Sorrow, yet...

 I can’t say with confidence when the first time I read Streams in the Desert was. I first wrote about it here, my blog, in 2008 and I don’t think that was my first time reading through. The collection of words that brought hope and comfort, gathered through a time of pain and confusion and later compiled into a book has spoken to me over and over. 

 This time as I read through I have been removing the tiny scraps of post-it notes left from previous journeys and finally christening the paper copy with a highlighter and pen, marking it with color and passion and even some of my own words. 

 It seems appropriate that the reading this morning was a beautiful story summarizing 2 Cor 6:10, “sorrowful, yet always rejoicing.”

 I did a very interesting combination of sobbing and laughing yesterday; sorrow and rejoicing. 

 Habit says that while on the tread climber I watch tv- I use to try to read a book...but it is hard to read, even on an iPad, while walking at a speed decent enough to count as exercise. Yesterday I pulled out a cardboard box we had removed from mom's new place and decided to explore the options given in old VHS and 8MM. I wasn't inclined at the moment to watch my younger sister's dance recitals or stage performances. Andy's graduation from basic training? No, thank you anyway. Canaan's ultrasound was tempting, but that wouldn't have been long enough to exercise to. Then, I found our wedding rehearsal. 

 That was worth watching. 

 Emilee, a few weeks shy of 20, was already practicing her future job as a wedding coordinator, having opinions. Kelsey and Mary Faith, only 15 and 13 made me laugh with their silly antics and faces, and yet also cry, realizing that my children are already older than my youngest siblings were when I got married. Mom was just so beautiful, so excited, so hope filled. Since I am just a few short years away from the age she was then, I love seeing the passion flowing out of her, having that to live up to in my 40's. 

 Two of the women I call my best friends now were not as well known yet then, and I texted both of them, laughing about the things that have changed. 

 Several people who were highly involved and deeply loved have drifted away, not through anything purposeful, just the passage of time and changing locations. I mourned that. 

 Both of the men who performed my wedding are gone. Frank Kaleb died years ago, but seeing that video made me miss him yet again. Mostly though, when Daddy pulled his wedding rehearsal joke and tried to quote the Princess Bride line, well, I simply sobbed. He was horrible at it. Comedy wasn't his strength. Somehow though, that made it funnier, his attempt to be funny. I had to laugh too, even while I sobbed.

 And that circles me back around to "sorrowful, yet always rejoicing."

 That is the choice my friends. 

 It is the CHOICE every single moment. 

“You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness, that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!” Psalm‬ ‭30:11-12‬ ‭ESV‬‬

 

 Sorrowful, yet ALWAYS rejoicing. 

 Both, at the same time, and accepting of that. We don't have to understand it. It doesn't have to "make sense" logically. 

 But we have to choose to accept it. 

 Laugh and cry. Mourn and dance. 

 I finished the day by finding and watching the video of the wedding itself, after watching the rehearsal, rehearsal dinner,  and silliness of the pre-ceremony. My three men didn't care for the emotions, weren't impressed with the beauty of ceremony, and didn't want to share the passion with me. 

 But they enthusiastically shared their day's events with me, both the good and the bad, and reminded me to live right now. Rejoicing. Sorrow. Right now. 

 Be blessed my friends, making the choice to see the rejoicing available in the sorrow. 

Two choices, always

 That big bold star below, surrounded by the dark night around it, spoke to me today. 

Oh, how beautiful is the light it shines, despite feeling overwhelmed!

 Have you felt what that verse is expressing? Cut off? Alone? Alarmed?

 I don’t think I will believe you if you say that you haven’t, but since I can’t hear you, you are only speaking to yourself anyway. So, don’t lie. 

 And for the rest of us, who have felt all of those emotions and more, this Psalm is breathtaking. 

 Read it again, please. 

 Our Father God hears us, even when we think He can’t. He hears us when we have given up. He hears when we think we are cut off. 

 I had a rough day on Sunday. I had two of my seizures, which are small and wouldn’t be noticed by the world around me but which wipe me out, during opening worship. I then spent almost all of the sermon time trying to figure out who I knew and who I didn’t, and why and how. 

