Yesterday was Easter Sunday.
This Easter meant a little more to me this year, as the great reality of the fragility of life has taken up a quiet residence in the back of my mind lately. Every day, death faces us- whether we're driving to work or eating our dinner or playing basketball outside. Just because we can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there. Watching my husband leave for the war-torn deserts and mountains of Afghanistan, I realize that his chances of death are not increased- they are merely brought into such drastic relief that it's impossible NOT to notice them. Daily.
My husband has been known to say that "Christians make the best soldiers." Whatever he meant by that, I imagine that one of the most notable differences between a Christian soldier and his unbelieving comrades is his certainty regarding death. There are many soldiers, I'm sure, who would say that they do not fear death. There is an intensity, an adrenaline high in combat that oftentimes strips humans of their immediate fear of death. It enables everyday people to do extraordinarily heroic things. The glory, however, of being a Christian soldier is that, whether or not that soldier fears DEATH, he does not fear JUDGMENT!
Death has truly been described as "the last enemy." Perhaps soldiers, more than any of us, understand the implications of that. Death is real, scary, fatal. But, a soldier who dies in Christ can, with his final breath, cry in triumph, "Where, o death is your sting?! Where, grave, is your victory?!" What enables that Warrior of the King to sacrifice his life for his country is the knowledge that the ultimate battle has already been won. Sin has been conquered! Terrorism and injustice and suffering have been surrounded...it's a just a matter of time before they are dug from their fox hole and exposed to the vengeance of an omnipotent Conqueror! THAT is the grit that no amount of training or psychological imaging can teach!
As an Army wife, the thought that my husband may not come home is a very present reality. As I fell asleep last night, my room was filled with the scent of the flowers that my Dan sent me a few weeks ago. My flowers are dead by now. But, I can smell them now more than I could when they were alive. I like to believe that that's how a Christian should view life. God will not take us until our work on this earth is complete. But, when He does, He leaves a sweet aroma. It is the reminder to those left behind that this life is not the end! Because of Christ's triumph over death, we will rise again!
I will never forget the parting words of Dan's pastor as they hugged for the last time before Dan left. "Brother, if I don't see you again in this life....meet me at the East Gate!" Tears flood my eyes even as I write this- as I remember their embrace- two strong men, bonded by their love for each other and for God, eyes glazing with quiet tears- but in my soul there is a quiet sense of triumph. Yes! One day we will all have to leave this earth. But, bless God! we leave it for a better place- that East Gate and a new earth!
Bless God for the tomb that could hold Christ no longer!
Bless God for the promise of a new- a perfect- life, free from war and heartache and goodbyes.
And bless God that, as long as we are still here on this earth, there is JOY in the journey! Joy that allows normal people to endure extraordinary things. Joy that finds peace in the midst of the storm. Joy that is fiercely independent of the circumstances that vainly bombard it.
I trade in my "Hooah" tonight for a hearty Hallelujah! ... and again I say REJOICE!
Monday, April 25, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Boys will be boys
I finally heard from my favoritest husband yesterday morning!
He had a lot to tell me about his adventures last weekend- sand storms, flooding, paying the equivalent of 320 Afghani dollars for a watermelon and a Red Bull! He is obviously enjoying his new position of leadership.
I was very intrigued to hear how he and his men passed the many hours they spent in the trucks.
I should have known better.
Apparently, the boys play this little game similar to Encore. Starting with the letter 'a', each person has to come up with a movie title until they have exhausted their list. The last person who can think of a movie for that letter wins that round.... and then it's on to letter 'b'. One letter takes an average of 30 minutes, thereby supplying these brave nomads with approximately 13 hours of fun.
Seriously?!
I guess I shouldn't be surprised. The male capacity to create "fun" out of highly unlikely situations is beyond the capability of my brain to grasp. For example, Dan asked his mom to mail him his large Bible and his stuffed monkey to Afghanistan once he got there. Apparently, there wasn't enough room in his bag, since he and the other boys had bought baseballs and packed their baseball gloves. I cannot explain to you how badly I wanted to laugh when he told me that he had had a great day playing "catch" with his new friends. This was the same group featured in some pictures that Dan sent me today-a group of tough-looking characters in ACU's with intense, focused faces as they sat in a circle studying their... UNO cards?!
In my last care package, I sent Dan a game called "What would you rather...?" For this game, a card is read that contains two choices. For example "Would you rather walk around for a year wearing wet jeans or walk around for a month wearing shoes that are 2 sizes too small?" Believe it or not, guys LOVE this game. We women have no time for such ridicuous hypothetical trivialites. But MEN... MEN spend HOURS arguing, analyzing, and conjecturing. Sure enough, Dan said that he brought the game on one of their missions and it kept the boys entertained for quite some time.
