondered while doing the yard work - the greatness of our God, that when we are in line with His will - we really can do ANYTHING. I also thought about the lessons that I have learned since we have been here in the swamp, the rich spiritual growth I have experienced here, the current study I am taking on the book of love - not romantic love; brotherly love. Ephesians. wondering if I am in the right class this semester - not because of the teacher - she is great - just the study itself. Of course, God has proven over and over again that all things work together for good to those that love Him, and I do. Being real with myself about how much time I spend in the Word, where my thought life goes, and how bright is the light that shines through me. Reviewing my relationships with each of my four children. What can I do better. What housework needs to be done. Realizing that I am still learning some of the same lessons that I have been learning for the past 5 years, some of it re-learning, yes, but mostly learning it deeper and deeper. What is my future role at pwoc - we are coming up on another big PCS (Permanent Change of Station) cycle where, once-again, I will watch as people I have come to care for move on to other places and me having to start all over again with new people coming in. I don't want to. I want to be done with that. Can I be done with that?

"Real" Mom

Sometimes in my life things will be going along like normal, scratch that; usual - and there will come a reminder that I am not a "real" Mom. Today was one such day. I took my daughter to the DMV to take her test for her learner's permit. The lady behind the counter asked, "Are you her mother?" "Yes I am." So she asks to see my driver's license along with my daughter's pertinent documents and then looks at me and says, "You're not her natural mother?" "No, I am her stepmother." "Well then you can't sign for her." I explained to her that I, in fact, have a power of attorney giving me the right to make legal decisions on her behalf. She wouldn't consider, or even look at the document. So, because I am not her natural mother, she cannot get her learner's permit as her father is deployed and her natural mother lives in another state. It will be another year then before she is able to get her driver's license. (This is like death to a teenager) *disclaimer....I am not here to 'diss' biological mothers. Some of my best friends are biological mothers. In fact, I have one of my own and am one myself as well.* Today what this post is about is the frustrating irony of being a stepparent. I also am not here to say that all stepparents are the greatest thing on the planet and can never do wrong. We are ALL children of God and we ALL make mistakes, whether the child has our genetics or not.
That being said.....
I want to share with you some expectations. As a stepparent, I am expected to love my (step)children as though I gave birth to them myself and to treat them equally with the children that I did give birth to. However, I am not allowed to be called their mother. And, if I apply the same rules of discipline to my (step)daughters as I do to the children I gave birth to, people get offended and I am accused of mistreating them(no they are not ACTUALLY being mistreated). When decisions have to be made about their welfare, although I am allowed to give my opinion, ultimately I have no say in the final outcome. And in times when I disagree about those choices, I am still expected to open my heart wide with love and care for them and watch as others make choices that I think are wrong and could have wrenchingly painful consequences for me. When it is time for my (step)daughters to get married, the likelihood that I will get to be the one in the room with them helping them to prepare is low at best. I don't mean this to sound like a rant, I'm just attempting to give a glimpse of a situation that some people haven't experienced or don't fully understand.

There have been times in my life as a parent that people have referred to my daughters' biological mother as their "real" mother, implying that I am NOT a "real" mother. Even well meaning friends of my own have used this terminology and others like it. (I am not saying that their bioligical mother does not deserve credit - she carried and gave birth to them and she loves them and desires to be a part of their lives)

What I AM saying is.....I have lovingly and carefully pulled my (step)daughter's hair back and wiped her face after she has vomited all over my lap. I have stripped her bed in the middle of the night and helped her clean up after she has had an accident.(night after night after night).I have eaten the foulest meal ever just because she made it. Today I had to tell her that I was so sorry that I was helpless to help her get something she desires so desperately. I have literally 'processed' a fecal sample of my other (step)daughter's when she was having stomachaches that we could not explain. I helped them learn how to read. I have pushed them so high on the swing that it made them squeal in delight. I have endured their anger when they have had to accept decisions that they didn't like. I have prayed for their salvation. I have taken a good deal of blame for the wrongs of the world just because of my title. I have let go over and over again of my pride and my heart's desire to be greatly loved by them in order to allow them to love freely and without guilt the family that came before me. I will always put their needs above my own desires.
Any day over the last 12 1/2 years, I could have walked away without a second look back and society would consider that acceptable. And every day over the last 12 1/2 years, I have chosen to stay and take all that comes along with that in order that I could be a mother to them.
I have a (step)mom who has made these choices on my behalf as well. She is an irreplaceable treasure in my life.
If that's not a "real" mom, I don't know what is.

