October? Yes, Please!

The end of September comes with only the slightest, tiniest, teeniest bit of sadness. Perhaps one small percent of me is a bit scared for October to be here because...

...I've actually created a REAL budget

...I've actually created a MANAGEABLE workout schedule

...I've actually figured out an EDIBLE diet/meal plan 

...I've actually found ZERO reasons why this can't work

I know I talk about dieting all the time, working out all the time, etc. and I rarely ever do it. But September is already gone! I've sort of put this whole "change my life" thing off until I can't anymore. If I don't start now, I won't be able to reach my goal before Ethan comes home and honestly, that motivation is the best I've had in years. I don't want him coming home to me like I am now; the person he left behind is unhealthy, out of shape and not taking the best care of herself. How can I be a good  AWESOME wife if I don't take care of myself? I don't think I really can. 

So I'm scared because I know that this is pretty much IT. Now or never, so to speak. I don't want to let my husband down, I don't want to let myself down. I think that's why I've put this off for so long... I'm totally scared that if I start I might fail and well, sometimes not starting is way easier than failing.

but it's now or never, right?

So the other 99.9999% of me is ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY stoked for October! It has, for as long as I can remember, been my favorite month out of the whole year. It will be much less eventful this year; I won't have as many festive things to do, pumpkins to pick or people to spend it with, but I will experience it anyway. I am going to try my best to make the best out of something I've always loved so, so much. I looked back on pictures from last October and it brought happy tears to my eyes... the friends I've lost touch with, the one who I'm not allowed to talk to, the husband who's thousands of miles away... I've got the best memories and can fondly remember a time in my life that I felt so blessed and loved and surrounded by people who were, and in a way still are, so much like family. 

I truly pray that the magic of October brings something new and exciting for me. I don't really know how I'm supposed to meet new people because I've never, ever been good at that, but I've come to realize that sitting in my apartment being scared for E, praying that William lets Lindsey be friends with me again - as if she's innocent in all this and I should even want someone like that to be my friend again - and wondering why I'm always ending up on the dumped side of a friendship isn't going to magically fix my problems and bring my friends back. Sad but true, it's time to refocus my energy. I've apologized to who I can apologize to, kept my hopes up for too long and I'm finally accepting that what's in the past is simply that... over and in the past.

The end of September is also a super incredibly exciting thing because that means we are officially ANOTHER MONTH DOWN ON THIS DEPLOYMENT! Technically our boys didn't leave the US until the 3rd of August, so Oct. 3 will mark two months but still... an entire, full calendar month has passed! I cannot begin to describe the feeling of relief that two months are down...in some ways the time seems to be dragging and in other ways it's flying right past me. I can vividly remember the feeling of never wanting to let get of E the night I had to leave him at Bliss before they deployed, and the wash of relief as I drove away knowing that I could finally, finally stop dreading the deployment and begin dealing with it. And I am super proud to say that I've dealt with it much better than I ever thought I would. The Lord has surely blessed with me with a peaceful mind, a calm energy and the occasional cry that reminds me how much I truly love my husband...who is more and more handsome every time I see a picture of him.

Lord, thank you for blessing us with another month. Thank you for keeping Ethan and the 151st safe, and for giving those of us back home the strength to make it through this deployment, too. I pray that you continue to watch over our men and be with them constantly. Remind them of your protection, love and peace and protect them from the enemy. Lord, I pray for those who are seeking to bring harm to our loved ones as they know not what they do. I pray that their hearts open to you and that through Christ they find salvation, forgiveness and the concept of loving others. Lord, forgive me for falling short in my duties as a wife and help me to be the best system of support for my husband, even when the miles separate us. 

Thank you God, for another night and thank you for October.

Amen!

Goodbye, Summer!

Fall is so almost here. As summer makes her grand exit this week by drenching us with muggy rains and fierce winds, I can't help but get excited. Fall is my favorite time of year. My favorite day is fast approaching and even though I'm beyond happy to see the heat waves of mid year disapper, I'm also filled with sadness that my husband isn't here to enjoy the season with me. The night he got down on one knee and proposed, I never imagined that we'd be half a world apart and already married within a year.

Fall brings my favorite things to life; the smell of bonfires, crunchy leaves, comfort food, sweaters and the excitement that Christmas time is right around the corner. But this fall was also supposed to bring new favorite things, like our wedding on October 6th. Since I was little, I dreamed of a fall wedding. I dreamed of saying our vows at dusk in the midst of a million candles, of the sweet smell of spices drifting through the sanctuary and of crisp air as we danced the night away outside among family and friends. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade my elopement with E for anything in the entire world, but I'm allowed to be a little sad that during our first fall together, we're actually apart.

