yuletide snippits

Christmas is over.

I'm filling out the beginning pages of my first baby book.

Discovery: sour cream makes every baked good taste better.

Pregnancy really does give a person some crazy mood swings.

Signing, "Love, Allison & Phil" on presents feels like a lie.

insecurities

Sometimes I think that I'm still in 8th grade. Where do I fit in all this? Am I good at things? Do people like me?

But God...

He answers all of those questions. I wish I could turn up the volume on Him sometimes.

lazyboy blues

As much as I would rather not admit it, I am homesick.

I was ready to prove my worth this year as a proud Army wife by staying out here, keeping busy, and growing into this independent, strong, persevering woman. And yet my quiet days now consist of watching HGTV, playing every version I can find of Solitaire on my computer, eating pasta and getting excited about how many days it has been since I haven't showered.

I understand all the counterpoints...I got pregnant, things are busy with the holidays, money has been tight and I'm usually somewhere on the exhausted spectrum. So I'm out doing things, yes, but when I come home I don't want to read Charles Dickens and make nutritious time-consuming meals while working on a project for a class I could be enrolled in.

I would much rather go home to Michigan and let other people do those things so I can live through them. Sigh.

I'm not disappointed with myself...well, not always...and I get all the reasons for why things are this way right now. But there's still a part of me that feels sad by my lack of gusto. And I am sad that I long for Michigan so much when I have a great life here: good friends, good church, good opportunities with youth ministry starting and my volunteer work at the AmeriCorps office. So on paper I have a lot to do here.

But Phil's not here. That's the kicker, my friends. It seems that all of my efforts to stay busy and productive are unvalidated because I can't come home and share with him. I barely get to tell him the big stuff as it is, let alone the joy I discovered in making a giant map for youth ministry (that's half true. I made a map for youth ministry but it wasn't filled so much with joy).

My friend brings up the quotation that having a spouse is having a witness of your life. It seems I'm witness-less. Who cares if I sign up for classes and read 3 books a week and make homemade dinners every night? I could do that, or I could lay around all day. It doesn't matter because no one is here to see it.

I know this is unhealthy to think this way, and I know that I live for the glory of Christ so even if I was unmarried and had no friends, I should still live in a way that is pleasing to God. I'm working on that. But I also understand that living here alone right now is not my healthiest choice and I'm more productive when I'm living with people. I have great friends here, yes, but they don't live with me to keep my accountable. In that sense, I know it's right to be in Michigan around people who are going to keep me honest, help me to grow, call me out on things and encourage me even in the middle of the night.

I'm on a slippery slope and I know it. I need a reboost! Michigan won't solve my problems but it might be a better environment for me to center more fully on Christ and His power rather than sitting in my lazyboy here and crying about how I miss home.

Maybe it's a cop-out, maybe I need to buck up a little more, maybe my faith needs to be stronger (well most definitely on that last one); but maybe the mitten that holds my family can give me the extra umph.

the tipping point

Well, I finally did it, and I'm wondering if doing it was the right thing to do, but it's done so what else can I do concerning it?

There's an intro for ya.

I hung out with my brother and sister-in-law the other night and on the half hour drive home on I-75, I was playing out some conversations in my head. This is often fun for me to do from time to time, and if you've never done it, a) you're clearly not psychologically sound like me and b) you should really try it. The conversation du jour (in my head) was Phil calling me from Afghanistan with news:

"Hey. I went to the enlistment office and well, I re-enlisted today. I got M6 school and I'm going to Texas when I get back. What do you think?"

Now normally at this point, the conversation would continue in my head, followed with movie-esque actions...me crouching down on the couch, holding my head, rocking back and forth, etc. But this conversation entered into the real world when all of a sudden I burst out crying in my mom's car barreling south on the interstate.

This, my friend(s), was the tipping point for me. For months when Phil and I would discuss re-enlisting, I would say, "Whatever God calls you to do, babe, we can do it. Even if that means signing up again, He'll take care of us and I'm okay with whatever you decide." This was true, mostly, and I believed it at the time.

