Bluebells, Herefordshire, England

by Christine Brown

Wherever you are, be all there. Live to the hilt every situation you believe to be the will of God.
-Jim Elliot

Don’t strain your eyes to see the future –
for you will not be able to see clearly what God wants you to see now.
-Elisabeth Elliot

Looks like the Elliots had a good handle on contentment…living life to the fullest. It sounds like they didn’t worry much. I’ve a note written in the back of my Bible that our pastor mentioned in a message: “If you worry, your view of God is that He is not there”.

Wow. When fear invades thoughts, do I believe that God is there?

My husband and I were saying that other day that this Air Force life is one of extremes. Extremely adventurous and exciting things…extremely hard things.

I have to admit, sometimes I find my thoughts in these places:

• fear of the future
• fear of deployment
• fear of having to handle life ALONE
• fear of failure in being all my son will need me to be
• fear of the danger in flying
• fear of the unknown
• fear of moving overseas
• fear of moving across the country by myself

I am sure that your fears are very different from mine. Perhaps you’re worrying about needing a job, singleness, or other strains are bearing down on you.

When stormy thoughts and imaginations of what things could possibly be like come, it drains you. You can’t “see clearly what God wants you to see today”. You miss out on HERE and NOW. I am not the wife my husband needs me to be, or the mommy that my son needs when my thoughts are out there getting lost in worry.

Fear is abuse of the imagination as you picture worst that can happen, when the best may very well be what is in store.

So many times I want to know what is down the road. I am a very organized person—planning is essential. Right now we don’t even know what is 4 months down the road!  Will my husband be off training somewhere without us? Will my son and I be able to go along? Will he be in survival training which is pretty much a horrible time? Will we still be living in here or moving very soon after graduation? What state or country will we be living in next?

I think that if we knew the future, we would faint at the very thought of it. If I had known what 2008 would be like I would have most likely had a nervous breakdown!

But here’s what God’s Word says…

…and as thy days, so shall thy strength be. (Deuteronomy 33:25)

God gives strength for each day when that day comes, not beforehand. What a realization this was! When saying goodbye comes on a deployment day, I will have strength for that day. When I have to handle life alone, I will have strength for that day. If we move overseas, I will have strength for that day. And not only for these big things in life, but in everything HE GIVES STRENGTH! What a promise from God!

Are we assured that we are safe in the hands that hold the stars? Can we wholeheartedly surrender to God, leaving quietly with Him all of our ‘what ifs’ and ‘but what abouts’? ALL can rest quietly in His very capable hands.
-Elisabeth Elliot

In my flower garden, some plants have been flowering beautifully while some are bent over, brown, dried up. How disappointing the brown ones are! I have put such time, attention and love into those little seeds, then the little plants, watching them grow and practically cheering them on. It was so exciting to think of how beautiful all the different types of flowers will be!  Now, pitiful describes them best.

We’ve all heard the phrase, “Bloom where you are planted.”  I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.

Am I blooming right here, right now, where I am planted? Am I bringing beauty into my little corner of the world? Or am I dried up and pitiful from the strain of worry? Am I a disappointment to God, to Him who has planted me here? Is He looking down thinking…”how beautiful you could have been!”

As I’ve been reflecting on life and where God has us right now I am realizing more than ever that I need to leave EVERYTHING in His hands. Worrying and becoming fearful will accomplish only one thing. It will steal my joy. It will filter out the beauty and only allow the negative is seen. It will prevent me from living life to the fullest today.

I can rest in Him and find joy in the everyday things of life. In where I am right now—even with all of the uncertainties of the future. My eyes are not clouded by worry anymore. God has a perfect plan that only HE could plan so wonderfully! Whatever comes our way will have gone through His hand first. Nothing can touch us without God being a part of it. I can trust Him…in all things. Life is beautiful.

My name is Christine Brown and I’m 24 years old.  The love of my life is a pilot in the Air Force, and we have a 1 year old boy, Tyler.  Some of my interests include decorating, cooking, photography, and scrapbooking.  Loving God more and loving others as He did is my continual pursuit.

photography copyright Philip Ivester, 2007

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

Military wives know there are times we can feel so very alone, whether or not our husbands are deployed. Since it is always helpful to me to talk with or read about other women who “get it”, we put all the deployment-related posts from my blog during the time John was gone, here, in one spot. Feel free to peruse as you wish.

Getting Ready
And So… He’s Gone
Hanging In There
Hello My Name Is Ashleigh and I Sniff My Husband’s Deodorant
Easter Greetings From the Sandy Spot
Strength That Is Not My Own
Look! A Family Picture With All Four of Us!
My Jesus… He Is Real
Be Still
“See You Soon,” says the Daddy
Remembering
I’m His Wife. I Get To Brag A Little, Right?
And so… He’s Home
The Journey

What I’d Like For You To Know–Wife of a Deployed Soldier (my guest post at Rocks In My Dryer)

Being that we know there are several of you here at YLCF with military husbands or family members, the Team and I would love to know who you are. I’d be thrilled if you would leave a comment here, telling us a little about yourself and your Country-serving family member.