I refer to our boys as "our boys" because that's what troops have lovingly been termed for decades. But, I also believe it is a fitting title for them. In one of my military wife books, an author describes these fine specimens of fitness and loyalty as "overgrown boyscouts." She couldn't have been more accurate! The first time Dan took me to his parents' house, he brought me to his room to show me all his cool stuff. I lost him entirely after he uncovered his wrist rocket, airsoft gun, and a rogue marble. He bounded up the stairs with them, put the marble into the wrist rocked, and aimed past my head, out the kitchen door, and directly at the bird feeder on the porch. "Dare me to hit it!!" he pleaded, as I took cover under the kitchen table.
Knowing the male propensity to make lemonade out of lemons, I was amused to receive this request from Dan in one of his letters:
Aaaaanyway, i was thinking it would be funny to do rock drills with something more creative. We have a vehicle called the Buffalo, and Huskies, and then other trucks. So could you look for a plastic/stuffed Buffalo (animal) and two plastic/stuffed Huskies (dogs)? I wouldnt want them to be too big though, but definitely not little miniature things either. Like maybe the size of a beanie baby or so. Also, i would need four toy trucks total. Two of those trucks have mine rollers on the front, so i guess if two of the trucks are normal and two are like bulldozers or something to differentiate them from the regular trucks that would be sweeeet. Actually, if theres a way to get a toy ambulance for one of the trucks that would be
awesome, to represent teh vehicle we use to transport casualties. And then I would need a flat-bed semi truck or similar vehicle to represent the trailer/wrecker we have....Lastly, green toy soldiers,
and two regular matchbox cars to represent civilian vehicles (to use in scenarios).
Thank you, Walmart, Toys 'R' Us, Target, and Marco's Emporium for carrying all of these "supplies".
As I prepare for bed, I imagine what great acts of heroism my husband and the 87th Engineer Company will accomplish today. Perhaps they will disarm a well-concealed roadside bomb, thereby saving the lives of their comrades. Perhaps they will track down a registered terrorist, eliminating just one more threat to freedom and justice. Perhaps my husband's prayers will be answered and he- Daniel J. Filcik- will catch Osama bin Laden, sacrificing his own life as a million hand grenades are thrown at him by opposing forces, and achieving the pinnacle of heroism and bravery. (?!)
In the depths of my soul, however, I know....
I try not to think about the fact-much more probable than the aforementioned scenarios- that they are most likely already awake and out playing with their Matchbox cars....and plastic Huskies... and furry buffalo....
....and I resignedly add "Frisbees" and "Pick-up-sticks" to my list of things to send them...
...and I decide then and there to begin praying that every one of our children will be girls.
He had a lot to tell me about his adventures last weekend- sand storms, flooding, paying the equivalent of 320 Afghani dollars for a watermelon and a Red Bull! He is obviously enjoying his new position of leadership.
I was very intrigued to hear how he and his men passed the many hours they spent in the trucks.
I should have known better.
Apparently, the boys play this little game similar to Encore. Starting with the letter 'a', each person has to come up with a movie title until they have exhausted their list. The last person who can think of a movie for that letter wins that round.... and then it's on to letter 'b'. One letter takes an average of 30 minutes, thereby supplying these brave nomads with approximately 13 hours of fun.
Seriously?!
I guess I shouldn't be surprised. The male capacity to create "fun" out of highly unlikely situations is beyond the capability of my brain to grasp. For example, Dan asked his mom to mail him his large Bible and his stuffed monkey to Afghanistan once he got there. Apparently, there wasn't enough room in his bag, since he and the other boys had bought baseballs and packed their baseball gloves. I cannot explain to you how badly I wanted to laugh when he told me that he had had a great day playing "catch" with his new friends. This was the same group featured in some pictures that Dan sent me today-a group of tough-looking characters in ACU's with intense, focused faces as they sat in a circle studying their... UNO cards?!
In my last care package, I sent Dan a game called "What would you rather...?" For this game, a card is read that contains two choices. For example "Would you rather walk around for a year wearing wet jeans or walk around for a month wearing shoes that are 2 sizes too small?" Believe it or not, guys LOVE this game. We women have no time for such ridicuous hypothetical trivialites. But MEN... MEN spend HOURS arguing, analyzing, and conjecturing. Sure enough, Dan said that he brought the game on one of their missions and it kept the boys entertained for quite some time.