And then? Then I got pregnant and saw this picture in an email I got on Veterans' Day.
In the car driving at midnight and crying over a fake conversation, I decided that I was not okay with him re-enlisting and I no longer wanted the life of an Army wife or a military family.

For months I was so proud that I was Army...if I wanted, I could have gotten one of those Army Wife stickers for my car. We were doing what so many people have done through the ages and continue to do this day. I loved my husband's job and how he excelled, and I loved that we were tough...made of steel...didn't get phased by people's "Ohhh, I'm so sorry," when they heard of our deployment. I'm so amazed by career military families who have children and multiple deployments, PCSes, TDYs, month-long trainings throughout the year, and I'm so proud I get to be apart of this culture.

And yet, I'm done. It's Phil's career, yes, but it's our marriage and we are bringing a child into this. I can't handle the idea of him watching our child(ren) grow up on a computer screen from thousands of miles away. I used to be afraid of the unknown of what was out there in the civilian world if we ever got out and in fear decided that staying in would be safer. Now I'm more afraid of what will happen to us if we stay in and that whatever challenges the outside world brings us I'll take it, as long as I have Phil by my side.

There are unknowns everywhere, and my biggest goal is to follow Christ and bring Him glory. If that means staying in the Army, then I'll stay and be faithful to my husband's calling (with a fight, of course). Yet if I'm listening correctly, I feel a huge pull on my heart to encourage Phil towards a different life, and I'd be lying to tell Phil that I was okay with whatever he decided.

He called and I told him that I wanted out and that I was praying God would unite our hearts so that we could be on the same page. I didn't give ultimatums...I told him I'd love him always no matter what and I'd follow him wherever he led (he laughed). I did, however, give him one request...

Don't make a decision until you hold your baby for the first time.

preggers = emotions

It's been a whirlwind of a week here in the Pacific Northwest. Mom flew in on the 14th and we've been gogogoing ever since. Well not really, but it feels like that. It's been so nice to have someone here to motivate me and help me get projects done and cross off things on my two page long to-do list, but it's amazing how overwhelmed, stressed out, and tired I get.

Sidenote...I'm eating yogurt right now because I know it's good for me, but I'm eating it at the pace of a 2 year old because it's grossing me out. At least it's not all over my face and I'm using a metal spoon rather than one wrapped in rubber.

To top our busyness off, I got frustrated with friends because I feel like I'm the only one available to come over whenever they need me to watch kids or run to the store for them or help them with errands. I love helping them out, don't get me wrong, and I know that with several husbands deployed and flocks of children everywhere, they need all the help they can get. And maybe it was just that my mom was here and I was busy already, but for a few days it seemed like someone was calling me everyday for help and I wanted to say, "What about me?? I need help to! No one calls me to check on me or see if I need anything!"

But lets refer back to the title of this post...emotions. All of this was underscored by the fact that I'm pregnant and hearing (not seeing) sappy commercials on the radio causes me to blubber. And of course people check in on me and offer help so it's not fair to say that NO ONE ever does, but during a week where I wanted to hang out with my mom and have her dote on me (which she did an excellent job of), I dreaded when the phone rang.

All of the "drama" during the day plus Phil still being gone (I know, he's still not back yet. Strange, I thought it would go by quicker than this) turned into nightly sob fests with your host, Allison. Tonight she will be featuring crying so hard her eyes swell up to golf balls and being so stuffed up she sounds like an old man when she sleeps. It usually starts off as me thinking about how Phil should be laying (lying? I don't feel like looking it up. English majors, sorry.) next to me and how I miss nuzzling on him. Then it will progress to how I want to tell him everything that mom and I got done and how great that feels. Next comes feeling badly because I feel great but he's not here to share in that, followed by, "What if we're growing apart? What if when he comes home he'll feel like everything changed and he won't like it and we become distant?" And then that usually escalates to, "Oh my gosh our poor baby is going to have parents that don't love each other because Mom didn't tell Dad when we got a new couch or sent pictures!"

Oh my.