I’ll start: I’m Ashleigh, wife of a United States Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant. We’ve been married for five-and-a-half years and have two little boys, ages 2 and 3. We’ve made it through two duty stations, four houses, one deployment and are gearing up for the next one in a few months. We love the commissary, dislike barracks duty, love long weekends and hate separation!

Now it’s your turn. Tell us your story.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

Listen.

Do you hear that?

Stillness. Complete quiet.

Both my boys are sound asleep. The first soft notes of an old Amy Grant song I loved as a little girl are beginning to fill the little computer nook I’m curled up in. The house is clean. The dishes are done. The washer and dryer have stopped for the night.

In a few minutes, it will be tomorrow. The beginning of another full day.

I know… I’ve not posted in over a week. I have emails from last week that I still haven’t responded to. But we are alive and well.

I have at least a handful of bloggie posts written in my head over the past week, but somehow none of them made it to the screen. The days here are so full of diapers, cooking, home-keeping, book reading, park trips, child training, projects for Daddy, coloring, gym-going, playing with trains, nursing… it seems there are hardly five minutes put together to spend doing the things that NEED to get done on the computer, let alone actually thinking enough to type. Add that to the fact that I don’t have a lap top right now and my desk top computer is upstairs… daily blogging? It just ain’t happenin’.

But, to be quite honest, there is another reason the “new post” screen has spent so much time open, yet blank, on my computer screen.

Every time I sit down in this desk chair and hold my fingers over the keyboard, staring at that blank screen, I get a shaky feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. I plan to whip out a funny kiddo-related anecdote, or upload a picture, or ramble about something silly. But the truth is… I just don’t feel silly.

Writing is a part of me, whether it be my own journal, long letters or emails, or this thing we call blogging. It’s always been an outlet. The deep areas of my heart and mind tend to push forward when I put pen to paper, or, you know, fingers to keyboard.

You see, I’ve been running around, living in a whirlwind these past six weeks. I guess I’m subconsciously thinking that if I live in a flurry of baby-world, church, home, family, friends… then I won’t have to think about John being gone. It won’t seem as real. The time will go by so quickly that I won’t even realize what is going on.

I tell myself that, yeah, this is kinda hard. We sure miss John. And life alone with the boys is a little chaotic at times. But, no matter what, it’s going to be a little crazy with two boys under two. That’s just normal life as a mom. I have such support from those around me–family nearby, friends who rally around me when I’ve had a crazy day. Just yesterday I had two friends, at two different times, look me in the eyes and ask how they could specifically pray for me this week. I can’t even tell you how that blessed my heart.

Knowing all this, I struggle to pinpoint exactly what “it” is that’s difficult, given that the day-to-day of being a mom is just normal and I have more support than many military wives. What is “it?”

But then… the evenings come. The times like this. When it is so quiet I can almost hear my own heart beating. Then I remember. My beloved is away. I’m here alone. And the time… oh, how it seems to stretch endlessly in front of me. I realize that the normal day-to-day isn’t “it.” It’s this feeling. The loneliness that threatens to suffocate me. The emotional distance from my beloved that I feel more and more with each passing day he’s away and he becomes less and less connected to our everyday life here.

But by the next morning, I’ve always managed to convince myself to just. keep. moving. Be strong. Don’t let it bowl me over. It’s not really that bad. Keep telling everyone that we’re doing good… we’re hanging in there. Must be strong. Must… be… strong…

A few evenings ago, since I once again didn’t know what to write, I was be-bopping around the blogosphere and visited a blog I hadn’t been to in a while. This friend-of-a-friend was in the midst of several weeks with her husband gone for work, and as I read her words, I suddenly just… lost it. I cried harder then, right there at my keyboard, than I had at any point in the past several months. Everything I’d been trying to push down the past couple weeks flooded my heart as the tears flooded my eyes.

I laid across my bed, crying out to God with tears streaming down my face… “I can’t be strong. I’m not brave…”

And I heard His voice say quietly – “I don’t expect you to be…”

As I lay with my face buried in my covers I felt His assurance begin to wash over me. His grace lifting me. It’s not about digging deeper. Pulling myself up by my bootstraps. Acting more spiritual. Or trying to muster the courage to face my trials…

It’s admitting there’s no way I can. It’s doing nothing, and realizing He’s already done it for me. It’s clinging to the Rock that is higher than I, and allowing His strength to hold me. To keep me from falling. to remove my fear. And to be my security.

The kind of strength that – powerful enough in and of itself – yet, is made even more perfect through my weakness.

Perfect strength – I like the sound of that!

No. I’m not strong. I can’t be. But He CAN. And He IS!

