Lost in the Jungle

Relevant.com has quickly become one of my favorite Christian news/entertainment outlets. Their stories are yes, relevant, thought-provoking and they don't steer away from the sensitive issues most Christian organizations would rather just not talk about. Sex, Homosexuality, Depression, Abuse, Faith Issues, Complacency, Hypocrisy, etc etc etc. It is there, and it is real and raw.

Hitting home today is a blog entitled "Breaking Out of Our Cages."

Most of us would say we want the kind of life that is filled with passion, novelty, faith, vibrancy, anticipation and depth. Does that describe your life? I wish it described mine. The truth is that these characteristics describe an undomesticated existence, one that requires constant risk and an ability to survive in the wild.

The wild is where God is walking. The front yard is where most of us are staying.

One of the annoying things about living in the wild is that we have no idea what is going to happen next. The word “annoying” doesn’t really describe the feeling … it’s more like exhausting. Sure it’s exciting at first. But after a while it gets really hard trying to plan a life where plans are not part of the plan. The problem is that humanity has a deep need to create some sense of stability in this chaotic universe we have been thrown in to, yet, at the same time, we have an even deeper need to surrender control to the God who threw us here.

We are at war within ourselves between control and surrender, captivity and the wild.

This is me.

I am in the wild right now . . . but its not what i thought it would be. Security for me would be career success. Security would be career movement. Security would be knowing what is next. I don't. So, for me, for yet another day, I feel like I'm in the jungle. I believe God has us to live in the wild as it pertains to trusting in him for direction and guidance. This blog states, "We were born for the jungle. We live to build our own cages."

Cages don't seem enticing, rewarding or satisfying. But I feel like in a cage, i'd at least know where I was. I would know what to plan for. I would know what was expected. I would know what to do. If the wild is where i'm supposed to be, why do I feel so lost? The wild is an adventure yes, but it is also painful and frustrating and heart-wrenching. The wild for me is simply being completely helpless. The wild for me is not understanding "the plan"....not understanding why God won't lead me somewhere...anywhere ... I am wandering in this wild jungle because I believe with my whole heart God's will is what I want. But the wild isn't always the place we romanticize about. It isn't always the rush of adventure or the thrill of the unknown. The wild is a lonely, desolate place.

Religious Test Gives Us an "F"

Basic Religion Test Stumps Many Americans
The New York Times

When it comes to religion, most Americans are deeply ignorant. So says the new poll from the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life. Sadly, it's not that surprising to me. We are a "religious" people. Many of us would say we are "spiritual." We go to church or some other form of weekly gathering. We worship, fellowship, get "filled up" and then go on our merry way. But are we so caught up in practicing our faith we forget the fundamentals about The Bible, about Jesus, about other religions? How are we ever supposed to intelligently speak to someone about the differences in what we believe if a question about Ramadan leaves us perplexed or the only Joseph Smith we can remember is our favorite teller at the bank?

I am definitely not advocating a departure from the intimate, personal faith walk to a cold fact and figure based knowledge that could rival the Pharisees. I think it is concerning however, that we could say we are a religious people and not know or remember who the father of the Protestant Reformation was. How are we to understand what it means to be Christian, understand our own faith walk, understand the heart and power of our Heavenly Father if we don't understand how deeply intertwined faith and history are? To know where we are going, we have to understand where we have come -- as a religion, as a race, as a country.

Not only did the New York Times article on this poll report that most people could answer only half the questions correctly (and most flubbed up questions on their own faith), but those who scored the highest were atheists and agnostics. This excerpt from the NY Times article makes me cringe . . .

That finding might surprise some, but not Dave Silverman, president of American Atheists, an advocacy group for nonbelievers that was founded by Madalyn Murray O’Hair.

“I have heard many times that atheists know more about religion than religious people,” Mr. Silverman said. “Atheism is an effect of that knowledge, not a lack of knowledge. I gave a Bible to my daughter. That’s how you make atheists.”