Hearing my sweet husband's voice, though... I'll tell you. There is no other sound as sweet. When I get a phone call, or see him online during a rare occasion, my heart skips beats and I forget about the seasons of the year, the minutes of the day and the distance we have between us. It's as if for a brief moment, we're in the same place. I welcome so many parts of what fall brings, but maybe for the first time ever, I'm excited because it means it's one day closer to fall being over. Because once fall is over, winter can begin. And then it can end. And then spring can come, and go... and then my husband will be home.

I never knew what it was like to look forward to things just so they could hurry and pass, but then again, I've never lived this long with my heart an ocean away from me.

Goodbye, Summer. You won't be missed!

Before I Knew I Was White

When I was very young, before I knew that my skin was white, I walked right up to a girl exactly one month younger than me and I asked her to be my best friend. And we were. We were completely inseparable for years and I was completely and utterly clueless that we were different. I was completely oblivious to the fact that my mom was called names for taking a little white girl and a little black girl to the mall and - gasp - letting them hold hands, laugh and play as little girls do. I would have been mortified to learn that there was a bad name that someone could call my best friend just because her skin was darker than mine and neither of us really knew why her hair products didn't quite work on mine they way they were "supposed" to. I let her do my hair anyway, and only after her mom stopped us did I realize that I didn't need oil in my hair. 

Kindergarten passed. Inseparable. First grade passed. Inseparable. Second grade passed. Inseparable.

My childhood was kind to me. Perhaps I was sheltered, living with a mother who didn't want me exposed to the harshness of the world. Maybe I lived in the most progressive house in my county. Either way, I didn't learn about the "N" word until I heard it at school one day. I remember going home and asking my mom what it meant. I let the word roll off my tongue as calmly and as naturally as if I were asking someone to pass me the salt at dinner. She was mortified. Why was it so bad? Wasn't it just a word? And then, a brief lesson in history ensued. Wait. You mean to tell me that some people don't like black people because they're black? That's silly. I went back to school and my whole world was different. I knew. I knew that we were different. Not because we were different, but because this word existed. Because the mentality behind this word existed, my best friend and I were no longer the same. We never would be.

Maybe she knew far earlier than I did that she was black. Don't get me wrong - I saw her skin but I did not know that it was supposed to define her. I didn't know that when people looked at her they were supposed to see Tiffany the Black Girl and not Tiffany My Best Friend. I didn't know what the world was teaching us.

Flash-forward to today. We are so, so different. She is beautiful with a smile and figure that I envy. She's almost done with school, but she's single and living the college scene cities away. I'm married and in the same town I grew up in. And we are jaded. The world has pitted us against each other and the world has a surely seen a show.

And it breaks my heart.

At 21, we have both grown into our own skin - hers black, mine white. We have embraced our history - hers sobering, mine embarrassing. But neither of us truly understand it. Neither of us can go back in time and figure out why these things happened to us. And we deal with it the only way we know how. With anger towards those who persecuted the innocent, with a wall of defense built high, with recreated memories of our ancestors being sold into slavery and our ancestors owning slaves- images neither of us have seen, but that we are taught to hold on to.

I will never know what it's like to purchase, torture and withhold the freedom of a human being just because the color of their skin is different. Tiffany will never experience being sold, forced to labor, or the feeling of living in America without being free. But society tells us to hold on to the idea that it could have been us; and because of that, we are infintely different.

I pray my children never forget the horrors that lie embedded within American history; without acknowleding the past, it's all too possible that it may repeat itself in the future. But I pray that my children have a softer heart than my generation. I pray that they realize that while they could have been born long ago, they were not.

There are so many beautiful people out there, waiting to connect to us. I pray that my children grow up without coming home to me one day, asking what a word means before realizing that everything they thought they knew was socially inaccurate.

I pray my future child and Tiffany's future child meet one day and fail to realize that they're different. In reailty, they are exactly the same.

Praying for The Enemy

I was sitting in Mrs.Saine's fifth grade class when the announcement came on the intercom for all grades fourth and above to turn their televisions on. History was being made, they said. Lesson plans were put on hold, teachers stepped out of the spotlight and all attention was directed to the small TV mounted in the corner of the room.

As a child, I had absolutely no comprehension of why the attacks on the World Trade Center buildings were carried out. I had no concept of the repercussions of the actions of the terrorists who completed their mission and never dreamed that 11 years later, our country would still be without peace because of it.

