Our Journey #5: Being Real, and Having a Baby

While I worked hard to have a good attitude and gratitude, I had many days where I felt very done with it all. It became increasingly difficult to look on the bright side. As my belly grew, I began more and more to "look forward" to having my son without my husband by my side. While soldiers are permitted to go home for life-threatening emergencies, children's births are unpredictable and most soldiers aren't able to make it home. I started to get a little panicky at the prospect of having a child alone. Yes, my mom and other family members were there, but it wasn't the same.

The birth of our daughter was fairly traumatic. Preeclampsia hit me very hard and very quickly, and I had to be induced a month early. Braden was such a rock during that time. He was my support, advocate, and protector. I didn't know how I would manage having our son without Braden there. My patience wore out the closer it got to my due date, and my sweet family had to put up with the wrath of witch-woman more than once.

I again developed preeclampsia, but this time we were watching for it. Since we caught it early enough, I was put on bed rest and didn't have to be induced as early as with our daughter. I don't know how I would have survived without being able to live with my family. My 19-month-old daughter was such a whirlwind, and she was kept busy and out of my way by my wonderful family so I could rest and care for her little brother and myself. But still, I was so frustrated I had to deal with this while the other half of my heart was in Iraq.

I've learned, however, that hardships are frequently blessings in disguise, and my sickness ended up being one of the greatest blessings of my life. We discovered that preeclampsia was considered life-threatening, so the Red Cross would fly Braden home and he would be able to be there for the birth!

I cried and prayed and gushed gratitude to my Heavenly Father for this miracle, and on August 13, 2005, after a five-day journey, Braden was home. Very soon after, our baby boy came into the world to meet his daddy, mommy and big sister all together, as it was meant to be.

Counting Blessings

It's been a tough month for Braden and so it's been a tough month for all of us. Braden's unit was deployed to Iraq last week and he took it hard. Very hard. For those of you who don't know, being in a unit is like being in a huge family of brothers (sometimes including sisters, but for Braden, it's brothers). They work together, sweat together, eat together, and learn to function as one literal unit, each soldier performing his task with precision, knowing his own skill and training will eventually be called upon to save the lives of others, possibly his brothers'.

But Braden did not go to Iraq. He was injured on their last deployment and is still awaiting a medical board to determine his future with the National Guard. He also started summer school the same week, which is daunting all by itself for him. He's not a school person.

Things got to be so intensely stressful for him emotionally, that he experienced seizure-like symptoms. He'd had this once before, during similarly trying times, so I knew what was coming, but it didn't make it much easier to watch or experience. Sometimes he jerks and twitches in his sleep when he is having night terrors, but this time the twitching and jerking increased, until he cried out, his body went rigid, and he stopped breathing.

I counted the seconds--they told me last time that if it lasted longer than three minutes to call 911. Who could sit there for three minutes, just counting? But I counted. Thankfully, I had to endure only 15 seconds of watching my husband tremble stiffly on the bed, his hunds curled on his chest and drool seeping from his mouth. Then his body relaxed and he breathed in grating gasps until finally, his breath eased into a steady rhythm and he woke up. It took him a couple of hours to return to normal (for lack of a better word) but he eventually could speak clearly and his pupils contracted back to a regular size.

But that is over, now. It will probably happen again, and it will probably be hard again. But today I count my blessings. I am grateful that he is home with me, while so many husbands and fathers have to be away from home, fighting for our freedom. I am grateful for the progress he has made and the determination he has to continue fighting for his own freedom from his physical and emotional injuries, now that his calling to his country has passed.

I am grateful that we spent today at the lake, basking in the sunshine and splashing with our children and loving this time we have together. Life never ceases to amaze me, with all its twists and turns, dips and climbs. But then I sit back and watch my children run into the waves, laughing as if life could not be better and I realize that it's true. For us, life could not be more perfect than it is right now. Where we are and what we experience is not by accident. Though times can get unbearably tough and sometimes I'm not sure how we'll get through--today, right now, I'm eternally grateful and happy to be a soldier's wife.

I like old people. Especially the cranky ones. Not the sixty-something retired's that think the world owes them something for making the world what it is today (not that that's much to brag about) but the seventy and eighty year olds who are cranky because they're tired of pretending to care about what people think of them. (I know many sixty-something's who are wonderful people and I love them, too, but you know what I mean.)

I love how old people say what they want to say without worrying if it's politically correct or offensive, and how they don't get in trouble for it. I love the white-haired, wrinkled, fragile spitfires who love to laugh because they've figured out the only thing that really matters in life is being happy with who you are, where you are, in every moment. I love when they don't mind when they get called old, but actually seem a little bit proud of the title.

I love the look old people get when they're tired of talking, tired of laughing, tired of living. How they gaze off into the distance, remembering, re-living, and looking forward to the next step, the next level of their existence to whisper them away.When they get that look, I want to know all the secrets they've learned, the ones that people can't tell but have to learn from living life. The secrets about the wisdom that only comes from years and years of happiness and laughter and pain and heartache.

One of my favorite sights is of an old, wrinkled man holding a new-born baby as they stare into each others eyes, whispering those secrets that only those fresh from heaven or near to returning can know.

I hear people complaining about their wrinkles and weak knees and discuss their failing bowels. I watch Hollywood stretch and scar their signs of age away, and I understand the desire to remain youthful and energetic, but I hope that I never succumb to the vanity that robs my age of the wisdom of living. I hope that I can see my face wrinkle, watch my body sag, and be able to smile as my eyes fill with memories of a life well-lived and a mind sharpened by the wisdom of years.