I then remember the verse that says, "God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind," (2 Tim. 1:7) and I realize I have the complete opposite of a sound mind and I usually then start the sniffle prayers where I say two words, can't catch my breath because I'm crying, continue praying in my head and once I can breathe again, I'll get out a few more words. So it sounds more like, "And I pray....[sobsobsob]...and keep our hearts knit together and....[sobsobsob]...safe at his base...[sobsobsob]...June 24 come fast."

At least God knows.

It is getting better though. He finally is getting wireless internet on 1 December and I mailed him a webcam and a MagicJack with phone (plugs into your computer and you can call anywhere!) so soon we can talk whenever for however long without him having to go to MWR and wait in lines and having to get off because they called his name over a loud speaker to get off. We're coming to a place of hopefulness instead of anxious waiting and never sleeping because what if he calls and I miss it. I hope the webcam works because I'd do anything to see his face. Our conversations are so short now and we have to get all of the business covered...we don't have fun or joke or be silly like we usually are. I miss that...he used one of his voices the other night and I couldn't stop laughing because it was like I forgot about how marriage was fun instead and not just a business partnership.

Hope on the horizon...God is good. I'm reading a book by John Piper right now called Future Grace and he talks about how we live in the joy of the future grace God will give us, remembering his goodness in the past with gratitude. We don't owe God...we don't have to be good Christians just so that he'll still look down from above with favor...if we had to pay him back for grace, it isn't grace; it's a business transaction. So knowing that God will love me in the future just as much as He loves me now is huge! I don't have to earn or do anything to please Him - He's GOING to give grace because He loves us and killed His Son so that we might live in grace and freedom. It's helpful in thinking about that because I know God has given me grace with this deployment, is getting me through each day by His grace, and He's going to get me through it.

I get overwhelmed by the length of a year when it hasn't even been one month, and yet God doesn't tell me to look at a year; He tells me to look at today and be satisfied in Him. I don't want to wish away this year because I know He's got big plans for me. So one day at a time!

I'll end by saying Happy Thanksgiving and I hope you experience grace in a tangible way....and maybe without those pregnant emotions.

reactions

I told my parents I was pregnant and I got THE best reaction I could have hoped for...

Golden.

how quickly things can change

Where to begin!

The beginning, I suppose.

So Phil left on Sunday, November 1, after two unsuccessful attempts on both Friday and Saturday. It was nice to have him stay an extra day-ish, but my nerves were about to snap under the pressure of saying goodbye...3 times.

But lets back up a squich. Saturday the 31st Phil was home and we were able to catch up on a lot of things together, one of them being a pregnancy test that we thought was needed. I was feeling sick, hadn't started my period, and what the heck, why not? So I made him pick it out while I dropped 5 cans of soup in our grocery basket for my sick stomach.

I was nervous but honestly I didn't think I was pregnant. I had a lot going on, lots of stress with him deploying, and probably just had a bug or something. So I take the test...twice! And they were the line kind: one line means not preggers, two lines means uh-oh. I watched it develop like a polaroid picture from yester-year and one line was definitely dark, but faintly, like a shadow, was a second line. What did this mean? Asked Phil; "Take the other one," was his response. I did and same thing. What a conundrum - two lines but one much more accentuated than the other. His consensus? "You're not pregnant. Woohoo!"

So he left on Sunday and I was still feeling cruddy and started thinking about the idea of being pregnant. "I mean maybe, I could be, but then again..." or, "I'm sure it's just..." and so on. I called my mom and she said to go get blood work done, and on Monday morning I marched myself into the walk-in clinic to request, ever-so-quietly, "Yes, um, I would like to take, the ah, pregnancy test...?" I was waiting to get in trouble or have the receptionist say I wasn't allowed.

I went and got blood, all the while telling myself I'm not and to not get excited, and proceeded to my regularly scheduled allergy appointment. Went home and waited for three hours to pass so I could call the lab to get my results.

I called Amy to spazz out and have her talk me down, since obviously I wasn't pregnant and I needed to stop entertaining the thought. "Ok gotta go," I told her around noon, "I'm going to call now. Wish me luck."

Five minutes later, she picks up:
"Are you pregnant?"
"Yep."
"WHAT??"

