Happy Memorial Day! How did you spend today? Just like most Americans out there, our usual fare for this day is to sleep in, cook up some hot dogs or hamburgers on the grill, enjoy the start of a more relaxed summer school schedule, and spend time together as a family. When we lived in Florida, we had the priviledge of spending time with family and swimming in a crystal clear pool. But, this year, one fourth of us is missing, so I knew we had to do things differently. We attended a Memorial Day Ceremony at a park near our home. Since our boys have never gone to a Memorial Day parade or celebration, I knew we could make it not only a military tribute to our fallen soldiers, but also an educational experience that they would never forget.
It was a clear, sunny day here in our hometown, and yes, the announcer said he had asked that the sky not send us the rain that had a 20% chance of falling. The ceremony, which was held on a busy street across from our special operations museum, was fitting for the mood, but not the weather. The weather was beautiful! Hot, but sunny. No chance of rain. Rain usually brings in a somber, reflective mood, not a day to jump for joy. That's why it seemed such a contrast to have sunshine instead of rain and clouds.
Memorial Day isn't a day of celebration like we usually think of a celebration. When I think of a sunny celebration, I imagine balloons, cake, streamers, banners, joyful exaltations and praise streaming from the lips of those in attendance. Memorial Day is more of an inward reflection of the gifts we have been given by those who have gone before us; those who saw fit to free us from tyrany or bondage or injustice. Memorial Day isn't just a day to remember the troops, but to thank those who are willing to give their lives in order for us to keep our freedoms we have become so accustomed to in America.
In reviewing this, I pondered the element of rain. Rain would have been fitting for the occasion - except for our comfort. Rain brings us a watering for our souls as well as a washing of our bodies, cars, and grass. As I looked around at the faces of those who were in attendance, I didn't see dancing in the streets, like we do when an Army unit returns from Iraq or Afghanistan. I saw families who have experienced a deep watering of their souls - those who have served or who have a loved one who is serving overseas somewhere. I saw the hollowness that comes with knowing that this day is more than just a bar-b-que with friends or family. Pain of the loss of a loved one or the fear of the loss of a loved one was evident on most of the faces surrounding me - even in the midst of the smiles and laughter. This is where the contrast existed; the weather told us to be sunny and bright and the mood spoke of heartfelt sorrow and sadness at those who have paid the ultimate price for our country's freedom.
Looking back on today, I feel blessed that I took advantage of what our community had to offer my boys and me. We could have opted to stay home, hang out with neighbors and do the usual Memorial Day activities. Honestly, we would have talked about this day and why it is so important to take time out of our usual routines in order to honor those who have paid the ultimate price for our freedom. But, just like everything else I've learned about homeschooling, nothing sinks into our brains like a real-life experience. I know that the boys will carry with them the memories of watching the 21 gun salute, hearing the somber ache of the bagpipes playing "Amazing Grace", seeing the Rolling Thunder reinact the Missing Man table, watching a 93-year-old man proudly carry his wreath to the WWII memorial plaque, and listening to the lonely sound of the bugle playing "Taps" at the close of the ceremony. We will remember more about this day because of what we experienced today.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
It's a marathon, not a sprint.
Well, here it is. That dreaded "D" word. In military families, it's like a 4-letter word. That time when life shuts down, bags are packed, we buy stock in kleenex ... we buy stock in just about everything under the sun just to make sure hubby has what he needs in order to head to the sandbox. Emotions play the roller coaster game - one minute they are up and we're sailing and doing fine and the next minute we're hitting that dreaded downward spiral and feel like we're going to lose our head and stomach contents in a matter of minutes.
This isn't my first time through this, and it probably won't be my last, but it doesn't get any easier the 2nd, 3rd, 4th or 5th time around. In fact, it might be easier the first time because we're naive enough to not know the process and how painful predeployments are compared with the actual deployment. Twelve months seems like an eternity and it's days like this that make me feel like that number - 365 days, 52 weeks, 12 months, 1 year - is a huge hurdle that made me stop rather than just soaring over it like it's nothing new. I stand here and stare, like a gaping fool, at the absurdity of life for the next year without my best friend, lover, comedic relief, partner in just about everything and then some. It's almost too much to grasp and handle emotionally - especially 2 days before I have to say "see ya soon" knowing full well it will be a good 6 months (mid-tour leave) before I'll get to see those amazing blue eyes in person again.