 As I have written on here before, memory is very important and when it decides to abandon you it is problematic. 

 I had a third seizure very near the end of the service and feel like I forgot most of everything after that. I still knew how to walk, but not well. I didn’t pee my pants, which we will celebrate since that isn’t always true. We will choose to find the good. 

 I was feeling cut off. I was feeling overwhelmed. I was feeling confused. 

 That pretty much sums up Sunday. Memories eventually returned. I finally gave up and asked my kids to tell me a few names of people I love a lot and could picture in my head but simply couldn’t find a name for. I woke up “all better” on Monday. But fear had done it’s dirty little job and snuck back into my safe place. 

 So, the fight against it was renewed! Remember that, please. Fight again, fight more, fight harder. 

 There are two choices:

 You can be afraid, or not. 

 You can be overwhelmed, or not. 

 You can feel cut off, or not. 

 You sometimes have to feel everything. I think it is good to accept and respect all of those emotions in every part of your life. They are healthy and manageable and good when they are just an emotion, just a feeling, just a moment. But they are not the rule, they are not the ruler. Don’t let them be. 

 Remember that He hears our cry for mercy, always.

 March 30 is my next neurology appt. Then, hopefully, we find out the next step in this battle against epilepsy. While we wait join me in the Psalms, in this proclamation of hope.

Rejoice. Make that choice!

Samwise Gamgee, again

 I have been reading old blog postings the last couple of days. Re-learning the beautiful lessons that God taught me years ago and being so very glad that I wrote them down! 

When I wrote this I had only been having seizures about 2 years. We had never dreamed that I would someday have a service animal, but I am positive, looking back, that God gave Andy this revelation for my future need of my Samwise seizure dog.

(This is just a silly picture of him “dressed” as a super hero after a bath)

So much has changed in our physical world since I wrote this.
I suppose things have changed spiritually too - hopefully we have continued to grow and mature.
But what stood out to me is that this lesson stays the same. We need our supporter, our helper, always.

 Keep seeking that!


Tue, July 13, 2010
We watched Lord of the Rings, Return of the King today - just because. (Truthfully, I need to read the book. I am almost embarrassed to admit that I haven't!)

We had played outside in the morning, before the heat and humidity became unbearable. The boys had worked some puzzles, and later woke daddy up. (He's on late shift again, so sleeping til 12 is the way it works around here...) 

But it was 12, and they were bored, and a movie seemed an appropriate idea for a lazy summer afternoon. 

Daddy watched some of it with them. I got to sit for portions also. But my boys sat and soaked up every minute. 

I am pretty sure that every moment that I watched made me cry. The rallying cry for the men of Rohan to "ride for honor and freedom". The ghost warriors earning their ability to rest in peace after finally fighting as they had promised in life. Arwen stepping out from behind the banner to greet Aragorn, the new king and her true love. 

Near the end, when Frodo is hanging off the edge of the precipice and Sam entreats him not to let go, I commented to Andy and the boys that even though the evil of the ring had captured Frodo's mind and heart for a while, his friend had stood by him. We need our friends to back us up. 

Andy thought about the movie for a minute and said "Really, Sam is like the Holy Spirit". Throughout the movie, he is the quiet voice encouraging Frodo. He tries to help him make the right choices. He carries his food, and blankets. He uncovers his face so he can breathe again when the spider captures him. He even carries Frodo up the hill to the fire of Mount Doom. But -he can't carry the ring. Nor could he throw the ring away. Frodo had to do it. He had to make that decision himself. 

We have an encourager, who travels with us everywhere we go. Trips as simple as the grocery, or as distant as the moon. He gives us advice - what to say, how to respond, reminders to smile rather then scowl and to swallow rather then scream. However, we have to make the decision to follow that advise. We have to "throw the ring". 

The longer Frodo carried that ring, the heavier it got. It left marks around his neck, and began to scar his mind. Sin does the same thing to us. Especially a sin we favor. "It's not a big deal"... "No one really notices"... "It doesn't hurt anyone"... "It's not even mentioned in the Bible"... 