I refer to our boys as "our boys" because that's what troops have lovingly been termed for decades. But, I also believe it is a fitting title for them. In one of my military wife books, an author describes these fine specimens of fitness and loyalty as "overgrown boyscouts." She couldn't have been more accurate! The first time Dan took me to his parents' house, he brought me to his room to show me all his cool stuff. I lost him entirely after he uncovered his wrist rocket, airsoft gun, and a rogue marble. He bounded up the stairs with them, put the marble into the wrist rocked, and aimed past my head, out the kitchen door, and directly at the bird feeder on the porch. "Dare me to hit it!!" he pleaded, as I took cover under the kitchen table.
Knowing the male propensity to make lemonade out of lemons, I was amused to receive this request from Dan in one of his letters:
Aaaaanyway, i was thinking it would be funny to do rock drills with something more creative. We have a vehicle called the Buffalo, and Huskies, and then other trucks. So could you look for a plastic/stuffed Buffalo (animal) and two plastic/stuffed Huskies (dogs)? I wouldnt want them to be too big though, but definitely not little miniature things either. Like maybe the size of a beanie baby or so. Also, i would need four toy trucks total. Two of those trucks have mine rollers on the front, so i guess if two of the trucks are normal and two are like bulldozers or something to differentiate them from the regular trucks that would be sweeeet. Actually, if theres a way to get a toy ambulance for one of the trucks that would be
awesome, to represent teh vehicle we use to transport casualties. And then I would need a flat-bed semi truck or similar vehicle to represent the trailer/wrecker we have....Lastly, green toy soldiers,
and two regular matchbox cars to represent civilian vehicles (to use in scenarios).
Thank you, Walmart, Toys 'R' Us, Target, and Marco's Emporium for carrying all of these "supplies".
As I prepare for bed, I imagine what great acts of heroism my husband and the 87th Engineer Company will accomplish today. Perhaps they will disarm a well-concealed roadside bomb, thereby saving the lives of their comrades. Perhaps they will track down a registered terrorist, eliminating just one more threat to freedom and justice. Perhaps my husband's prayers will be answered and he- Daniel J. Filcik- will catch Osama bin Laden, sacrificing his own life as a million hand grenades are thrown at him by opposing forces, and achieving the pinnacle of heroism and bravery. (?!)
In the depths of my soul, however, I know....
I try not to think about the fact-much more probable than the aforementioned scenarios- that they are most likely already awake and out playing with their Matchbox cars....and plastic Huskies... and furry buffalo....
....and I resignedly add "Frisbees" and "Pick-up-sticks" to my list of things to send them...
...and I decide then and there to begin praying that every one of our children will be girls.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Single-mindedness
It's been a rough weekend on the homefront.
The short of it is that I desperately hoped to be able to talk to my husband this weekend. But, in Afghanistan there is no such thing as a weekend. So, yesterday after work, just when my weekend was beginning, I got an email from Dan saying he was off on a 3-day mission.
Poop! Double poop!
I am currently a geographical bachelorette, according to the Army. It's a very strange state of being. People sometimes ask me what it feels like to be in this situation, but I find it really difficult to explain. My new last name on my driver's license and my sparkly diamond rings tell me that I'm married. But, everything else feels just like it did before I got married. If I can just keep myself busy enough, I can almost forget that dull ache in the bottom of my heart that tells me that, as long as my soldier is gone, things aren't right. I ALMOST forget. But, then I'll grab my phone to text him a funny story about my day... and remember that I can't talk to him. Can't see him. Can't hug him. Can't anything him.
Some days I just want to kick and scream like an ill-tempered child. I want I want I WANT my husband to be HOME!!! And, since he can't be home, I want to be angry at SOMEONE. But, I can't do that either... there's no one to blame! It's not Dan's fault. It's not even God's fault. It just IS... and no matter what I do-no matter what I say- no matter how hard I wish- there's simply nothing I can do to make it better.
As a Christian, I know that joy in life is not dependent on my circumstances. But, what does contentment really mean? Does my defeatist attitude really count as submission? I've struggled with this question all weekend, and I don't know that I've discovered the answer yet. I'm still not pleased with this arrangement, and I still want to sit in the corner and sulk like a naughty child. But, I know I'll have no peace until I let God be God, and patiently hide in the cleft of the rock til the storm has passed. I am so blessed. Why is it so easy to forget that?
So, tonight, I'll simply say the truth- I miss you, Dan, and I would give anything just to hear you scold me for going to bed tonight without brushing my teeth. I wouldn't even mind waking up to you snoring in my ear and drooling on my head. I AM thankful that I get the covers all to myself, and that I can pick my OWN nose instead of having YOU do it for me. But, I miss you...
May God teach us all what true submission to His will is, and allow us to hear His voice through the thunder and rain.