I suddenly realized it was okay to be weak. Which sure is a good thing, because that’s what I am right now. Perfect strength… my Jesus has abundant, perfect strength to hold me up in my weakness. And He says it is made perfect in this weakness of mine.

Talk about an opportunity to display His glory and power.

So how are we doing, you ask? I’m going to revise what I’ve been telling so many sweet ones who ask… Yes, we are doing well. We’re hanging in there. But here’s a tidbit more…

The truth is that I’m just clinging to Him with everything I’ve got in me. It’s a good thing His strength is so perfect, because I don’t have much in me. He’s holding me. Which means I’m actually just falling into His arms. And that is always the best place to be.

I have found a place where I can hide
It’s safe inside
Your arms of love…

Like a child who’s held throughout a storm
You keep me warm
In Your arms of love…

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

This morning I sat sipping a mocha in Starbucks for almost three hours, reading my Bible and writing John a long letter, and repeatedly told myself that one week ago he was still home. But the thought remained in the world of surreal… it has to have been longer than that…

But no, it was only a week ago tomorrow my beloved headed off on a bus toward the Sandy Spot on the other side of the globe.

The hardest moment, by far, was seeing his camouflage-clad arm waving in the midst of a sea of hands as the buses drove away… around the corner… and were gone. The best part–getting his phone call to tell me he was safely at his base a few days later.

God’s grace is an absolutely amazing thing. It is never-ending, the supply can never be exhausted and He always gives more in accordance with our need.

For weeks–more like months–I’d been dreading that day last week. I’d been trying to imagine spending our last day together, kissing him goodbye, hearing Troy tell him bye-bye, watching him walk away and onto the bus. Many were the nights I fell asleep with tears on my pillow.

But in all my imagining, I didn’t see the grace my Jesus would supply when the time actually came. I didn’t know that He would wrap His loving arms around me when my beloved’s arms had to let go. I didn’t see the peace He’d give. I couldn’t feel His gentleness as He dried my tears. I didn’t realize the enormous amount of support He’d pour on us through dear family and precious friends.

Now I kinda wish I hadn’t spent so many hours trying to imagine a feeling I couldn’t possibly feel, having never been through it before. The imagining was truly worse than the reality has been–but only because of Jesus and His comfort.

I’m missing my husband terribly, even though he’s been gone much longer than a week before. Knowing it will be over a year makes it harder somehow. Both boys are having a hard time with the transition. Merritt, little as he is, has been extremely fussy and not wanting to nurse, and Troy has been having nightmares, crying for Daddy.

We expected it to be hard–but once again, God’s grace astounds me. Our transition into life-with-Daddy-gone-land has been nice and slow. Except for a few hours on Monday, I’ve had some member of my family here since John left. I usually talk to John’s mom at least once or twice a day. Troy is now spending a couple fun-filled days with my parents and I have some time to re-group a little, think through how to get started with “normal” life next week, and finish the blanket I’m crocheting for John–he says it is very cold over there.

So we’re hangin’ in there. It’s a rainy night here and I’m curled up under 2/3 of that partially-crocheted afghan with my lap top and a handful of peanut M&M’s. Merritt is crashed for the night. I’m re-reading the oodles upon oodles of sweet comments and emails you all sent me–your love and prayers on our behalf is completely overwhelming. I can’t tell you what it has meant to me to have my inbox fill with your words of kindness. You bloggie peeps are the greatest and I’ll be responding to each of your emails one by one.

All I have to say is that if the Lord has given us this much strength and comfort in the first week… I can’t wait to see what He’ll have done a year from now. He is good. So very good.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

I’d like to say our Fridays are anything but typical, but in reality, though the actual activities change, they do end up quite similar in that they’re always a full of a bit of The Crazy. But then again, my life is always filled with a bit of The Crazy.

Friday, September 18th begins as usual at 5:00am with John’s alarm startling us out of our slumber. We both tend to believe there is not a sound on earth quite so jarring as an alarm clock’s buzz. I think it could qualify, if needed, as some form of torture.

So, we hit snooze. Quickly.

In all honesty, we kinda prefer to set the alarm just a little earlier than necessary, just for the luxury of a few half-awake minutes to become accustomed to the day, slowly gaining enough consciousness for whispered words and a morning kiss.

At 5:15, the buzzing starts again just as we hear another common morning sound, that of, “Daddy! Mommy! Daddy! Up! Up!” coming from the boys’ room. Merritt, our little 22 month old boy (known around YLCF as “the little Merritt“) is bright eyed and bushy tailed much earlier than normal! John hops up to get him from his crib, bringing the little boy, his white silky blankie and his beloved Pooh Bear all back to our room. Merritt curls up in my arms under the covers, of course showing no signs of falling back to sleep. While Daddy starts getting ready for work, we’re left to our customary morning snuggle full of Eskimo kisses and sleepy giggles.