And so begins my journey as a momma-to-be. They told me I was 4-6 weeks pregnant and I scheduled my intake appointment for the OB/GYN. I had to tell people just so that I wouldn't explode, so I emailed and called a few particulars, but it was killing me that I couldn't call Phil. I didn't want to tell my family until Thanksgiving for a fun surprise, but I just needed to tell Phil.

Well, and thank Jesus for this one, he called that night and I read him an email from Baby Sommerville:

I know that you and Mommy didn't think I was here, but unfortunately you're not so good at reading pregnancy tests. Mommy went to the doctor on Monday, Nov. 2 because she just couldn't shake the feeling that I was here, and sure enough the doctors told her I was permanently residing in her belly!

Maybe I'm a boy...maybe I'm a girl...but I'm yours and I'm so happy you're my Daddy.

Afterwards, it was silent on the phone and then, quietly and in a high-pitch voice, "We're pregnant? We're going to have a little baby?"

He teared up and I asked if he was excited to which he replied, "Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be we're going to have a little baby!" So much was taken off my shoulders to hear those two sentences.

So Phil and I are going to be parents and I feel so privileged and blessed that God chose us to bring a life into this world. I honestly have no idea when we conceived or how, and really, I think conception is an utter miracle to begin with, so He wanted us pregnant. And to think how hard and closed off our hearts were previously to having children and how He melted us. I'm SO excited to bring a little boy or girl into this world. I'm overwhelmed and bewildered by the logistics of things (how often do you need to bathe infants? will it know how much to eat automatically? how many blankets do you put on a baby when it sleeps?), and I feel totally inadequate to teach it about Jesus' love or be a good example of what that looks like, and yet, here we are.

I got a book yesterday in the mail that had actual photographs of babies in the womb at different weeks throughout pregnancy and the youngest one was 11 weeks. Man you could see the eyes, see its little spine, the arms and legs...incredible. And I got furious; furious that any woman could think that murdering that precious daughter was somehow more convenient or advanced the cause of womanhood. I saw my baby's blood pulsing through its body on an ultrasound: a 7 week, size-of-my-fingernail baby with blood circulating like a camera flash through its forming limbs and organs. Don't tell me that isn't life; don't tell me that it's just cells; don't tell me your excuses. It's life, beautiful and perfectly created by God.

Sidenote, but relevant.

My mom is coming on Saturday to stay for ten days, and she doesn't know yet since I told her the blood test was negative, but soon Dad and her will know when they get a package containing a onesie that says, "Can't wait to meet you Grandma and Grandpa! See you June 24!" I put on the package they had to open it together and they had to do it on Skype so I could see them. It's been the hardest thing to tell everyone but my MOM and have her ask about decorating my second bedroom in the apartment when all I want to say is, "We have to decorate it with animals and polka dots and soft things!" Longest two days of mailing time, ever.

This post is getting to the ridiculously long category, and I have so many more thoughts and emotions and responses to my peanut in my belly, but this will do. What a wonder, what a miracle, what an honor.

Thank you, Father God, for giving us this gift.

Holy crap. I'm going to be a momma.

joys.

I'm attempting to be proactive in looking at evidences of God's graces in my life. The first thing that came to mind was throwing in some pictures to show the joys in my life.

This is my little family doing what we do best...lounging on our terribly uncomfortable futon and making our kitten, Lander, love us when she would rather run away from us. I've finally learned contentment in our nightly routine of watching TV and getting in those sneaky kisses and getting Lander to attack things we throw across the room.

Here is Lander's debut as model kitten. Here is the skinny on our kitty. So I had this dream a few weeks back about our children. We had two boys, one about three and one about 6 months. They were ADORABLE....blond hair, blue eyes...pudgy little cheekies...but Phil and I didn't know what to do with them. I remember leaning over to him and whispering, "I know I'm supposed to have that maternal love thing, but I don't quite...love...them." The whole dream was us staring at them and them staring at us, no one being sure of what to do. We would take our kids to people's houses and set them down in the middle of the room and slowly back away.