"Atheism is an effect of that knowledge [religious knowledge], not a lack" . . . Silverman says. And like a slap in the face to Christianity, the way to make an Atheist? Give them a Bible. I don't pretend to understand the heart of one who says there is no God when all around them are the imaginative Creator's fingerprints. I do believe though, that the Bible holds the key to Truth - whether one accepts it or not. As Christians, we believe the Bible to be the definitive Word of God. As we know and study it, our eyes are opened and our heart is softened. Our obligation is to know the Bible, to study it, to hide its words in our hearts. Why? To use it - to use it against the lies and deceit of the enemy who says there is no God. It is not only the Bible, though, that enables us to put into words our faith in a personal Savior. What was it about the Roman Catholic faith that Martin Luther found ultimately empty? What was his soul yearning for that couldn't be satisfied with works or penance or tradition? History and a knowledge about how religion has played a part can and should be our teacher too.

Modern Christianity vilifies the term "religious" in favor of "spiritual" or "Christ-follower." Have we thrown the baby out with the bathwater? Isn't it our obligation as "Christ-followers" to know and understand "religion" too?

Country First

"Our obligations to our country never cease but with our lives."
- John Adams

Reading the 700+ page biography, John Adams, by David McCullough, has caused me both consternation and incredible awe over a man, or rather a couple, that aught to be revered more. Yes, he was the second president of the United States and yes, he was an influential founding father. Beyond these two vague and loosely thrown around terms, however, stands a man whose devotion to his country bordered on the superhuman. In an age where travel was limited to mainly horse or boat, Adams journeyed more than 29,000 miles in the service of his country. He crossed the Atlantic four times, traveled thousands of miles in France, Spain, the Netherlands, and England and spent nearly 10 consecutive years away from his beloved homeland in the quest for securing peace, prosperity and independence for the brand new United States of America. That his dedication was perhaps one of the most driving forces behind the fledgling America's bid for freedom and independence is a fact few would argue. It was his devotion, though, in the face of all odds and at the price of long separations from his "dearest friend" Abigail that I doubt many today fully appreciate.

I hear myself complaining about what is asked of my husband (and us as a couple) by the military way more than I am proud to admit. The incredible intensity, focus, and time this latest six-month training program has demanded of Bo has had me at my wits end more than once as I struggle to give him the space he needs and the freedom to put "us" totally on the back burner. Every success he's had in this program and every hurdle he's jumped has been a victory for both of us, and I have really really tried - in both word and deed - to support him unconditionally. I have to admit, though, my brave face has seen its share of ups and downs, and I'm afraid the "strong, independent" woman Bo thought he married has become an emotional, needy basket case on more than one occasion.

It is during these past few months that I have read about Abigail Adams and can't help but feel ashamed of my own weakness and more than a little baffled at her fortitude of spirit and support of her husband in the face of incredible personal sacrifice. Theirs was a match of equal intellects and passions. John described their connection as "steel to a magnet" and for the entirety of their long marriage would rely upon her for not only encouragement, but her advice and opinions on the large looming matters of the day - the American Revolution and subsequent forming of a republic. Abigail understood and loved her husband all the more for his inability to stay quiet on such matters or stay home when there was so much work to be done.

"You cannot be, I know, nor do I wish to see you, an inactive spectator . . . We have too many high sounding words, and too few actions that correspond with them," she wrote.

She also saw, as did her husband, the need to completely break away from England even when many continued to hope for peaceful compromise with the mother country. She wrote to John while he was in Philadelphia at the Continental Congress, "A people may let a King fall, yet still remain a people, but if a King let his people slip from him, he is no longer a King. And as this is most certainly our case, why not proclaim to the world in decisive terms our own importance?"

"I think you shine as a stateswoman," he responded proudly, calling her his "choicest blessing." Although apart for years at a time, their correspondence leaves little doubt as to how much they relied on each other and respected each other.