With three year old Troy still dozing in his toddler bed, Merritt and I head downstairs and turn on a light. There isn’t much more perfect to my mind than a warm yellow light gently filling a dark downstairs. We gather up my Bible, journal and various books and curl up in the corner of our old couch with a blanket. John makes his way downstairs to the kitchen table, picking up his own Bible and books on the way. He makes us each a cup of coffee–mine served with a smile and a kiss in my favorite “Marine Wife and Proud of It!” mug. We talk softly, for fear of waking Troy, about the day ahead, our weekend plans, the work we plan to do on his classic car that afternoon. We settle into our morning places and quietness falls.

“I will love You, O Lord, my Strength…”

These words from Psalm 18 have spoken much truth and challenge and comfort to me over the years, and I read them, fresh and new again, this morning.

Around 6:00AM, John slides his Bible back into its place on the bookshelf and brings in his bike from the garage. He’s an avid cyclist and forgoes the engine and steering wheel on workdays in favor of two spoked tires and a set of handlebars. Merritt and I give him kisses and send him off.

Just as I was closing my journal, I hear stirring upstairs. Troy is awake and peeking down from our overlooking staircase. At my bidding, he hurries his little pajama-clad self down the stairs and into my lap alongside his brother. He asks if Daddy left already, we talk about his dreams, the boys wiggle and laugh. They both rest their still-sleepy heads on my shoulders, just the right height for breathing in the scent of their hair. In the dawn light and the stillness of early morning, I close my eyes, laying my cheek on one boy’s head, and speak to my Heavenly Father.

Stillness never lasts long with two little boys, so it’s only a few minutes before the chorus of, “Ee-eat!” and “Breakfast time yet, Mama, please?” begins. They climb into their seats, Troy spreading place mats while I pour cereal. Their favorite breakfast is Barbara’s Bakery’s Shredded Spoonfuls with sliced banana chunks, so they think this is a treat. We’re cleaning up breakfast dishes–Troy clears the table and Merritt “helps” put silverware in the dishwasher–when the phone rings. John forgot his salad for lunch and is turning around to get it. Can we meet him outside?

Our house here in the city–a suburb of San Diego, our current Marine Corps ordered place of residence–is in a gated community and we stand on the patch of grass in our “front yard” watching the gate. We wait to see John’s bike rolling in, Troy thrilled that he gets to see Daddy this morning after all. The gate begins to open and the boys start to argue over who is going to give the salad to Daddy, dropping the closed container in the process. I stomp out the little fire of toddler rage, then smirk at John as he stops in our driveway. Ah, such is life, and toddler hood, and motherhood.

7:45 now, and we head back inside, salad safely in John’s pack. I tell the boys to go upstairs and take off their jammies while I open my computer for an email check. My laptop customarily sits atop the coffee table during the day, and is stashed in a nook beside the couch at night–or when company’s stopping in and I don’t want to look like a complete computer-addict. I read my emails, check a few things for YLCF and its email account, relieved to see that nothing on any front needs urgent attention.

A friend is stopping by at 8:30am so we can load up our strollers and go walking through our hill-filled neighborhood, so I hurry upstairs to get myself and the boys dressed and ready. The next few minutes are a flurry of activity as we do the usual morning things–making beds, brushing teeth, putting a load of diapers in the washer to soak, filling water bottles, tying shoe laces. At promptly 8:30, my friends knocks on the door. My two boys and her one (only a few days older than Merritt) are all abundantly, exuberantly, ridiculously excited to see each other. We can barely get them in the strollers. We settle on putting Merritt and his little friend in my double jogger and Troy in the single jogger, which seems to work well until Merritt decides that something–who knows what–is not exactly to his liking and cries in the stroller for five minutes. Troy won’t stop talking to my friend, trying to make her laugh. He succeeded, but probably not in the way he’d hoped. Again, such is life.

We chat as we push our strollers and our heart rates higher, pumping our way up and down sidewalk and pavement, moving out of the way of the dog-walkers, landscapers and other moms.

It’s already 10:45am by the time we make it home, being we stopped for a while at a nearby park. The boys need exercise too! Or maybe we just need tired boys?

The single jogger is moving from our house to my friend’s house, being that we won’t have use for it for a good many years, if ever, so she and I load it up in her vehicle and say goodbye. The boys have been inside getting more water; the day turned out to be much hotter than we expected, even for SoCal.

Midday catch up time: put the diapers on the spin cycle, check emails and such again, and start lunch. I make the boys sandwiches using leftover pork chop meat and cut up some pears and carrots. I make myself a salad, intending to eat it… but never quite getting that far. The boys are done eating before I take a bite, so I grab a cloth to wipe hands and faces. We didn’t get to read our “lunchtime book,” so we pile onto the couch to read a paragraph of the long, not-so-many-pictures book, followed up with a few other favorites: I Love You Through and Through and Trusty.