Ok so the older boy's name in my dream was Lander, and I woke up saying, "What kind of name is Lander?! No wonder I didn't love him very much." We picked our cat out from the store and on the way home, we were going back and forth on what to name her. We really wanted a name from Arrested Development, but none of the girls' names fit so Phil suggested Lander.

"That way," he explained to me, "if we don't really love the cat, it'll be like our test child."

So thus, Lander.

I didn't know if I would be a pet person, but I knew a cat would be good company while Phil was gone. But holy toledo I'm in LOVE with this cat! I have 50 pictures in her own file on my computer, Phil and I refer to one another now as Mommy and Daddy, we talk constantly to it in a little Lander voice, and let her snuggle up with us in bed...on our pillow.

"Mother, there was a BIRD on my pillow."
(Sorry I couldn't help it.)

She's a huge joy and I'm loving my 2-pound wonder.

Next up!

Oh boy. Here's my issue with deployment. It's not that I'm afraid of doing things solo, or nervous about waking up to a cat, or scared of the idea of 12 months. No no no...I'm good with all of that. I'm actually excited about my list of things I'm going to do while he's gone and adventures I will take. But my issue is this picture. Who is going to make me laugh to the point of keeling over and almost piddling my pants? (okay it's happened, like once...or twice) He brings so much happiness to me with his voices, his dance routines before bed, his ability to quote any movie at any time.

We have our inside jokes, our rituals, our meals...and he brings joy to all of those things. I'm fully prepared to create my own patterns while he's away and those will be fun, in their own right (cereal for dinner while watching Gilmore Girls? heck yes). I will definitely miss him and high kicks.

So...here's to my joys. I've had the privilege to savor them for 7 months and I'm excited to see how God graces me in the next 12 months. He leaves on Thursday night...3 days!

AWK < >

It's less than two weeks before my hubby is shipped off, and I've entered into a new phase I'd like to call the awkward phase.

Phil comes home everyday and we get the evenings together as well as the weekends. Plenty of time to snuggle on the couch watching CSI, go grocery shopping together, take excursions to pumpkin patches, make dinners...in other words, he's still here and we still have time to make memories and use our time together well.

And yet, and I don't know if this is a survival mindset or a quirk, it seems like he's already left. Or that I'm telling myself he's gone and it's now time to hunker down and do the independent thing. He'll come home from work and we talk about our days, eat, and watch TV in near-silence. Then bed. Shouldn't we be making the most of every moment? Snapping pictures, recording videos, taking walks to talk about loose ends?

On the other hand, I've been preparing myself for him to leave for a good 6+ months. In the past two, I've diligently been preparing for his departure. I've called USAA to get insurances switched, power of attorneys, simple wills made. I've saved forms on my computer to fill out if you want a flag-folding ceremony at the funeral. I have contact numbers, names of commanders and FRG info if I need to contact someone. I have purged, sorted, organized and condensed all of our possessions in case I need to move in a hurry. I've done it all (I hope) and now I'm just sitting, looking for others things to prepare and knowing I'm devoid of all control.

I am at the crossroad I've found myself at a million times before: wanting control over everything I possibly can and yet listening to God whispering, "Stop. Breathe. Follow Me."
I know He is in this trial and that though He won't get me out of certain circumstances, He gets me through them. I know that. But I don't understand what goes through my head..."Hey, big guy, so...I know you've got everything under control, but...what if I just did this. Oh and this. And maybe that, too." Only to realize I'm causing more pain to myself than relief, and I get in the way of myself rather than letting God do what He does best...love me.

And to round all of that off, I've retreated inside of myself and have already begun numbing myself to certain things, like the joy I used to have when Phil walked through the door. Obviously I'm still thrilled to see him, but now there's this twinge of sadness as I tell myself that I won't be hearing the key turning in the lock for a long time. I don't want these remaining days together to be mere routine, but I don't want to open myself up so completely that it becomes even harder to say goodbye.

Awkward. Sometimes I feel awkward around Phil, or that dinners are awkward as we small talk random things, or interactions with friends are awkward because we'd rather be at home watching TV and not discussing what we're feeling about the deployment. I don't want to tell myself that what I'm feeling right now is right or wrong...there's no need to label it as such...it is what it is.