You know what I am talking about. Those little nudges that the Spirit says "stop", and the marks are your neck are getting bloodied from, but still, you continue to do. 

Listen to your Sam. Throw away the ring. 

I really didn't get on here planning to preach tonight. I just wanted to talk about how much I love my hubby's ability to find the Holy Spirit in an action movie. But, sometimes my fingers just type, and someone else is doing the talking - so, whoever needed to hear this, blessings. Throw the ring in, and feel the release from around your neck. 

And remember, not only do you have a friend in your Sam (the Holy Spirit), I promise that you have me too.

Just two words...

When it is all said and done, and life is over, what do you want to leave behind?

I was at Momma’s for a couple of weeks, helping her to sort and clear out and get ready for a move.  Emilee and Kevin have bought a bigger place and have construction going in the basement so Mom can have her own apartment there. They have just added baby number five to their family and right this minute it is crazy there, but soon construction will be done, new baby will be settled and Mom can start a new chapter.

 But right then, I was helping her to pack up the chapter that is closing.

 One evening we went through “the cedar chest”. It is full of the most important things that relatives have left behind. The favorite hat pins, and lace, and gloves. Baby shoes, and blankets and hair. Diaries and Bibles and scrapbooks.

 I cried multiple times. For several different reasons, really, but mostly because of words. Perhaps my favorite words were "fairly recent", in cedar chest measurements. My mom’s mom had started a “my memories” journal and just a few pages in she writes “My life has turned upside down. My Don had an aneurysm at the base of his brain May 16, 1986 and he has been in a coma ever since.”  Seeing her call him “my Don”, the way I call Andy “my Andy” left me sobbing. He never woke up, staying in a coma for almost exactly two years. I was so very young when he died...I had never really thought of how that felt to her. I only saw the loss of my grandfather, not the loss of “Her Don”. Suddenly, all of these years later, I hurt FOR her.

 She came back several years later and finished her memories journal, and wrote one for him as well, with the stories he had shared with her. The stories of their life together were beautiful. They were inspiring. They were PRICELESS.

Probably the last picture of all of us together? Definitely the last I have right now. There was one more grand baby born before his aneurysm, but I don't know if we were all together for a picture. I am the one with curls, far left. 

My mom and her parents. 

 So, what do I want to leave behind me? What will go in a cedar chest when I am gone? Hat pins and lace are fun. Baby shoes and blankets are sweet. But words, words are priceless. So, I want to share with you a few words that have meant something to me recently.

 Back in the mid 1960's my grandfather, "Her Don" was the pastor of a small church in Indiana. One afternoon he and one of the elders sat in a diner discussing what was next. Another job had been offered to him and he thought that, perhaps, he had done all that he could do in this small town. What more could he do there?  But, as another customer walked out he left a simple scrap of paper placemat on the table as he passed by.

 Just two words.

 "Stop limiting"

 "Her Don" got up, tried to follow, couldn't find a person who was leaving, no one in the parking lot. Simply gone. As he returned to the table he really felt God telling him to go to the church. When he and the friend arrived there, two other elders were there waiting, having felt the prompting of God to come too. And right there, right that moment, the things that could still be accomplished, the unlimited working of God, even in a small town, was revealed.

 Just two words.


The same week that I was finding that piece of placemat that had been saved for 50 years, and hearing the story that goes with it, my 16 year old was in a different state; working part time, college part time, highschool part time = crazy busy.
 And yet, God spoke to him too.

He calls it the napkin philosophy, since he wrote it originally on a napkin during a quiet moment at work.

 "Just because something is written on a seemingly insignificant canvas does not mean it itself is insignificant."

 I find it breathtaking that while I was finding words on a paper placemat my son was hearing about words on an insignificant canvas.

 What, my friend, does this mean for you? What words are you missing because they are simple? What words are you avoiding because they are boring? What words are you NOT writing, because you only have a scrap of paper placemat to write them on?

 Stop Limiting my friends.

An Ugly Enemy

The Nitty Gritty

Who: Me

What: VEEG

When: Aug 8-12

Where: University of Alabama, Birmingham (UAB)

Why: TBD

 Fear is an ugly enemy.