Abigail and John's time apart was frequent and always uncertain in length. Once, home from the Continental Congress for just a few short months, Adams left again, this time leaving Abigail pregnant. He was gone nearly a year this time as Abigail went through her entire pregnancy and delivered a still-born baby girl with only his frequent letters to give her strength. She bravely wrote to tell him the news, adding, "Tis almost 14 years since we were united, but not more than half that time we had the happiness of living together. The unfeeling world may consider it in what light they please, I consider it a sacrifice to my country and one of my greatest misfortunes." News of his appointment as Commissioner to France came just weeks after arriving back home. Neither Abigail nor John hesitated in his acceptance of the appointment-- it would be a year and half before they saw each other again. Abigail wrote to her sister, "Known only to my own heart is the sacrifice I have made and the conflict it has cost me." After his return, Adams would be called to serve as diplomat in Europe again the following year, this time he wouldn't see Abigail for over three years.

From lawyer and outspoken patriot to delegate to the First Continental Congress to American diplomat, Adams was instrumental in crafting the final drafts of the Declaration of Independence. He wrote the Massachusetts Constitution - one of the greatest, enduring documents of the American Revolution to this day - established the first foreign legation, was the first signer of the Treaty of Paris ending the Revolutionary War, and appeared before the King of England as the first minister of the new United States of America.

David McCullough writes, "Few Americans ever achieved so much of such value and consequence to their country in so little time. Above all, with his sense of urgency and unrelenting drive, Adams made the Declaration of Independence happen when it did. Had it come later, the course of events could have gone very differently." Some of Adams greatest victories however came in the annals of American diplomacy through his profound and successful work in bringing to the world stage the new and independent United States of America.

Both Abigail and John Adams recognized they lived in monumental times. Their country needed them and it was never a question that they would rise to the occasion and do all they humanely could for the love and sake of that one truest of all ideals - freedom. Their willingness to sacrifice and their passionate drive to build a better country are attributes we all could use to imitate more profoundly. I don't have either spirit or strength equal to that of Abigail Adams, but I do know that Bo and my calling to serve this country we love is infinitely greater than the little sacrifice required. Even in my weakest moments I can cling to that.

great photojournalism of PJ's

Not much is said about the Air Force Pararescuemen. Even their motto, "That Others May Live" is a testament to the silent professionalism these men eschew every day. Nevertheless, in both Iraq and Afghanistan as well as other parts of the world, they are known and respected as the military's best medics and greatest rescue operators in this war. They fly constantly, often performing numerous soirées or missions each shift. As my brother finishes up his second tour in OEF, we strain to understand what life is like over there. . . the daily reality of grim and gory scenes and the band of brothers with which he fights to save yet another life.

This montage by Michael Yon gives some good insight . . . Click above to view the complete link.

From Despair to Delight - Psalm 13

I fight this panicky sense of desperation lately...wanting so badly to have things happen...and watching helplessly as my plans fall like innumerable grains of sand through my fingers. I've pleaded with God these past weeks that His will be done - His will and not mine. But when, yet again, I come up empty handed I struggle with understanding what then His plan is. Am I so far off? How long do I . . .can I. . . wait? And then, like a sweet spring shower bringing life and freshness and hope, I am reminded again that His plan is worth waiting for. That He hasn't forgotten. That no matter what, He is still worthy. More worthy than i could ever fathom.

This is my prayer in the desert, when all else within me feels dry.
This is my prayer in my hunger and need, my God is the God who provides.
And this is my prayer in the fire . . .

I will bring praise, I will bring praise . . . no weapon formed against me shall remain
I will rejoice; I will declare; God is my victory and He is here.

All of my life, in every season, you are still God. I have a reason to sing. I have a reason to worship.


Yes God, no matter the circumstances, no matter the struggle, no matter the feelings of desperation, longing, the hunger for answers - I STILL have reason to sing. YOU are my reason to worship. No matter what goes "wrong" in life - YOU are still God.

David, in his darkest hour still clung to the hope that is You. "Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil." He mimics my heart's cry when he asks (Psalm 13:1-3), "How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever? How long will you hide Your face from me? . . . Consider and hear me, O Lord my God; Enlighten my eyes."

And then I hear again those words from Hillsong United, "All of my life, in every season, you are still God. I have reason to sing; I have reason to worship." And David wakes, as if from a stupor, (13:5), "But I have trusted in Your mercy; my heart shall rejoice in Your salvation. I will sing to the Lord, Because He has dealt bountifully with me."