I will, however, be relieved to start counting down the days to when he comes home rather than the days to when he leaves.

It's fall...how can I be sad?

Life feels heavy these days and I've decided it doesn't need to feel that way.

So for evidences of God's grace in the day to day, here's what I've got:

The boy in 2nd grade, the one who's going to be so cute when he's older, doing the robot dance for me today on cue.

Eating potato chowder soup with Sarah and venting how we hate Army.

Picking leaves off a tree today in the QFC parking lot while employees on break wondered what the girl in skinny jeans and brown boots was doing in the bushes.

Looking out at my maroon, yellow, fuchsia and marigold mums on my patio each day and getting warm inside.

Recording all of Phil's accents and dialects on my note-to-self so I can replay them when I miss him. My favorite is the overly-cautious old lady.

Putting on my new bright green sweater cardigan. I love sweater weather.

Hearing Corrie's daughter talk in her 2 year old smoker voice.

Listening to the lyrics, I'm just not strong enough...I can't do this alone, God I need you to hold on to me...

Waking up and thinking I'm doing this, I'm going to do this, and I'm going to be just fine.

32 Days

Phil and I got back on Sunday from a two-week block leave where we went to Kaua'i, Hawaii, for a week for our honeymoon and then went to Michigan for my brother's wedding. It was lazy, sandy, sweaty, tiring, tearful, and altogether refreshing.

When we got off the plane in the small Lihue airport on September 14, both of our phones had messages from a few friends that read, "Call me as soon as you can." I called and learned that our friend Andrew, who was deployed in late July to Afghanistan on a Stryker unit, was killed by an IED.

He was married to his wife, Sarah, since Decemeber 2008 and they were expecting their first child. As the gravity of what had happened sunk in, all I could think about was that baby being born in February without a daddy and yet resembling him to the T. We had just had lunch with Sarah the day before we left for Hawaii and were talking about Andrew and his similarities with Phil, the funny quirks he had, the way he teared up when Sarah told him about the latest ultrasound.

And then? Gone. Never coming home.

Sarah had been my support in preparing for deployment. We were both new to the military, freshly married, and facing deployment quickly. I watched her as she said goodbye to Andrew and talked with her in the following weeks. She was doing good, staying busy, always smiling, and I thought, "Yeah, I can do this. Look, Sarah's fine." In fact a week before my honeymoon, her and I spent a day together and we were talking about getting to that point where you're ready for the husband to go...you're ready to start the separation to get it over with...you're ready to stop crying and being mopey.

Phil and I sat in a daze in baggage claim, me crying into a sweatshirt and his eyes glazing over, as all around us newlyweds and couples were laughing, flipping through Kaua'i travel books, giving each other lazy kisses as they knew what a great trip was ahead of them. And suddenly, I was scared. I was scared to let Phil go, to be by myself, to say goodbye.

"I can't do this. I don't want to do this. He won't come back. Look what happened to Sarah. And a baby at that. No, God you can't let this happen. Phil can't go."

My tears over the previous months had hardened me up and prepared me for what was ahead. I was ready. And sitting on a kola bench in the warm evening sun outside the airport, I was back to square one: I was a teary, blubbering, sniffling wreck.

I had many more opportunities of crying throughout the week as I received details on his funeral, how Sarah was holding up, links to newspaper articles written about him. Phil and I prayed for the family, reminisced on Andrew's character, discussed what would be ahead for Sarah. We came home the following Monday, late, and were able to attend the funeral service on Tuesday before we headed for Michigan on Wednesday. It was a beautiful ceremony and showed Andrew's personality, commitment, love for Jesus, and dedication to his country. Phil and I wept with other friends and family and found some healing in that Andrew left a legacy for his child and his wife to remember.

And then on to Michigan we flew. It was busy for others but lazy for us as we slept in until noon everyday and ate the stockpiles of food Mom always keeps on hand. On Saturday after the wedding, we had a get-together with Mireks and Sommervilles to hang out and inevitably, Phil's mom wanted to pray for Phil and I in the big circle.