I also never imagined that 11 years later, I'd be sitting at home while my husband is fighting the war that began after the events that unfolded over a decade ago on this very day. I've tried not to think about the attacks much, but it's been impossible these past few days. I get really emotional when I think about them. When I think about the lives that were lost, the families that have been forever affected by the terrorism I just get overwhelmed. Because the fact is, victims of these attacks are born every day. Children whose families will be KIA, who will never know the families who lost lives years ago and who will one day themselves fight in a war that they understand very little about.

It breaks my heart; nearly shatters it into pieces.

It also kills me to know what these attacks have done to us. When Osama Bin Laden was pronounced dead, Americans cheered. They celebrated death. When did we allow ourselves to become so like them? I still, to this day, can't celebrate the death of him. To know that he wasn't a  Christian, to know he didn't have any remorse and died with pride does nothing more than break my heart. I can't find it in myself to be happy or to feel as though we somehow brought about justice; we did not bring the war to an end or the dead to life.

Every night, I walk with God. I take Mariska outside and as I'm letting her run, I pray. I pray for my husband, his unit, our troops, family, friends... I lay my burdens down and ask for forgiveness. And then, I pray for the enemy. At first, it was hard. It was disgusting for me to pray for those who plant the IEDs, who shoot blindly and then run, and who disguise themselves as allies before killing our men; however, I kept going. And I'm still going.

I can't describe the feeling of praying for someone who society tells me I'm supposed to hate. I mean, I'm an army wife. Shouldn't I hate the enemy? Shouldn't I get a free pass because my husband's in Afghanistan amidst hostile fire? There's a peace that comes with praying for even the most evil walks of life; there is hope for even the most lost souls.

As we go through the motions of the day, watch memorials and remember the moment that stopped us in our tracks and have, for many, prevented us from fully moving forward, it will be a challenge to hold back tears and anger. But throughout the day, my prayers will fall on my husband. They will fall on the families who lost loved ones, the soldiers who have given the ultimate sacrifice and perhaps above all, for the soul of the enemy.

Matthew 5:44-45 You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven 

On Edge

I'm on edge, my priorities have shifted and it's been a blessing and a curse.

A few days ago at work, a mom sent me an email that was nothing out of the ordinary. There was an issue with her invoice, she had questions, etc. We exchanged a few emails before I received a phone call from a third party who was connected to the issue at hand. After hanging up, I was completely baffled. As it turns out, the casual email exchanges I had been making - emails that were pretty much routine and mundane - had infuriated the mom. She wasn't just upset with me, she was pissed. I was completely thrown for a loop. The issue was such a small problem that I knew we could easily resolve, but this mom was out for blood. It wasn't just business with her anymore, either; she was personally angry with me. As soon as I found out that I had upset her, I called her directly. I apologized profusely for completely missing the fact that she was upset, reassured her that all was well and that I was going to fix the problem. Still, the mom remained angry. I hung up, once more baffled.

I sat in my office, lights off but plenty of natural light flowing in through the oversized windows. I turned on Pandora to my "Classy" station that rarely seems to fail me, minus the occasional Avril Lavigne appearance that is promptly thumbed down. I re-read the emails, tried to put myself in the mom's shoes and analyzed the issue over, over, over, and over again. I called several people to consult with before proceeding - had I made an error that I was missing? Had I said something between the lines? Had I used a professional word that doubled as a slang word on the side?

After an hour of contemplating my next move, I gazed over at a picture of my husband. An 8x10 photograph in a $5.00 frame, placed on the corner of a table, held my entire world. I knew he was out on a mission, for him it was probably 11:30 at night. I imagined what he was doing. Was he "safe" in the truck, or had he been instructed to get out of the vehicle to walk the side of the mountain? Was he talking to the native people, trusting what appeared to be a friendly invitation to communicate? Was he taking direct fire - a situation I so desperately prayed he would never encounter? Was his truck moving - or had it been hit? Was he asleep? Awake? Cold? The questions that will never have answers came flooding into my mind when it finally hit me. This is why I don't get it.

I don't get why a mistake on an invoice is a big deal because the reality is, it isn't. I'm thankful God has given me this life, deployment included. It has truly changed my life and I don't think I can ever go back to the way I was. Experiencing pain and suffering in just the smallest forms of worry, anxiety and stress, have altered my perception of importance and what it means to spend time in frustration rather than turning it over to the Lord. Pre-deployment, I would have understood why this lady was so upset because I would have been worked up and I would have fed off of her own negativity and stress; now, I realize that these are the things that are so insignificant. These are the things that - and excuse me for getting a little Baptist on here - that the  devil uses to separate us from God. These are the things that do not matter, but that we allow ourselves to put emphasis on instead of realizing that there really are things greater than simple mistakes and self-created problems.