In EVERY season, You are still God. I have a reason to worship.

I struggle with the truth that I know to be God's love. I believe in it whole-heartedly, have felt it unmistakably, and yet still find myself doubting his affection, his attention, his passion for me. Yes, my very real Heavenly Father loves me. I get that. But when I try to wrap my mind around the idea that He actually delights in making me happy, I struggle. The word love is thrown around so loosely, it's easy to accept the phrase, "He loves you," without fully comprehending the depth of the word. He is passionate that I find myself through Him. He cares about opening my eyes to the path He has set forward . . .MORE than my own desire to see that path. He wants to hear ME...MORE than I long to hear Him. Can we fathom the depths of His longing to commune with us?

He says in Jeremiah, "I know the plans I have for you. Plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to bring you hope and a future." I find myself getting so caught up in planning my own future, sometimes i feel like i'm going to God after the fact with, "This is ok, right? This is your plan?"

"I know the plans I have for you" He says. HE KNOWS. The problem? I don't. I think I might. I think I'm hoping I do. But do I trust Him enough to let HIS plans play out in my life, whatever they might be? Do I trust Him enough to let His burning desire to love me and shower me with good things - - things like hope and future - - guide my actions? Do I understand His love enough to trust Him?

I just know I want to.

Little Pleasures of Life

There are so many big things we take for granted in this life. The things we take most pleasure in, we often appreciate the least. One of my biggest pleasures of life are the incredible landscapes i see in the country side. And I've realized... my biggest pleasure in beholding a rolling green landscape with a big white farm house and an even bigger red barn is what most people just skip right over. However abstract and just plain weird, its this little detail I've come to appreciate and admire. It is the fence.

I don’t remember exactly when my love affair with fencing began. Perhaps it started while surveying our handiwork after an afternoon building fence on my parents’ property in rural Montana. Perhaps it was watching all those rotten cedar posts pulled out, not once but twice, to eventually make way for vinyl. Perhaps it started while watching scores of animals brush against, rub against, and lean against all types of fencing, noticing which ones withstood the wear and which ones caved. Whatever prompted my fascination, the fact remains: all it takes is the sight of a straight, good-looking white fence to make me swoon about a property . . . and for my husband to say with his wry grin, “Oh you and your fences.”

If eyes are the windows into one’s soul, then fences, for me, are the windows into one’s home. We are taught not to judge a book by its cover, but I routinely and with no remorse judge a property by its fence line. Although acres of white vinyl against a backdrop of green lush pastures make me an invariable goner, even a strong line of cedar planks or treated pine boards can be equally enticing.

As a young couple recently moved to the area, we have logged innumerable hours driving around the Sandhills in search of our own slice of heaven. Although both my husband and I appreciate the same kind of rustic beauty in the old farm houses sprinkled liberally around the area, for me it is always the fencing that prompts me to either crane my head for one lingering look or dismiss the property as “just ok.”

I’ve come to realize, it isn’t so much the fence’s purpose that intrigues me. Instead, it is the invitation a fence can offer. It is the invitation to imagine what lies beyond in all its mystery and its potential. Vinyl invites big dreams—dreams of Wonder, my bay quarter horse filly I sold in high school to finance my year studying abroad; dreams of galloping bareback through the thick pasture grass knowing the only thing to harness either of our abandoned elation would be the corner property line; dreams of big red barns and shadowed stalls filled with the aroma I once told my mother I wanted to use as perfume.

Although partial to the crisp lines and contrast of white vinyl, it isn’t the only fencing that makes my head spin with a slew of images and possibilities. Dark wood rail fencing invites dreams of a sprawling ranch home, of a John Deere tractor under the lean-to and a big chocolate lab on the front porch. Long stretches of hot wire or pipe fencing invites thoughts of vast acreage, of hidden ponds and wallows thick with brush and wildlife. Even barbed wire can be inviting in the right setting. I think calves and cowboys with wide-brimmed hats. I think of life 50 years ago and wonder—yet again—if perhaps I was mistakenly born in the wrong decade. But then again, vinyl wasn’t around 50 years ago.