 UGLY. 

 He sneaks into places that you think are comfortable, places that you think he is completely banished from. 

 He stays quiet and still, working underneath the world that is staying busy all around you. 

 He uses words that are not supposed to be his, actions that have nothing to do with him, waiting patiently for a moment when you are not prepared. 

 I hate fear. 

 I fight fear pretty well, most of the time. I have had a good bit of practice and some fabulous examples to help me along the way. Spiders and snakes don't really bother me now. Enclosed spaces that don't allow movement have become a beautiful space to pray. My hubby being far away, for long periods of time, encourages both of us to spend more time in The Word and to grow toward our Savior, and toward each other. Facing death with someone I love a whole stinkin' lot was rough, but Daddy went to be with Jesus and the girls he left behind are still an amazing team of strength, beating out the fear of the unknown together, all five of us. 

 But fear, and it's ugly, sneaky self, still finds a way to hurt me. 

 Memory is priceless. PRICELESS. 

 The Drew Barrymore movie, 50 First Dates, has some funny moments. A few that make you tear up. A lot of cuss words, just a heads up. But until you have looked that possibility straight in the face and considered that it could be you....well, until then, it is simply a movie. 

 Once you have looked that possibility straight in the face though- that your memories might cease to exist, that the people you love the most could possibly become strangers to you, that the children you would give your life for without a second thought and the man who makes you complete might not be the center of your world any longer - until you have looked at that and realized that it could truly be your story, you don't really understand. 

 Memory is PRICELESS.

 I lost almost all of two weeks in Aug. From the time I posted the FB prayer request for seizures, until the post I wrote on the 21st, nothing is solid. 

 I "recovered" from three seizures, responding to the questions the doctors asked, and recognizing "My Andy"- the first thing I could recognize every time, and a direct quote of how I described him every time- with passion but with no memory of it all. 

 My sister Kelsey and her crew came to visit me in the hospital- there is a picture of us eating popsicles-but that is all I have from that visit. 

 I came home from the hospital but have no memory of the work required to get the EEG glue out of my hair. I started taking a different dose of my meds, and apparently even filled my weekly medicine container myself. I assisted with cooking, and cleaning and laundry. I made an online deposit and paid several bills. 

 And yet, there is nothing there. Nothing. 

 "My Andy" and our boys have had to tell me these stories. 

 That is the place that sneaky little fear has attacked. The "what if" of losing my men. The "what if" of not being able to make new memories, or to hold onto old ones. 

 Fear is an ugly enemy. 

 I want to post Psalm 34:4 "I prayed to the Lord, and He answered me; He freed me from all my fears."... but truthfully I am not there yet. I am not freed yet. 

 However, I am clinging to the 23rd Psalm. "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for YOU are with me;" ESV  

 I am choosing to focus on my Savior being with me, even in the valley. TPT says "Lord, even when your path takes me through the valley of deepest darkness, fear will never conquer me, for You already have!"

 I am on His path, even when it is through a valley of deepest darkness. Fear can't win, can't conquer. That is enough. 

 That is enough. 

Don't blink!

Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away....

(Also known as California...)

 When I was a brand new military wife, at our first duty station, and far away from my family, there was another military wife who took me under her wing. She was an "older woman" (probably 32, which at the time seemed so very old) and had two children, probably ages 12 and 2. She seemed to be in such a different world then I was. She knew military terms, had survived deployment, and raising children, and trying to be a mother, wife and employee, all at the same time. These were new to me, and she made them all seem like something I could survive.

 She took the time to introduce me to ideas. She had us over for dinner. I babysat her toddler a few times.

 I had my 23rd birthday right around the time that I met her, so I wasn't a child, but she seemed so much older then me.

 This week I realized that I am now her.

 I am the older wife, who has survived deployment, and military moves. I have raised kids in multiple locations, and learned how to make friends wherever I am. I have seen the ability to communicate with a deployed husband evolve, along with the conflicts he has been part of. (Any other of you "old wives" remember when our men had to wait in line to use a phone, with a 15 minute time limit, and video calls weren't even invented yet?)

 I am an experienced military wife, who has lived in both the enlisted and officer world, both the Air Force and Army.