But not everyone has made this revelation yet - and even I forget it. And this makes for truly interesting conversations. As executive director -and no, I never get tired of working that into my blog- I am hit with problem after problem, day in and day out. People literally come barreling into my office with loud voices, hurried and frantic explanations of what they consider pressing issues and sometimes I find that they are vastly disappointed in my calm state. Yes, I know the basement is flooded. No, I don't have a hammer. Yes, I know the kiln has a broken part. No, I do not care about what size the mirrors are. No, I'm not sure if we're insured for that. Yes, I found the contract that someone forgot to sign. No, tickets are not selling. Yes, it's true the wall fell down.

Life happens. Mistakes happen. But there are bigger things than these.

That being said, I admitted that sometimes I forget this lesson. After avoiding political talk on Facebook for months, I finally posted a status about my support for Obama. It wasn't long before a young person commented on my status with very amateur facts; clearly in opposition to my Facebook status I saw one thing and one thing only: myself. I was reminded of my 8th grade self sitting in class, proudly wearing my Kerry / Edwards t-shirt, debating with my language arts teacher about why George Bush should not be president again. My points were decent but not well researched. I was passionate - completely passionate - with valid points but poor execution. I was blessed to be surrounded by many people who helped shape my debating abilities, who taught me more about what I believed and who even made me realize I wasn't quite as liberal as I thought. Slade is me, but on the other side.

So I did what those before me did for 8th grade me. I talked some, debated minimally, articulated my genuine pleasure in seeing his passion and attempted, in some kind of way, to help shape who he would become in terms of political involvement and informed citizenship. I know it sounds crazy that all of this was running through my head, and honestly it wasn't like I had an internal dialogue at the time, but in essence that was what was happening.

And then, it happened. I sort of kind of lost my cool. I mean, I didn't really lose my cool but I was on the brink of it and I do not like the brink. These days, I like to stay pretty far away from the brink because it's much safer, less tiring and let's be honest, no one really likes that guy who always gets snappy and know-it-all-ish. But he questioned my prayer for our troops; my husband.

And that just did it for me. I had to dust off my soap box because it had been awhile, but I managed to step up on it for a quick second and blow off a little steam. It wasn't until writing this that I realized something profound through all of it; four years ago, disgracing the president would cause my blood to boil and my anger to rage but today, it took questioning a part of my faith to invoke passion and petition. I think there is something to be said for that, although I'm not quite sure what that something is just yet.

Of course, it had to be a member of a family that I happen to love a lot that started a conversation with me. That part, perhaps, makes me the saddest because I never want to alienate those who I hold dear for the sake of making a point. It's ironic, because his mom is actually the person who - months ago - told me about how her ancestors have prayed Psalm 91 over their deployed children since the Civil War, and to do it for my husband while he was gone. And I have done this and I can't even describe the way it has changed me. Starting my nightly prayers off with that Psalm truly sets the most incredibly tone for my prayer, especially for the prayers meant for my husband.

Maybe I've been up for too long with few hours of decent sleep, or maybe I've been staying strong for a few weeks too long but I'm feeling less than relieved at the moment. Maybe I need a good night's sleep and coffee in the morning to make me realize I should learn to let these things go - even the things I think are worth stepping up on my soap box for.

I'll consider this a lesson learned, an experience experienced. For tonight, I have prayers for my husband, prayers for my Facebook friend and prayers for myself.

Nightmares.

Last night I had the worst dream ever. I don't often have bad dreams, or dreams that make me confront my fears, but I guess my subconscious had a lot on her mind because it completely ruined my sleep.

It was my vow renewal day, and I was sitting in a room with Ethan getting ready when I started to send text message to people asking if they were coming. One by one, I got messages that said, "I'm so sorry we can't make it," or, "I completely forgot!" I looked out into a big room that was set up for a ceremony and saw three or four seats, out of maybe 200, occupied by older people who were falling asleep. Then I woke up.

I wonder if I will ever get over my fear of complete rejection and feeling of just not belonging. I swear this dream had me in tears when I woke up. Sometimes I can pump myself up and convince myself that people will be there, but then I always manage to remember that just because I wish I had a huge guest list of friends and family, I don't. I wonder if it's even worth it, honestly.

I'm already married. And as my sister says, who wants to go to a fake wedding anyway?

The dream of wearing my dress and celebrating in style is far overrated, I guess. At least without a ceremony, I won't have to face the fact I have no bridesmaids left.

If E were here, he'd make me feel better.