Thanks for Stopping By!
Bruce
On an icy Alaska road, I made my daughter a promise: I’d find her a horse. What we didn’t know was that choosing Bruce would ask more of us than we ever expected, and that loving him would mean choosing him again, and again, and again.
Second Breath
I dug my toes into the sand, arms wrapped around my knees, and the sun beating down on my shoulders. It was an unusually warm day on the Oregon coast. I’d come prepared for rain clouds and overcast skies. Instead, I found three perfect weather days.
Belonging
A warm mug. An open bible. A toy room for our kids to dismantle while we talked. A hike on a cool evening. An invitation to coffee. Saving me a seat. Adding extra dinner plates to their table. Sharing snacks. Telling stories.
A good friend can change everything.
Tremendous
Deliberately choosing to trust and release any relationship hurts; it can leave wounds that scar but rarely fully heal. I buried my first husband knowing that memories, tears, and loneliness were all I had to carry in my pail in that moment. I walked away from a 30+ year friendship because our values and life choices grew into toxic opposition. Those memories, the good and bad? Into my pail they went.
Later…
One thing I believe the military community does better than most is creating space for deep, deep connections. Many of those connections—while profound for a season—fade away after the military tells us our time is up at a duty station and the moving trucks take our belongings to a new address, to a place for new connections.
Still, a handful of those deep connections turn into relationships that last a lifetime. Not many people truly understand what we go through unless they’ve lived it. It is that shared experience that bonds us together.
Fragile
There is a strange, orderly peace in the “Cardboard Soldiers” that flank our rooms—box upon box, waiting for the next mission. They are protected, taped, and labeled, ready to be transported to a new home. But as I prepare for this 18th move, I find myself wishing someone would wrap me in bubble wrap and gray paper, too. I’m tired of the open tabs in my brain and the crushing weight of anxiety that no one is packing away for me. This is a reflection on the trauma of the final move, the “fragile” feeling of starting over, and the desperate, honest wish to simply be still.