Comments that make us cringe

The wife of a senior officer in the Pentagon recently shared with me a list of "14 things not to say to a military spouse" that was given to her. They are so brutally truthful that you can't help but laugh out loud and groan "yes!" at the same time to each one. Although a military wife for less than three years, I've heard almost every single one. Here is one of my favorites . . . (and by favorite, I mean one I hate the most)

"Oh, that's horrible . . . I'm so sorry!"

I want to hi-five the creator of this list for her response . . .

"He's doing his job and he's a badass. Don't be sorry. Be appreciative and please take a moment out of your comfortable American lives to realize that our soldiers fight the wars abroad so those wars stay abroad. If you want to say anything, say thank you."

Amen, sister. We know you are trying to be comforting and nice. But you aren't. Don't pity us. Respect the decision that we have made to sacrifice the "typical" life in order to fight for what we believe in. My husband is a warrior. He's the biggest bad-ass I know. He is doing what he loves, what he (and I) feel called to do, and playing an active role in making this country safer and more secure. I'm not sorry; why are you sorry?

And the time spent apart may be horrible, the danger that he is in may be horrible, dealing with all the crap of life and home and bills by yourself may be horrible. But obviously it is worth it or we wouldn't be doing it. Thanks for bringing all that up though.

If we are complaining to you, I guarantee "Oh, that's horrible . . . I'm so sorry," isn't going to make us feel better. Offer some appreciation for what he is out doing. On a really bad day being reminded of the incredible bad-ass-ness (it should be a word) of our husband will make us feel a whole lot better than looking down your nose at the decision we've made to protect your comfy little life.

Another on the list of what not to say to a military spouse ties right in with the previous, "I don't know how you manage. I don't think I could do it." We know you are trying to again be nice and maybe even complimentary. Once again, you're not. I doubt very many of us had military wife on the dream sheet as little girls. Like the creator of this insightful list points out, we're aren't made of some mysterious matter that makes us more capable - we just got asked to take on a challenging job. So we rise to the challenge and find the strength to make it work.

So please. Don't be sorry for the decision we've made to lead this life, and don't think we are invincible because of that choice. I may call (and believe) my husband is Superman, but I most definitely am not. Just be thankful we are taking this challenge so you don't have to.

Whew...ok, I'm off my soap box. (There are plenty of other humorous, tormenting, and utterly stupid comments left on the list, however, so I may get back on).

MSNBC news clip on Pararescuemen

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/38094526#38094526

Although not all-inclusive, this is a great little clip by MSNBC detailing what Pararescuemen are doing in Afghanistan, Iraq and other theaters around the world. Noted at the end is the accident that took the lives of three PJs and one aircrew member.

Facing the music

An HH-60 Blackhawk helicopter was shot down in Afghanistan early Wednesday morning. Three PJ's on board died, two of whom were our friends. The news came like a shock wave.

Although part of this war for the last 4 years with both a brother and a husband on the front lines, death has managed to elude my small sphere. Unlike many, we hadn't been yet slapped across the face with the cold reality of the "ultimate sacrifice" talked about so much. Not any more. Now it's real in a way I couldn't quite comprehend before. I ache for my friend, a young widow who was going through her husband's first deployment. My chest tightens and the lump in my throat gets so big i can't see straight. I want to just put my arms around her, all the while being forced to acknowledge that who i'm really trying to comfort is myself -- and ignore the biting whisper reminding me, "this could very well be you."

We talk about sacrifice a lot. Asked to live it -- in this way -- and i just want to run for the hills. When asked how I do "this military life" I've always said i can't and won't be ruled by fear. You have to give your life, your marriage, your spouse up to One who holds all things in His hands. I'm not sure anymore i know how to live that motto out. I pray for strength to let go of the things I hold most dear . . . strength to live "this military life" for however many more years we are called to . . . but its a prayer whispered through tight lips and a wildly beating heart.