It’s Merritt’s nap time, so with a hug and a kiss and a Pooh Bear and a blankie, he’s out like a light in his room. I’m glad, being he’s been having a hard time falling asleep lately and has been known to whimper in his bed for a little while. Troy has been downstairs pulling out a stack, and I mean a STACK of books to read on the living room floor. It’s a tower a mile high. He peruses two, and then promptly decides playing with cars looks like more fun.

I finally sit down to eat that salad and sip another large glass of water. I suffer from some severe migraines that seem to be triggered by even the slightest exercise, raised heart rate or heat. I love and believe in exercise too much to stop, but sometimes drinking excessive amounts of water keeps them at bay. This one is in its beginning stages and I’d prefer not to spend the rest of my day in a dark room!

Troy and I like to take a day or two a week and work through some fun little workbooks we found at a dollar store recently. Today we spend about half an hour counting, tracing numbers, discussing colors, learning letter sounds. He isn’t too certain about the lower case letters, being that, as he put it, “I really just like the medium letters, because small letters are just too littleish.”

After “school time” and cleaning up those 187,643 books, he grabs his “baby doggie” and lays down on our bed, the place for his naps. After five minutes, his head is again peeking through the stair rail, telling me he forgot to go potty. That accomplished, he’s back in bed, while I spend some time crossing items off my to-do list for the day. Phone calls, more emails, working on a YLCF post, planning a toddler field trip with friends, wrapping up a blog post of my own.

John calls at 2:00pm and says he’s on his way home. Fridays are usually an early-to-home day for him, being he has an Officer in the Marine Corps who sees it as a way to make life a little easier on the guys when they’re not deployed. The guys are separated from their families enough already, so why not give them a couple extra hours? Yes, fellow military wives, our family is a bit spoiled.

After about an hour of rest, it doesn’t appear Troy is going to nap. We’re in a transition phase with him–I don’t think we’re going to get many more nap times. John arrives at the door just as Troy is coming down the stairs, so Troy holds it open for him and I greet my beloved with a kiss.

We fill the rest of Merritt’s nap time with various sundries… checking the mail, discovering that my wedding ring has returned from the jeweler’s where it had to be repaired (happy day!) and the new license plates for John’s collector’s car have arrived. John gets cleaned up from his ride, reads Troy a book, watches as the little man shows off his newest letter writing skills.

I hear Merritt stirring around 3:30pm, as I’m running the mop over the last few pieces of tile on our floor. He’s energetic and ready to move, so all three of my boys head out into the backyard for a while, which gives me the opportunity to get the diapers rinsed and ready to dry before we begin on the next installment of our current big project of getting that classic car drivable again.

It’s a baby blue 1968 AMC Javelin, and holds a special place in both of our hearts. I’m not sure who loves this car more–John or me. It’s given us more than enough trouble in the six years since John and I have known each other, but it’s been a fixture throughout, and we love it. I have even been known to plant a kiss right on the end of it’s shiny blue hood. Yes, I have.

Once the house is in good condition for the craziness that awaits us in the weekend, all four of us head into the garage, open the big door and set to work on our little beauty. Today’s piece to tackle is the inside, so I hop in the back seat armed with several big cloths, glass cleaner and a bottle of shine spray. John is working on some paint “issues” on the driver’s side door and the boys pretend to drive.

Then the phone rings, and I answer it. (Enter Problem #1.) It is someone calling about an upcoming event. Discussing said event causes me to open my day planner and try to figure out how exactly said event is going to actually… happen. (Enter Problem #2.) I hang up the phone, glance through the next three months of plans and begin to have a mild panic attack.

Okay, not really, but pretty close. Enough that when I walk back into the garage and proceed to tell John about all the overlapping things “supposed to be” going on in the coming weeks, he stops fixing the paint, sits me down, and looks through my day planner with me. He tells me to breeeaaaaathe. I do. And I’m better.

So engrossed are we in this life planning and calming of the nerves, we don’t even realize it is getting later until Merritt comes over, patting my leg and asking, “Ee-eat, Mommy? Please, ee-eat?” Oh, yes, dinner. For my family. Might be a helpful thing.

And here, my dear friends, is where I get really, really honest. This is the point at which I nearly scratch the whole idea of the day-in-my-life post. At least on this Friday. Because the honest to goodness truth is that usually, on Fridays, we find something that needs doing while John’s home for an extra afternoon. Usually, we’re wrapped up in that something and plan to simply go get tacos for dinner from a local Mexican restaurant. But. BUT. This was the day I’m going to be writing about for YLCF, and frankly, I don’t want to admit that we eat tacos and/or burritos on Fridays. Tacos that are, in fact, prepared in an establishment that may or may not be employing any sort of “healthy” philosophy. So I had planned to make sweet and sour chicken instead. Only, when I looked at the recipe in the morning, it said the chicken needed to marinate 12-24 hours, rather than the 4-6 hours I’d thought it said. That option gone, I decided I’d make a different chicken dish. But now it was 5:30pm on Friday night and my family was wondering why we weren’t just getting tacos, as per normal.