It's days like this, when the weight of the world is on my shoulders and I feel like I can't go on without feeling like I'm dragging sludge from one room to the next, that I remember God is literally carrying me. It's a literal reminder to me that He's in control. My husband wouldn't be on a plane heading overseas if it weren't God's will. It's easy to say that, and hard to truly live it. Right now, the scriptures I meditate on throughout the summer seasons (see previous post for reference) are what carries me through these valleys and winters. Friends who promise to pray for me have no idea how much it means to know that, in the valley of the shadow of death (figuritive), their prayers are there to help lift me out of the muck and the mire. God IS a good shepherd and I, as part of his flock, have a heart that wants to wander into fear and the valley of discontent and not listen to the promises He has given to me throughout His Word. When my friends stand in the gap for me, my wandering heart is reminded of God's Word that He will never (let me emphasize NEVER) leave me nor forsake me. He will help me walk through this valley, through this winter season where part of me is pruned and dying off, so that when spring comes, He gets the glory and praise from these lips.
So, friends, thank you so much for who you are and what you do. The Lord has blessed me with your friendship - not because of what I "get" through your prayers, but in knowing that, without you, this journey would be much harder than it already is. Jesus says, "where two or more are gathered in my name, I am with them...(Matthew 18). No, my friends and I aren't literally in the same room, but I know that those prayers are heard from our Heavenly Father. So, when I have days like today, when that hurdle seems to high for me to jump, and I just have to stop and stare like I can't go on, knowing those friends are praying for me helps me hop back into the race and keep running. In the end, it doesn't matter if I finish first ... all that matters is that I finish. After all, it's a marathon, not a sprint.
This isn't my first time through this, and it probably won't be my last, but it doesn't get any easier the 2nd, 3rd, 4th or 5th time around. In fact, it might be easier the first time because we're naive enough to not know the process and how painful predeployments are compared with the actual deployment. Twelve months seems like an eternity and it's days like this that make me feel like that number - 365 days, 52 weeks, 12 months, 1 year - is a huge hurdle that made me stop rather than just soaring over it like it's nothing new. I stand here and stare, like a gaping fool, at the absurdity of life for the next year without my best friend, lover, comedic relief, partner in just about everything and then some. It's almost too much to grasp and handle emotionally - especially 2 days before I have to say "see ya soon" knowing full well it will be a good 6 months (mid-tour leave) before I'll get to see those amazing blue eyes in person again.
It's days like this, when the weight of the world is on my shoulders and I feel like I can't go on without feeling like I'm dragging sludge from one room to the next, that I remember God is literally carrying me. It's a literal reminder to me that He's in control. My husband wouldn't be on a plane heading overseas if it weren't God's will. It's easy to say that, and hard to truly live it. Right now, the scriptures I meditate on throughout the summer seasons (see previous post for reference) are what carries me through these valleys and winters. Friends who promise to pray for me have no idea how much it means to know that, in the valley of the shadow of death (figuritive), their prayers are there to help lift me out of the muck and the mire. God IS a good shepherd and I, as part of his flock, have a heart that wants to wander into fear and the valley of discontent and not listen to the promises He has given to me throughout His Word. When my friends stand in the gap for me, my wandering heart is reminded of God's Word that He will never (let me emphasize NEVER) leave me nor forsake me. He will help me walk through this valley, through this winter season where part of me is pruned and dying off, so that when spring comes, He gets the glory and praise from these lips.
So, friends, thank you so much for who you are and what you do. The Lord has blessed me with your friendship - not because of what I "get" through your prayers, but in knowing that, without you, this journey would be much harder than it already is. Jesus says, "where two or more are gathered in my name, I am with them...(Matthew 18). No, my friends and I aren't literally in the same room, but I know that those prayers are heard from our Heavenly Father. So, when I have days like today, when that hurdle seems to high for me to jump, and I just have to stop and stare like I can't go on, knowing those friends are praying for me helps me hop back into the race and keep running. In the end, it doesn't matter if I finish first ... all that matters is that I finish. After all, it's a marathon, not a sprint.
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