I know I shouldn't be bothered by corporate prayer, and that obviously prayer is a good thing, but it was awkward having Brad and Melissa there, joyful and thinking about their upcoming honeymoon, to pause and pray for us. But we prayed and as various people spoke, I realized how foreign my life is to them now. I found myself almost resenting their prayers because the tiny voice in my head was saying, "I don't need this. I have my church family in Washington and I have Jesus there too. I don't need your tears and hugs right now. I'm going to be fine." Which, I'm pretty sure is not the right attitude to have while praying, but alas, there it was.

So now, not only am I fearful again of Phil deploying, I'm worried about my family swooping in on me, assuming I'm going to need to come home every other week, cry on their shoulder, send care packages to Phil once a day and lie in a comotose state for a year. I know I'm a stubborn little I-DO-IT girl who's grown into a woman, but them saying, "We're here for you...call us anytime...we'll pay for your plane tickets to come home...you don't have to do this alone," is making me NOT want to do any of those things...just to prove to them I'm strong.

In writing this, I know I'm a contradiction. I'm scared out of my mind, feeling alone and like I can't do this, and yet unwilling to take my family up on their offers of support. Where do I get that go it alone thing? How does one develop that? My first phrase as a toddler was, "I do it," but how did I get that way? And why is it still here, lurking around the corners of events and taunting me into being miserable and not trust God?

I know this upcoming year is going to be challenging on many levels, and yet I can't help but think that God's work on me is going to be more difficult than Phil being gone for a year.

I'm praying for balance in all things...
that I can balance being realistic of what could happen to Phil and also of taking one day at a time...
that I tough things out on my own in order to be strong and also receive the love my family wants to give...
that I remember those who have passed and those who are going to pass and also celebrate the moments I have with each person.

This is it...the final month. I'm gearing myself back up for October 31 and trusting that God will walk me through it. I'm praying for joy in embracing each day and not cry-snotting all over my pillow.

Ready or not, here it comes.

yes, yes i am alice in wonderland

Except it's more like wanderland...most days I seem to wander from thought to thought...from impulse to impulse...from pursuit to pursuit. Some days I'm very proud of who I am and the woman I've grown into, and other days I feel unnecessary, insignificant...like the squashed giant mosquito in my shower stall right now.

I'm attempting to find my niche in creativity. I used to be a creative writer...not a very good one...but still, I claimed the title and it's written on an official document somewhere in a box around here.

Then I was a hope builder and a seed planter...the common AmeriCorps motto. I worked with struggling students in elementary schools and even though I barely had time to gather my thoughts after work each day, I was doing the tough work...the labor of love...the empowering stuff. I was a martyr for national service.

And now? Pff...a housewife, and an ARMY one at that. I can honestly say I would have never dreamed my life would be intertwined with the military. And yet, here I am, facing my husband's deployment and wondering if I have what it takes. Will I get that calloused smirk like women who sling three or four kids and are on their third deployment?

"Oh honey, come talk to me. I'm used to this stuff. And you'll get used to it too. It's hard, but you get over it."

Or the down-turned eyes and the bunching of the lips from those who are doing their best to empathize.

"Are you moving back home? How are you going to handle that? I could never do what you're doing. I just can't even imagine."

Okay so it's established that I've changed a lot...that I'm nowhere near who I was in my creative college days. I'm a housewife who exercises on TV each day, checks the bank balance every morning, buys corn bread from the dollar store, makes my husband's turkey-sandwich-with-mayo-and-dijon-mustard-potato-chips-granola-bar-and-fruit-of-some-variety lunch everyday around 8pm, and browses KitchenKraft and Etsy to fill the dead hours of 1-3pm.

And here is my predicament: I miss my creative. I miss that quiet time scribbling and scratching words late at night...times when I had to keep pen and paper near my bed in case the inspiration fairy came to visit while I was sleeping. Times when characters, voices, ideas and phrases popped into my head (although, in hindsight, is that something I really want now...?). Times when I gather corporately with people not to worship the Creator above but the creator within each of us (and drinking cheap wine, of course).

I'm not in that place anymore, and I don't want to be, but where is the creative in what I do now, other than getting creative with making various types of chicken dinners?