So we do.

We eat tacos for dinner. Well, John and I do. The boys have burritos.

I’m a big fan of Being Real.

After the Great Taco Pride Fiasco, we go back out to put the finishing touches on the car for the night. We have done most of the inside, and now it just needs washing. A good washing. While Troy sprayed the sides of the car with garden hose, a few little neighbor children gather in our yard and driveaway, all eager to either grab a sudsy, soapy sponge and do some washing, or else begging to be catch some of the water spray. They all laugh and hop and dance through the falling droplets.

It’s getting late… almost 8:30… before we finish up outside. The boys are filthy from playing in the water and running in our culdesac barefoot. We say goodbye to the little neighbors and whisk the boys upstairs for a very quick bath before devotion time downstairs. We read a few favorites from Eloise Wilkin’s Poem book and John helps the boys through their memory verses.

More kisses. More hugs. Footie jammies. Stuffed animals. Tucking in blankets and sheets.

It’s 9:30… crazy late for the boys who usually are in bed two hours earlier. But they aren’t the only ones who are tired. John and I don our own sleepwear and climb into bed, weary from a long day. We snuggle close, each reading our own book–his, a Lamplighter, mine, Lasting Love–for about an hour, until our eyes are too heavy to continue.

And then…

we fall…

asleep.

The rest of the week…

• Monday at the Farm in the City by Lanier
• Tuesday in the Writing Life by Elisabeth
• Wednesday in North Idaho by Chantel
• Thursday at the Little Pink House by Gretchen (with series introduction)
• Saturday at Castleberry Farms by Jeannie
• A Peek Into Your Day by YOU – Wednesday, October 28, right here at YLCF! Plan to be there!

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

Instead of a wedding ceremony on a sunny Saturday in June, ours was on a rainy Wednesday night in January; but it was not lacking in love and joy…

read the rest here:
“You’re in the Army Now!”

P.S. In case you haven’t noticed yet, now you can subscribe to the latest courtship stories in your feed reader: ylcf.org/courtship-stories/feed/

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

…on the way to the house, he put his free arm around my shoulder, and asked, “Did you kiss Annie when you give her the ribbon?”

“No, sir,” I said.

Then, after a few steps, I added, “But I wanted to.”

Uncle Levi’s fingers tightened just a trifle on my shoulder, and when we were near the kitchen door, he sort of mumbled, “Don’t hurry, boy. Wanted kisses is sometimes sweeter than had ones.”

-from The Fields of Home by Ralph Moody

Oh, the longer the waiting,
the sweeter the kiss
It’s better my darling,
I promise you this

The next time I hold you,
I’m not letting go
Will you wait for me darling,
I need to know

-”The Longer the Waiting,” Lyrics by Pat McLaughlin and Roger Cook
from Josh Turner’s latest album, “Everything is Fine”

photo of John and Ashleigh on John’s homecoming from Iraq
by Bethany Tiss Photography

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

Five years of change—in Iraq, and here on the home front. Five years that have given the Iraqis their freedom—and made mine more secure. Five years that have not been without pain and sacrifice.

I watched my cousin Casey get married in his Army uniform, and leave his new bride to fight for another man’s freedom. Suddenly, those weren’t just soldiers in Iraq. Those were our boys fighting over there.

Then Robert died in Marine boot camp, before he ever had a chance to fight for the land he loved. The sacrifice of patriotism became intensely real as I watched them hand that folded flag to his mother, my own mother’s childhood playmate.

And then Doug was killed. Bombs explode in Iraq every day. But one roadside bomb made the War in Iraq more real to me than any news report could ever make it. Just like that, our little town lost a boy overseas. And a mother lost her pride and joy.

Now I am a mother. The last five years have brought me five hundred miles from my hometown. When the war started, I was a college student, working at the State Capitol. Now I am a farmer’s wife, working at our family farm’s antique and produce market.

I wake up every morning with my husband right beside me, our little girl cooing happily in her crib nearby. At four months old, she knows nothing yet of war and fighting. She can play happily with her toys, without being whisked off to hide in a bomb shelter. We are free to raise our daughter as our conscience dictates, on land that we own, worshipping a God we believe in.

And after five years of fighting, the same can be true for the parents of all the little girls and boys in Iraq.

Thanks to Casey, Robert, Doug, and countless soldiers like them.

No, these last five years have not been without sacrifice. Thoughts of that twenty-one gun salute still move me to tears. And I pray I will never again have to listen to Taps being played for someone I knew. But I am so thankful for the soldiers who have spent the last five years fighting on foreign soil, so that the next five years will be safer here in the land we love.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

I just looked back and realized that it’s literally been months since I’ve written any sort of post over here. I’ve had a few posts over at my personal blog that I planned to give Natalie to use here, and some other new ones swirling in my head, but it seems much of it wouldn’t make sense without a bit of an update first.