I wish i was with you dear friend, in your emptiness, angst, confusion and despair. I wish I could comfort you. All I can say is I'm sorry. To my dear brothers in arms and my dear friend, I am so sorry.

Courage

I’ve heard courage defined as staring fear in the face and continuing on regardless. Courage isn’t the absence of fear then, but rather the determination to overcome it. I see this trait in both the military circles I’m surrounded with and the bright-eyed and determined young exchange students from all over the world I’m working to place with host families. Though the connection may not seem obvious, I can’t help but compare the patriotism that leads some to go abroad to fight for their freedoms and those whose patriotism lead them to live abroad that they may learn and appreciate not just that new culture, but indeed, more of their own.

Is it the appeal of adventure, the uncovering of the unknown, the love of homeland, or simply the unquenchable desire to be an active part of the moving force shaping and changing this ever shrinking world? I venture: a mixture of it all.

In the small biographies I have of each student I meet Faten, a Muslim girl from Yemen. Peering beneath her beautiful deep blue head covering is a wide smile and piercing brown eyes. I learn that she is a practicing Muslim and follows a Halal diet, but plays volleyball and is an avid swimmer. While in the US, she is excited to do community service and share the culture and history of her country. I am working with exchange students from the Czech Republic, Brazil, Switzerland, Thailand and Norway to name a few, and the desire and excitement to study in the United States is no less apparent. But it is Faten from Yemen that makes me believe even more deeply in the idea that exchanging our youth to study each other and return to teach others is quite possibly the most influential and important way to foster global understanding, tear down human rights abuses, and ultimately gain peace. It is an end result that, at least in theory, is what prompts the military to go abroad as well.

Situated in the volatile Arabian Peninsula and just over the Red Sea from Somalia and Djibouti, it’s no secret Yemen and the US relationship has been strained at best. The Department of State’s website warns travelers of the high security threat level due to terrorist activities in the country, and advises all travelers to defer non-essential trips. It was from this area that the Al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula (AQAP) group claimed responsibility for the attempted bombing of the Northwest Airlines flight on Christmas Day last year, and who have repeatedly threatened Westerners working in Embassies and elsewhere in the country. In the last few years numerous kidnappings, car bombs, and suicide bombs have taken place all at the hands of suspected al-Quaeda operatives in Yemen killing tourists, government agents, embassy workers and Yemeni nationals. In short, Yemen is not exempt from the turmoil swirling in the Middle East, nor are they free from the Muslim radicals that would attempt to persuade any young person of self-sacrificing hatred toward the free world.

It is out of this atmosphere, that I find young Faten steadfastly determined to come to America. I see in her the hope and optimism of youth – the desire to understand, the desire to better both cultures, the desire to reach some sort of peace through realizing we are all more alike than we are different. And like our brave soldiers, I see courage: a courage to overcome the fear, a courage to make a difference.

Deterred but Undaunted . . . Kind of

So even the best laid plans fail. Well, they weren't the best laid, but they were planned with an incredible amount of optimism, hope, and anticipation. And yet they were no match for Murphy's Law and Mother Nature -- a lethal combination.

Although we've been married for 2 1/2 years, Bo and I have really never had a honeymoon, unless our two days in Breckenridge count before we once again parted ways. (He went back to his training in New Mexico, and I to my dorm room in Southern California). So in an effort to make up for some lost time we planned an 8-day cruise around Italy, Greece, and Turkey. I get starry-eyed just thinking about it. But Iceland's volcano apparently needed to blow its cap just before we were scheduled to go to Europe, thwarting our plans . . . and those of thousands of others.

As devastated as I was . . . and still am, it is humbling to think of the many stories that came out of that natural disaster that were true disappointments. Stories like organ transplants that were scheduled to happen, but the doctor couldn't get back to his OR; workers who lost their jobs because of strict time-frames; and schools that closed because so many teachers couldn't get back to their students. Although i can't help but wonder where my long lost cruise ship is or what i would have been doing right now on board, I guess this is the part of life where you lift your chin and say, "oh well, there will be a next time."