 I got a reminder of my age a few days ago and it was quite striking.

 I recently mentioned the bible study group I am part of, about being a mom. One of my ladies missed our group time last week and I knew her husband was currently deployed, so I texted her, just to check in. Turns out she had ended up in the hospital several times, dehydrated, from Hyperemesis, which is basically really bad morning sickness. Or, in reality, all day sickness.
 I already had a soft spot for her. This is her first base, first pregnancy, first deployment.... she has a lot going on in her life right now. Adding Hyperemesis simply broke my heart for her.

 But one of my best friends had Hyperemesis during her pregnancy, so I had a walking encyclopedia, ready at hand. I tried to educate myself, and offered my morning to help her out. She needed food that was more likely to stay down (and less damaging if it comes back up) and was feeling too yucky to drive for the last few weeks, so I took her to the grocery, pushed her cart and loaded the heavy water bottles. Super easy, mindless help, mostly just so she would have company.

 While we were out Canaan called, to ask what he could have as a snack. After I hung up I joked with her, about my 13 year old always being hungry. Her response, "My 13 year old brother is exactly the same way!" gave me pause though. Her having a brother the same age as my son suddenly made me feel extremely old. And made me realize that she was probably very, very young!

 I was right.

 She is very, very young.

 When I turn 38 in May I will be double her age.

 She is only 6 years older then my son.

 And I suddenly realized, I am very old. :)


 I can't remember the name of the woman who helped me, all those years ago. Facebook had not been invented yet, and we both moved multiple times with military life and lost touch through the years. Her toddler that I babysat, Jacob, would probably be a junior in high school this year.

 The reminder that time flies is fresh.

 The importance of taking the time to enjoy every moment is pressing.

 Don't blink!

 15 years ago I couldn't have imagined the path we would have taken to end up here. There have definitely been some moments that I stressed too much in the midst of.

 But, all these years later, I am so full of memories; of moments that are worth remembering, and celebrating, and rejoicing in what we learned through them, even if they were difficult in the middle.

 I am thrilled to be the "older woman".

 Let's hope I can live what I have learned in a way that is helpful to these new, young, excited military wives. :)

Blessings,

Bethany

11 years

 I'm running a little behind. I'm not sure exactly where this weekend went... the grocery and the garage. Our favorite places! That is sort of sad really.

 Saturday was our 11th anniversary. We didn't have access to a babysitter on Sat, but our friends down the street were willing to watch the boys for us on Thursday.
 So, we celebrated early!
 There is a place down the street that has the most delectable fried pickles. I don't eat a lot of fried food, but those pickles are totally worth it! We sat and ate in peace, talked about everything from politics to college memories, and tried to remember where we were on Thursday, 11 years ago. It was two days before the wedding and the countdown was on. Several of the out of town guests had come already. I can promise you that my mom was in a panic.
 We had totally different memories. Amazing, the things that stuck out in his mind and the ones that were important to me. Although, I don't know that any of the memories he shared were really "important" to him. Just random facts that he remembered!

 Pictures, anyone?

I was 22. He was still 21. 

So many people would call that too young. But look at us now! 

I don't regret one minute. Not even the hard ones.

 The boys and I.

 Andy "Bond" and my sisters

 Abbey Road

Truly, this is a miraculous shot. In Rome today you would never find a pause in traffic. But 11 years ago it was quieter. Andy Andy wanted it bad enough to wait.

This is probably my favorite picture. Isn't he just precious? 

He isn't precious any more. He is handsome and protective. Honorable and dependable. Faithful and considerate. An amazing husband, father, follower of God and leader of his troops.  

But precious I think he might have outgrown! 

What he will never outgrow, (or escape) is my undying love for him. 

He is my best friend and the holder of my heart. 

I love you Andrew Ian.

Forever,

My baby is 6

My baby is turning 6 today. My, how time flies. The hard drive that has baby pictures is still packed, but here are a few pictures from old blogs. I wasn't a camera person yet, so you will have to excuse the fuzziness.
 I enjoyed the trip down memory lane. You are free to skip it, but he sure is cute, so I don't know how you can resist!