But, where on earth does one start when there are so many big things to tell you about? I have no idea. So, here’s what we’ll do. Let’s just pretend it’s a sunny spring day–the kind in which you can just begin to feel the first bit of the season’s warmth and yet a lightweight sweater can still be desired, draped across one’s shoulders. We’ll curl up on a gently swaying porch swing with a glass of clear, fresh water in hand. Now bask in the delicious rays of sunlight and settle in for a chat while we listen to the tinkling of the ice against our glasses.

There, now. We’ll begin with last summer…

Last July the Marine Corps transferred John to another base here in California and we made our third move in our three years of marriage, and yet our first real and true Military move–from the desert to the beach! We quickly settled into our new home, enjoyed the balmy weather, found a wonderful church right away, and began preparing for the arrival of another little one in November.

Our second little boy was born the evening of November 1, 2007, making Troy a big brother at nineteen months old. He was fascinated by this little bebe, and after the initial adjustment, they have become the best li’l buds. Troy is a big helper and his baby brother loves nothing more than smiling while Troy plays near him. The “rough and tumble” has already begun and it keeps everyone nearby on out toes, reminding Troy to be gentle with the baby. We are so enjoying getting to experience a whole new little person and personality. This little fellow is the epitome of happy contentment, a calm disposition, and a world of smiles at just over four months old. Our boys couldn’t be more precious.

Now, I have to stop here and explain our newest little guy’s name. Because I just know you are all going to laugh. I laugh too, when I think of it. But, it’s not our fault that we heard a name and liked it… right?

We had such a hard time choosing a name for this little man before he was born. We went back and forth, over and over, tossing around different options. We had narrowed it down to one or two names, but none of them really seemed to be “it” for us. Then one day, Troy and I were taking a drive with my mom and brother. We’d been talking about baby names and our ideas while my mom absent-mindedly searched for a radio station we could listen to. She passed a country music station, and we heard a quick clip from a song we’d heard several times before.

He just takes the tractor another round,
Pulls the plow across the ground,
And sends up another prayer…

I told my mom every time my husband John hears that song, it reminds him of Gretchen’s Merritt and then John asks, without fail, if I’ve heard how Merritt was doing after his accident. I anticipate it every time the song starts to play on the radio.

Then my brother piped up from the back seat, “‘Merritt.’ Now that’s a cool name.”

And then it clicked. Merritt. Merritt. Oooh, I liked it. I called John to ask him what he thought of it. He liked it. A lot. And that was that.

But, beside the fact that we just up and stole Merritt’s name like that, here’s the real bit of hilarity.

Did you know Gretchen and I have never actually had direct contact? We know of each other, and have only about a zillion mutual friends, we’re friends on Facebook and Homeschool Alumni (even though neither of us are very active of those, though), and we’ve even left each other occasional comments on blog posts. And, you know, there’s this blog we’re both associated with called YLCF–not that you’d all know of it or anything. But the truth of the matter is that we don’t, officially, even know each other.

Of course, had I not been about to have a baby and, thus, sadly unable to attend Natalie’s wedding as originally planned, all of this would have been remedied. Although, by that time, it was too late when it came to the name. We’d already stolen her husband’s name for our baby-boy-on-the-way, and there was no turning back. Merritt Will it was, and Merritt Will is has remained.

Now, our little Merritt’s middle name is Will, but that one wasn’t stolen from one of Gretchen’s family members, even though it does happen to be her brother’s name. It’s a variation of John’s grandfather’s name that we’d already planned to use as a middle name. Just, you know, justifying a little here.

Oh, but, before I get any further in this little chat of ours, allow me to turn for a moment to this young lady walking up to us here…

Hello! My name is Ashleigh. My, what beautiful hair you have. Mind if I steal it? I’ve yearned all my life for curly red hair. Your name is Gretchen, you say? I must say, you do look familiar. Perhaps I know you from someplace? Well, it is certainly very nice to meet you!”

There. It’s official. I feel better now.

We’ll continue this chat very soon…

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

This morning brought the update that John won’t be the one going… due to several work-related factors, his friend is instead. And this Marine doesn’t end up having even a week to prepare–he’s leaving tonight. If you think of it, please pray for his family. He hasn’t even been home six months from a 13 month deployment.

Last night we called both sets of parents, asking them to pray–for peace while we waited to hear, and most of all for God’s will in the situation. About a million and one questions and concerns were running through our heads, and the concious decision to place it in the Lord’s hands is much easier said than done in these sort of moments. But He is faithful to give the peace He promises… after the initial wave of fear, we were able to just rest, knowing that He knew when we didn’t.