I want to start planning my "next time" right now...

How the other half lives

I met a girl the other day who had been with her boyfriend for six years and literally couldn't remember ever spending a night apart. "Oh, I'm sure there were a few nights," she said. The thought of having your partner at your side every night leaves me both starry eyed and baffled. Although I have tried, I literally have no concept of what that would be like. Even more - would I want that? . . . What would it be like to have two lives so completely intertwined so as to hardly differentiate where one starts and other stops? Would it be "us" or would there just stop being a "me?"

Bo is away and like most other times I am left feeling the sense of familiar liberation and worrisome loss of identity. I pride myself on my independence and my own, innate sense of who I am . . . as a wannabe writer, as an adventurer, as a woman . . . all the while reminding myself quite vocally, "I am NOT just a wife."

We are beginning a whole new chapter, and it is hard to not feel like I am just riding on the coattails of another. We are chasing his dreams and watching them come true. And while I couldn't be more proud or excited, its impossible to not be reminded every day that these dreams are his and not mine. I take them on as part of me, but at the same time hoping, praying, aching that in all the hulabaloo, I find myself as well.

Although the unconditional support and partnership of a wife to her husband is vital to any marriage, i am more and more convinced it is just as vital that each wife also have her own identity. Some might disagree, but i believe, without this independent and continually blossoming identity a military wife becomes just a shell. For every woman this identity is different and most definitely evolves throughout her life and her marriage. For some it is the joy of being a mother. For others, it is a homemaker. For still others it could be their office, classroom, boardroom or drawing easel.

I guess I'm still trying to decide what my identity is . . . what it will be. Is your identity something you get to decide? Or is it just handed out like hotdogs in Central Park? Do you really get to choose what goes on it and how it is made and how it looks? Or do you just take what is handed to you and be happy with it?

I want to choose it. I want to create my destiny and not just let it happen. I want excitement and variety. I want travel and adventure and newness every day. I want busyness coupled with the ability to escape. I want to explore not only places but people and things, events and histories. I want to uncover mysteries and awaken people's curiosities. I want to whet their appetite and therefore satisfy my own. I want a challenge, and I want fulfillment.

As a recent college graduate, disenchanted with the workplace i've experienced so far, I'm not sure how realistic my list of wants are. But that is the beauty of youth: huge goals with the naivety of undaunted optimism.

Maybe that is my identity right now: hopeful.

It is a good building block.

The People at the End of the Road

It is not often we see a man so wholly, so unabashedly, and so passionately put his money where his mouth is. For Greg Mortenson, author of Three Cups of Tea and the newly released Stones into Schools, fulfilling a promise to an almost unknown people in the farthest reaches of the world has reverberated so deeply, it is now a daily part of his soul. For Mortenson and for the people he reaches in Pakistan and Afghanistan, education is not simply the obligatory next step, we Americans flippantly accept. Instead, for those whom everyone else has forgotten, education is life -- more than real shoes, decent food, increased industry or governmental assistance -- education is what they crave and need.

The thought makes my brow furrow and my mind race.

It is upon this building block that Mortenson, the CAI, and all the thousands of Afghani and Pakistani people clamoring for a school of their own, are hinging their future. It is with a deep-seated assurance that they know a better life is only possible with this possibility. Peace will reign, not with an increase in bombs but with books and education for girls as well as boys.

For the wife of a military man, this reality sinks in even as we increase the troops present in the war-torn region. I support that decision, but can't help but wonder if the military spent as much time teaching their children as rooting out their insurgents if we'd still have the chaos we see. Few people have inspired me as much as Greg Mortenson. It is with awe I realize how much is riding on his plan.

Admiral Mike Mullen, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, understands the importance of what Greg Mortenson is doing as much as anyone. Even as he fights with weapons made of steel, he demonstrates the value of the weapon of education when he states, "The Muslim community is a subtle world we don't fully and don't always attempt to understand. Only through a shared appreciation of the people's culture, needs, and hopes for the future can we hope ourselves to supplant the extremist narrative. We cannot capture hearts and minds. We must engage them; we must listen to them, one heart and one mind at a time."