The Empty Manger

A few years ago, my friend gave me a manger scene for Christmas. Each piece was individually wrapped and placed in a bag with a number on it, to be opened in sequence. On each bag was written a line from “The Nativity Song” in the Primary Children’s Songbook that coincided with its contents. Every year, this is the part of the countdown my children and I look forward to most.

We sing “The Nativity Song” and unwrap one bag each day, then place the piece in the stable. Every year, the cattle, oxen, shepherds, wise men, Joseph and Mary gather around the empty manger, waiting expectantly for the Christ child. I study this scene each year and wonder what would have happened if the manger stayed empty? I look at the small manger with its swaddling clothes lying bare on the straw, with no Christ child for it to cradle, and I rejoice each year as we unwrap the baby Jesus and place him gently in his place.

It is fitting that he is wrapped as if a gift, and that he is the last and most important piece of the scene, perfectly completing the peaceful picture. How empty would our lives be if his place in the manger had remained unfilled? A meaningless, cruel world would fill his spot in our hearts. Instead of that powerful source of hope and comfort, our mangers would be filled with sorrow and hopelessness. My heart is filled with gladness and gratitude that he chose to come to earth and fill that empty manger with his message of love and peace. May we all take a few moments each day this month to feel gratitude that the manger did not remain empty.

“See the dear baby, of Bethlehem, Little Lord Jesus, the Savior of men!”

God Bless America

Happy Independence Day everyone. This year our Independence Day overlaps with a family reunion, so the day hasn't gotten quite the individual attention that it usually does for us, but we still managed to take some time and reflect on why we celebrate this magnificent day in our country's history.

My children constantly ask me to tell them stories. Quite a while ago the old fairy tales got boring and my brain ran out of anything imaginative, so I started to tell them about history. Those are now their favorite kind of stories to hear. Every year I retell them all I know about the founding of our country, which isn't as much as it should be, but it's enough to let them know how grateful we should be to live in this free land.

Through my telling of these stories, I remind myself of all those who created this one nation, under God. I imagine our founding fathers look down on us all and weep over what we have done with the great gift of a democratic government they gave us. It is crumbling beneath our feet. Our life, liberty and pursuits of happiness have led us to greed and corruption. Granted, there are a few honest politicians who work to truly serve the people, but they are few and far between. The reason for all this is simple: we are forgetting God, who is the true founder of our nation. Whatever form God may take for people--a Higher Power, a Mother Nature, an Allah, a Buddha--He is being replaced by the cry of selfishness and immorality.

Those prosperous years that followed September 11th were caused by an upswing in the economy, yes, but mostly by a return of the people to faith, to love, and to unity. That feeling has fallen away already. How quick we are to forget.

But I am still grateful to live in this free land and I will strive to keep my loved ones close, no matter how the world around me crumbles away. I know that as we strive to love and serve one another, we will make it through whatever lies before us and emerge a better, happier people for it. As long as we remember the one who is greater than us all.

God Bless America!

Muchness

Life is so very fascinating. That's a perfect word to describe the ups and downs and topsy turvyness of it all. For a while I got stuck inside my own head. It was so very crowded in there, to borrow a term from Tim Burton's Alice In Wonderland.

I love that movie. Aside from the fantastic visual effects, the dialogue and theme of the film appealed greatly to me. Everyone in that world is mad, crazy, bonkers. Even the "sane" people are insane. I could relate to every character in that movie for that very reason: I am crazy, too. But, don't you know, all the best people are. :)

Who wants to be "normal" (if there is such a thing) anyway? I enjoy my craziness, my insanity. What would my life be without it? I'd make no progress, be thoroughly dull, and who--I ask you, who--would dare play rarfuldunkflijjerbob with my kids? No one. They would be rarfuldunkflijjerbobless. So I'll take may insanity and keep it, too, thank you very much.

It's who I be.

Remembering

Lately, I've been relearning a lot of things. As life gets "easier" and I let my guard down, things seem to creep in, slowly, sneakily. Cetain things, certain "triggers" I instantly react to, and the red flag flies high. I immediately raise my defenses to those triggers and am determined never to take those bullets again. But other things, seemingly smaller things, I let in, bit by bit, until I start to lose my grip and have to regain my focus before I even really know it's gone.

It can be tricky, this balancing act I perform. But it doesn't have to be. That's the frustrating thing. I know what to do to stay focused, to keep my priorities straight. Shockingly, though, I'm imperfect and naturally quite lazy. It's so much easier to watch a movie with the kids than go to my support meetings. After all, my kids "need" me. Ah, but I am a better mother and wife when I take care of myself. It's so much easier to just cater to my family than to deny them any want, even though it takes more out of me than I have to give.

I already know what I need to do and how to do it. Honestly, it's as simple as going to bed at a decent hour and making sure I get my vegetables each day. I make sure it happens for the kids, but, for some reason, it's so much harder to make it happen for myself.

And that train of thought lets me know that it's time to get back on track, to re-start, to make changes--again. It's a good thing, though. It's good to remember being better and being worse, to appreciate how far I've come--how far my family has come--and to understand how much farther we have the opportunity to go.

Most of all I am ever grateful to know what strength lies behind me, before me, within me, and that I can simply call on Him, let Him in, and He will make me what He needs me to be.

All I need do is remember.