My father in law sent me a long email last night, filled with such love, support and wisdom that I felt it warranted being shared with others beside myself. Many of us face difficult times, whatever and whenever they are, and these words apply to just about every circumstance we might be enduring or foreseeing.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

I wasn’t born yet. But when I was a little girl, the memories of those who lived in 1941 came alive for me in a book I found at Papa and Grama’s house. My cousins and I poured over the remembrances of World War II collected in We Pulled Together and Won. We studied the photographs. We memorized the stories. We relived those years of a country drawn together by war. Before our history schoolwork ever got to the 1940’s, we knew more facts by heart than a history book would ever teach us.

Like all little boys, my brother and cousins and their friends went through the phase of playing war. They started with World War II (I was a WAC then, part of the Women’s Army Corp), then they learned about the Civil War and started dressing like Confederate Soldiers (I was reading Elsie Dinsmore and baking cookies, too busy to play with the boys). I joined in their imaginary flights over enemy territory, I nursed their battle wounds, I took their pictures as they posed proudly in uniform—but through it all I prayed that they would never really have to go to war. That they would never really feel the fire of the enemy. That they would never really have to defend the land they loved. I knew they would, if they must. But I prayed it wouldn’t come to that, not in our lifetime.

Then came September 11, 2001. Almost sixty years since Pearl Harbor. The enemy attacked our shores once again. And I watched as boys I grew up with joined the fight. Nate from church, my friend’s brother Tommy, Mike from Summit, my cousin Derrek, my cousin Casey, our friend Robert, Doug from church, Joe from TeenPact, and I just heard that David enlisted. Some on foreign shores, some patrolling our own borders. All fighting for the same reasons the boys in WWII did. Love of family, love of country.

Casey got married in his Army uniform, and left his new bride Emily to fight for another man’s freedom. And suddenly, those weren’t just soldiers over there in Iraq. Those were our boys fighting over there.

Then Robert died in Marine boot camp, before he ever had a chance to fight for the land he loved. The sacrifice of patriotism became intensely real as I watched them hand that folded flag to his mother, my own mother’s childhood playmate. The tears we shed were tears of pride and yet heartbreak, as we heard Taps played for that rambunctious little boy who was always wearing camouflage.

And then Doug was killed. Bombs explode in Iraq every day. But one roadside bomb in November made the War in Iraq more real to me than World War II had ever been in those pictures. Doug had always been two Sunday school classes older than I. His mom had been so proud when he’d joined the Army. We’d all seen him at church when he made it home for Christmas last year. I remember Daddy had him stand up, so we could all applaud him, out of gratefulness for his service to our country. And then, just like that, our little town lost its first boy overseas. And a mother lost her pride and joy.

As I thought about Doug’s family, as I prayed for them through the hard days of the funeral, I kept seeing in my mind’s eye one of the pictures from We Pulled Together and Won. A gold star, hanging in a window. The sign that a family had lost a son in the war.

In 1942, a gold star used to bring neighbors with food, sympathy, and prayers. During World War II, a gold star in the window symbolized the fact that this family made the ultimate sacrifice.

If Jim and Cindy were to hang a gold star in their window, no one would know now what it meant.

But maybe we should start hanging gold stars again.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

Until last Friday.

Our friend Robert was promoted two weeks ago. Promoted from marching at Marine boot camp to running on Heaven’s streets of gold. He was just barely 18. We can’t understand it. But the Lord, in His wisdom, knew that Robert had fulfilled his duty here on earth.

I have never been to a funeral that felt more like a family reunion. We’re not even relatives, but we’ve known Robert’s family for more than 40 years. We gave hugs all around. We caught up with those we hadn’t seen in a while. We laughed more than we cried. I think it was a little glimpse of what Heaven will be like.

I will never again hear Taps without thinking of Robert. I will not see a Marine without being reminded of Robert, who ran around in camoflauge from the time he was a little boy. And I won’t see grand Ol’ Glory waving high without remembering those who have paid the price to keep her flying, and gone on to Glory.

Robert never made it to the battlefield, but he fought the good fight even in boot camp. He wrote that everyone there knew where he stood. Robert didn’t finish the run that day, even though he was in the lead. But he finished the course of life. Yes, Robert kept the faith.

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith;
in the future there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness,
which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day;
and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing.”
-2 Timothy 4:7-8

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

The bumper sticker brought tears to my eyes the first time I saw it.

And I took a moment to pray for that woman whose man was fighting to protect my freedom, and the freedom of those I love.

Each time I see that bumper sticker, I am reminded of the incredible sacrifice of our military and their families. I know that I can’t even understand the half of it.

But my second cousin just got married, and by the end of this year his bride will probably have to wave goodbye as he ships off to the battlefield for freedom.

That brings it closer to home. Much closer.

Thank you to Emily, and the thousands of others, for letting half your heart go around the world so mine can stay here with me.

Here is a touching piece by Rebekah Joy (Pearl) Anast:
A Tribute to the Women Who Protect Our Country
by letting their men go

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.