 My little pirate

 

His 3rd birthday

This story about him makes me cry every time, but is just so beautiful.

A backyard builder

He just keeps growing up. But he is growing into an amazing little man. 

I am so very proud to call him mine. 

Happy Birthday Zion!!

Blessings, 

32

In the middle of cleaning the walls and wiping out the cabinets I had to stop for a minute and breathe. Where better to take a break then the place I can best be myself?

 Obviously, being in the middle of a move, I have been thinking about moving. I move a lot. A LOT. Always have.

 I almost can't imagine life without it.

 The new house, new rooms, new places to put my furniture - it is almost as if everything is new again.

 The new stores, new foods, new backroads and twisty discoveries of nature - an adventure waiting to happen.

 The new friends to form lifelong bonds with - as long as the old ones don't forget me, well I am always happy to make more!

 The new gathering of followers, lovers, of, Jesus to join with - that is sometimes harder to find, and slightly frustrating. But eventually He leads us where we are supposed to be.

 I have been moving my whole life. I exaggerate not.

 When my parents brought me home from the hospital they lived in married student housing at college. Not approved for children. Within weeks they moved. Dad finished college: moved. If you count those two, I was moving into my 6th location before I was 6.

 If you count dorm rooms in college, this house we are leaving is my 31st place to live. Which means we are headed into number 32.

 I am 32.

 And that is only counting houses. That doesn't count separate moves. I have gone back to my parents more times then I want to count!

 No wonder I am good at it!

 I don't think I would take the time to clean out the inside of my cabinets without the incentive of a move. I am pretty sure I wouldn't clean the doorknobs nearly as often as I end up doing it. And my microwaves and refrigerators hardly have a chance to get dirty.

 Moving is good for me. Perfect for me. Moving sort of defines me.

 And I wouldn't change my life for anything.

 But after this 4 month stint, I am unbelievably ready for a real bed!

 Blessings, 

Home, for now

As always, God provides. Despite my doubt, and the counting of paperclips, we have a beautiful new place. It looks a little funny with the small amount of furniture we choose to bring with us, but we found it the FIRST day, available that moment, utilities already on just waiting to be in our name. Despite my paperclip faith, we are blessed.

Since we still don't have the Internet turned on my blogging has been slow, but the words are here. In the meantime, I wanted to repost, again. I wrote this two years ago, and reposted it around my birthday again last year. I think that I have a bit more peace in my life - Andy is home, and at least we have meds for the seizures, but the prayer remains the same. Take it all Lord. Don't let me waste my time thinking I have any control.
Take it all Lord!

My friend Tricia has been sharing some of her older posts, a bit of remembering. I realized today that I could do that too.

This was originally posted May 31st of last year.

A post from the road

We are somewhere in Louisianna, at a Comfort Inn. My parents and children are in the room next door. Two of my sisters and a friend are in the beds behind me. I should be sleeping, and preparing for another day on the road tomorrow.
But right this minute I am just so very full. Full of Joy. Full of Faith. Full of Hope.
I have to let some of it out before I can attempt to sleep.


A few days ago I was reading a devotional about Nehemiah. They basis of the reading was pointing out in the second chapter when the king asks him why he is sad, Nehemiah is terrified but his first reaction is to pray.
My absolute first thought when reading this was, "well duh!"


After reading through the encouraging devotional concerning this subject I was actually in some ways disheartened. I was so saddened by the thought that there are some people, God fearing Christian people who love Jesus with their whole heart, who would not have their first reaction be prayer. What a sad, sad, thing to focus on fear, or any emotion really. How very blessed I am that I was taught from my earliest memories to place absolutely everything at the feet of God.


So, I have been thinking about this scripture, and prayer, and my amazing family a lot over the last couple of days.
After spending a lot of hours in the van with my parents and Kelsey driving to TX, I have had plenty of opportunity to NOT like my family. But none of those little nitpicky things matter. Honestly, it may drive me a little batty the way my dad drives, or they way my mom fusses at the way he drives, but those things don't change what really matters.
We were raised right. That is just a wonderful thing to have!