Tender

Today I sang at the funeral of a man who lived a full life serving God and Country. He was given military honors which includes a 3-volley salute.

The practice of firing three rifle volleys over the grave originated in the old custom of halting the fighting to remove the dead from the battlefield. Once each army had cleared their dead, it would fire three volleys to indicate that the dead had been cared for and that they were ready to fight again. It is the three volleys that are significant, not the number of rifles. Three volleys fired over the casket have become a tradition to mean the dead have been cared for. It has evolved into a military salute for the deceased serving their country. Firing the three volleys over the casket is one of the highest honors to give a deceased military veteran. Our nation’s highest honor is a flag draped over the casket, folded and presented. Tradition is to place three spent shell casings inside the folded flag to prove now and forevermore that the deceased and his flag have had proper military honors. Nothing else is to be placed inside the flag.

I was taken back to a day just over two years ago when I stood in a military chapel as these honors were given for a young soldier, husband and father of someone who has become a very dear friend to me. At that time I didn't understand the ceremony. I was merely deeply shaken by its violence and finality and distraught that she had to endure it. When I saw the soldiers today I wanted to turn around and run away. My heart is tender from the memory of that day and the sting of this one.
I am keenly aware that I could be witnessing this detail at my own husband's funeral and I pray that it will be after he too has had an opportunity to live a full life in service to God and Country.

How will he return to me?

What will he see when he sees me? Will he see a woman who has slimmed on the outside and grown on the inside? Will HE have slimmed on the outside and grown on the inside? How will he return to me?

Don't pity me, but do give me grace.

I guess I am addressing the dreaded deployment again. First, please forgive me if I don't answer questions about where he is stationed or when he is coming home(I don't know when he is coming home anyway.). I am going to try very hard not to publish information that could even have the remotest possibility of jeopardizing operation security as I do not want to do anything that could cause my husband(or someone else's) to get injured. So -- the deployment.... Is this our first separation? Sadly, no. We have spent -so far- over the course of our 12 year marriage, approximately 2 1/2 years worth of it apart. Is it hard? Absolutely. Is it a sacrifice? You bet. Sometimes in ways my family and I don't even realize (let alone people who aren't living it). I appreciate every person who says, "Thank you for your sacrifice." or "I appreciate what your husband is doing for me." Pray for us, for sure. Offer your support, yes please! But please do not feel sorry for us. This is a life we have chosen for ourselves and our family. We accept the sacrifices and the separations and possibility of wrenching loss. We also have an amazing built-in family wherever we move to and I never have to worry about whether or not I can take any one of our children to the doctor when they need to go. We make enough money for me to stay home full-time with the children and still be able to eat. It has given my husband the opportunity to fulfill his role as our provider and our hero and gives him meaningful and challenging work to do. His job has brought us to our current station where I have seen him step into the role of the Christian head of our household; Where we got baptized as a family and where (due to the lack of worldly distractions) I have become a bajillion times better of a person as I have focused more and more on my walk with God. The LORD is my Shepherd, I shall not want.

How will he return to me?

Will his face be the same? Will it be tanned and hardened from days in the sun? Will it be irritated from shaving 'in the field'? How will he return to me?

I'm not all-the-way cuckoo

Well. Cousin Amber has gotten me into this blog-eat-blog world and I am already on the verge of obsession. I have been reading my own posts over and over again. While doing so it occurred to me that some of you might think I'm a bit dramatic having missed an IM from my husband and thinking I might never hear from him again and thus refusing to ever wash another dish. Here is the situation. My husband is serving on active duty in the United States Air Force and is currently deployed. So you may read from time to time things that seem a bit odd, and sometimes they just will be odd and for no good reason, but if you check the context of 'her husband is at war' against the oddity, it may clear it up for you a bit.
And man-oh-man it is fun when someone else reads your little notes and says nice things about them!