Living Out of Control

While marveling the other day at the different turns my life has taken in the last five years, I couldn't help but pour out some of the crazy twists this journey called life has taken me on.

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The timeline was all planned out.

After another semester abroad, finish school at a Christian university. Move to a large city and start my career. Work hard, and move up quickly. Don’t start dating anyone seriously until 26. Make my career a priority. Get married at 28. Keep my career a priority. Have children at 30. Continue moving up the corporate ladder.

I had my sights set, and everything was going according to plan. All I needed was control. With control came success, power, prestige, and that all-important attribute: independence.

And then, as only God can do, everything was turned on its head. Within six months I met, fell in love with, and married a kind of man I didn’t even believe existed. I was 21. My timeline was shot. My control was gone. My new husband was in the military, and I hadn’t even graduated college. The only thing I knew for certain was the future was out of my hands.

Although a “Christian” since the age of six, I had walked the fence for the last five years. I didn’t trust God to understand my needs, my desires, or my passions. I thought I was the only one I could trust to fulfill my heady aspirations. The last years had seen me live in other countries, graduate at the top of my class, be accepted into prestigious colleges, and yes, decide my own love life. I was making it happen—or so it seemed.

It was mostly in my sometimes-serious, sometimes-not-so-serious dating relationships that I felt the control slipping. Like Paul, I knew what not to do, but found myself doing that exact thing. I knew what to do, but found it almost impossible. What was wrong with me? I wasn’t finding satisfaction or fulfillment. I kept messing up and then hating myself for not being stronger. I couldn’t get it right; I was failing. And it seemed the harder I tried, the more shocking my mess-ups got.

I was ashamed and dirty and repugnant. I had failed.

In all of my years as a “Christian,” I had never gotten to this point. I had always maintained the façade of controlled obedience. From the outside looking in, I was the good girl. I played the game well. But I couldn’t ever bring myself to lay it all on the alter. To fully surrender would be to give me up, and that, I had always thought, was just too risky.

I remember vividly the day I submitted . Finally, completely, truly. I remember praying this prayer on my face in utter angst, “Lord, I surrender. I can’t do this. I trust you. I’m scared, but I trust you. I give up control, I give up my timeline, I give up my desire to control my relationships. No matter what it costs me, I will obey you.”

And like being wrapped in a down comforter by a crackling fire, I felt a love I had only heard about but could never accept. I was an utter failure. I wasn’t good. No matter how hard I tried, I didn’t deserve it, but here it was—a love so real I couldn’t even scoff at how much of a cliché it was. I was loved. In all my failures, I was loved. And the realization that this ABBA Father knew me intimately, and had a greater plan for me than my timeline entailed set in with full force. I didn’t know what was going to come next, but for the first time, it didn’t matter. Even the impending certainty that I would be called to indefinite singleness, didn’t make me cringe. I was not in charge anymore. If God’s plan led me to a life of celibacy and singleness, I would accept it without question.

But God’s ideas are not our ideas. I gave up, and God gave me Bo.

In a test of my newfound faith and trust, God called Bo and I to step out in a radical way, and be married sooner rather than later. God had molded and shaped this incredible man in the previous years, and he was ready. If I was serious about my promise to unclench my control-filled hands, God had the most amazing gift ready for me. It wasn’t on my timetable, I didn’t have all my ducks in a row, and perhaps most importantly, I didn’t even know if I was ready. But that was the point. God didn’t want me ready or strong or resilient by my own volition. He wanted to shape me in His way and in His time.

That was over two years ago. My life now requires not only an open hand, but all too often, open fingers. My plans consistently slip through the cracks like innumerable grains of sand, and that is ok. As wife to a man who is part of an elite special operations group, I take each day as it comes—thankful for the days when my husband is home and fully reliant for the many days he is gone and our lives are in the air. I have no control, but I am happy and I am blessed. I understand the love and desire of a very real heavenly Father when he says in Jeremiah, “For I know the plans I have for you; plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

Many would say I live a crazy life. I would have it no other way.