Now, on the way back to GA, we have Mary and her roommate Lindsay with us, and a second car. The van is loaded down with all the girls stuff, my parents, and my kids. The car has the four of us girls. As we were driving down the road this evening a song came on about God being our healer, and our portion, and something about trust. For some reason I just lost it. I was suddenly tired of being sick, tired of asking for healing. Tired of waiting for my sister to be well, and have a baby. For most of my life my parents have taken me to healing services, had me prayed over by anyone with that gift, asked repeatedly for God to step in.


The answer has always been Not right now.


The healing has always been for my heart, and my attitude, and my ability to cheerfully be diabetic, willingly use my disease as a ministry. I have had plenty of healing, and I wouldn't trade it for physical healing - not for a minute.


But for some reason this new disorder, these blackouts, or atypical migraines, or whatever they are - they are sapping my ability to cheerfully "deal". Added to that my unbelievable hurt for my little sister's physical and emotional pain, and the fact that my hubby is gone and our adoption is still delayed...
I guess I was a walking timebomb full of tears.


But here is the amazing part. Kelsey reached over and grabbed one hand. Mary reached up from the back seat for another hand. And we poured out our tears to our Father. Fears and hurt. Hopes and dreams. Old and new. As a family, automatically.
We were missing one sister, but she was definitely included, and prayed for.


I am so very thankful for my family. I am so glad that our automatic response, to pain or joy, is to take it to Jesus.
Faith. Joy. Hope. Truth. That is what we have, as well as who we are.

Emilee Hope, Kelsey Joy, Mary Faith - and Bethany Ruth... I get to be Truth. That is our heritage, and we claim it. This year, just as much as last.

And we love to laugh!

That first phone call

 At lunch after church this afternoon Mom mentioned that some good friends of ours had heard from their son, John - his first phone call home from Basic Training.
 I got watery eyed and a bit choked up, and Mary almost started to laugh. "Bethany, it has been 9 years. How in the world can that still make you cry?"
 They weren't tears of sadness, simply tears of remembrance. Sometimes an emotion is so strong it can't help but overflow just a little.

 Let me take you back.

 It was December 25, 2001. Christmas Day. We had been married for 6 months and 2 days. I couldn't bear to leave my little apartment, just in case he called, so my family crammed themselves in there to celebrate with me for awhile. But eventually we headed back to their house and found, waiting on their answering machine, his very first call from Basic Training. He had assumed, correctly, that I would want to be with them for Christmas since he was away. He just didn't know they would come to me.

 I remember being so heartbroken that I had missed my chance to talk to him, to encourage him, to make sure he was staying strong in his faith and confidence. To tell him that I loved him.

 (Why didn't he call my cell was the question Mom asked while we were remembering this afternoon - surely we had one by this time? Perhaps we had very few minutes and only used it for emergencies? Maybe I didn't keep it on me on a regular basis yet? Cell phones were still not "attached at the hip" like they are now. Who knows. That is not one of the memories that stands out in my mind.)

 He left me his address, and I wrote him that very night. I had already written him pages and pages, so was relieved to finally have someplace to send them. I wonder if he has ever read all of those letters. Probably not. He certainly didn't have time in Basic training. I have the clarity of mind to know that now, but at the time I only knew that I had to share every moment with him. We were still newlyweds, quite literally.
 I think I may have to dig those letters out and read them. What a trip down memory lane it would be to feel those feelings again. And the letters from him - those are priceless. Not quite as word filled, but each word can be felt to the bottom of my toes.

 Yes - thinking about that first phone call brought back lots of memories. A few watery eyes. And a reminder that after the first there always comes a second, and then a third - and it gets easier, at least for the moment.

 Tomorrow is a first again. Andy has his PT test at 0500. He should know by noon if he is in this next class rotation. He said that perhaps not hearing from him is what I should hope for, as that will mean he is busy moving into the proper dormitory and getting set into the new schedule. He has no idea when he will have free time again. He'll call when he can.

 So, tomorrow begins a new wait, for another first phone call.

 But it always comes. And now I have a cell phone, attached at the hip. I'm not missing one again, no sir, not me!
                                                         Blessings,

Time

 I have been thinking about time lately. 

 Time is ticking away, tick, tick, ticking away. 

 There are both good things and bad things about time flying. Tonight I was at "Every Child is a Star", which is a local youth talent performance. While there, a beautiful young woman came up to my Mom and said, "Hello Nina". It took several seconds for Mom to figure out who it was. 

 It would have taken me even longer then that, if Mom hadn't turned to me and told me who it was.  This beautiful young woman, currently a senior in highschool, was someone that we use to pick up from kindergarten and babysit after school. 

 I was floored. 

 Obviously, I have seen her more recently then since she was in kindergarten. Probably even within that last 3-4 years. But in my head, I really hadn't let her age past 10 or so. 

 One of the contestants in the talent show was an amazingly talented pianist/soloist. 14 years old, drop dead gorgeous, and with lungs to die for. 

 Just a few years ago, (almost 8!!) she was a precious little flower girl, leading me down the aisle.

(Just because they were adorable too, here are my train carriers, who have also grown up way too fast!)

 Now, she is an amazing young woman of God. 

 That sort of makes me feel old. 

 But, at the same time, there are days I am so grateful that time is speeding by. Yesterday was the 1 month mark of Andy being gone. I hadn't been keeping track - trying not to torture myself that way - but Andy pointed out the date to me, and it was exciting. 

 One month down, five more to go. 

 Somehow, that makes it seem manageable. 

 Time is just, well, time. It ticks away, one second at a time. Steadily and consistently, no matter how we perceive it. 

 I have been doing a lot of waiting lately. Obviously, waiting for Andy. But also, waiting for our daughter. I want her to come home so very very badly. Her birthday is Sunday. She will be three, and she has no family to celebrate with her. 

 And my heart breaks. 

 I bought her a "Build a bear" lamb the other day. I am waiting for approval to send it to her. I just want her to know that we are waiting for her, anxiously. Eagerly. Not quite patiently.... but trying to remember these quotes. 

 

 "When God delays, He is not inactive. He is getting ready His instruments, He is ripening our powers; and at the appointed moment we shall arise equal to our task. Even Jesus of Nazareth was thirty years in privacy, growing in wisdom before He began His work." Dr. Jowett

 "God is never in a hurry, but spends years with those He expects to greatly use. He never thinks the days of preparation too long or too dull." Streams in the Desert

 I am reminding myself of that frequently lately. 

 God is still working on me, preparing me, making me into her mother. The mother that she needs. 

 I am eager for her to be here. But in the meantime, I will try to look at time as a gift. 

 Look at the amazing things that happen when time passes. Children grow up. People fall in love. Lives are created, and grow, then burst out and fill the world as more beautiful children. And the cycle begins again. 

 All things in HIS time. 

A self portrait day

 I mentioned recently that I have started following "Married to the Military". I promise I am not going to be copying her all the time (although this does make the second time this week!) but today the theme (and challenge) she had chosen TOTALLY fit in with the picture of the day. 

 It made me laugh, so I had to link to her. Just read her page, and laugh with me. 

 This was the pre-chosen picture of the day. 

My feet, in rainbow colored toe socks, which were bought (for Andy, by me) back in our Shorter College days. I love these socks. 

They are full of memories: good times at college, reminders of my pre-kid, more time to just be a hippie self. (not that I would change anything... just reminiscing!) Even the hole in the bottom of the toe gives me JOY. 

They are over 9 years old. How could I NOT love these socks?

The challenge called for a self-portrait. I think I post pictures of myself fairly often, and besides, pretty much everyone who reads my blog already knows me. So, I decided to go for something a little older, and definitely silly. 

Last time Andy was deployed (Iraq that time!) my sisters made me up all fancy. They dressed me in their "Marilyn Monroe" dress, and did my hair and makeup. My brother-in-law did a whole photo shoot one afternoon, with multiple "coaches" helping out. 

We tried to do the "spin and make the dress flair out" thing, like the movies and posters from the 50's. 

 This is pretty much my favorite picture of that - 

I don't think that modeling is my calling! 

Good thing that Andy already loves me!!