The short of it is that I desperately hoped to be able to talk to my husband this weekend. But, in Afghanistan there is no such thing as a weekend. So, yesterday after work, just when my weekend was beginning, I got an email from Dan saying he was off on a 3-day mission.
Poop! Double poop!
I am currently a geographical bachelorette, according to the Army. It's a very strange state of being. People sometimes ask me what it feels like to be in this situation, but I find it really difficult to explain. My new last name on my driver's license and my sparkly diamond rings tell me that I'm married. But, everything else feels just like it did before I got married. If I can just keep myself busy enough, I can almost forget that dull ache in the bottom of my heart that tells me that, as long as my soldier is gone, things aren't right. I ALMOST forget. But, then I'll grab my phone to text him a funny story about my day... and remember that I can't talk to him. Can't see him. Can't hug him. Can't anything him.
Some days I just want to kick and scream like an ill-tempered child. I want I want I WANT my husband to be HOME!!! And, since he can't be home, I want to be angry at SOMEONE. But, I can't do that either... there's no one to blame! It's not Dan's fault. It's not even God's fault. It just IS... and no matter what I do-no matter what I say- no matter how hard I wish- there's simply nothing I can do to make it better.
As a Christian, I know that joy in life is not dependent on my circumstances. But, what does contentment really mean? Does my defeatist attitude really count as submission? I've struggled with this question all weekend, and I don't know that I've discovered the answer yet. I'm still not pleased with this arrangement, and I still want to sit in the corner and sulk like a naughty child. But, I know I'll have no peace until I let God be God, and patiently hide in the cleft of the rock til the storm has passed. I am so blessed. Why is it so easy to forget that?
So, tonight, I'll simply say the truth- I miss you, Dan, and I would give anything just to hear you scold me for going to bed tonight without brushing my teeth. I wouldn't even mind waking up to you snoring in my ear and drooling on my head. I AM thankful that I get the covers all to myself, and that I can pick my OWN nose instead of having YOU do it for me. But, I miss you...
May God teach us all what true submission to His will is, and allow us to hear His voice through the thunder and rain.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Par Avion
For four days in a row, my husband has been on missions. His missions thus far consist of sitting in a big truck, called a Buffalo, with a handful of other soldiers, moving along the road at about 5mph and checking it for hidden roadside bombs. It is a slow, tedious job requiring focus and attention to minute details. After an 8 hour mission, the men are ready for a quick meal and a long sleep.
I can sympathize with their weariness. I, too, have been on many missions in the past month.
Imagining how boring it must be to eat MREs (Meals-Ready-to-Eat) every day, and understanding the tedious nature of life in the flat dusty deserts of Afghanistan, I took it upon myself as Commander-in-Chief-of-the-House to make sure that my boys were well cared for. I pledged my allegiance to the Postal Service of America and bought a stack of flat-rate boxes.
Then I sat down to do inventory:
1 healthy snack. Check. 1 sweet snack. Check. Oh! Rice Krispie Treats! They'll love those too..... Dried fruit. Check. There must be a serious deficiency of essential vitamins and nutrients... better buy some Centrum... 1 Candy. Check. Make it 3. Check. Love those tissue packs! Dan always get a little drippy before bed...throw em in! Something to pass the time. Pick Up Sticks or Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs? Oh, how about a deck of Uno cards. New boxers because Dan's turned brown. From his ACU's, he says...Check. 9 foot long, handmade fleece blanket. Check. Books. Check. Alarm clock. Check. iTunes gift cards. Check. Pictures of all my highschool trophies that I threw away last week because now I'm an Army life and I can't take anything sacred with me when we move 5 trillion times to the end of the earth. @#$^@$#$ !! Check.
I nearly tripped twice as I walked into the post office. It was hard to see around the massive box I had packed to the gills. But, I was proud of my individually packaged goody bags, each of which included a personalized, handwritten Thank You note decorated with a Bible verse , sparkly stickers, and inspirational phrases like "Hooah!" "You're a hero!" and "Go Army!" I nearly fell again when the sweet postal worker suggested I split the goods into two smaller boxes for quicker delivery. I dumped my precious cargo all over the floor and separated, organized, and collated efficiently while I tried to ignore the embarrassed flush creeping into my cheeks. All for the cause, Jussley....!
Finally packaged!
What?! I have to fill out an itemized list for the government?!
Forget that!
Item: cookies
Quantity: 400
Price: A lot!
Good enough! Feels like 400 cookies, anyway!
I proudly hauled the boxes up, paid my final dues (bringing the cost of the entire endeavor to a modest $200), and waved over my shoulder.
"See you next week, ladies!"
I pulled the car out of the lot and raced toward Walmart to start my next mission...
Apples to Apples On-the-Go or Bananagrams...?
...and again I say "Hooah!"
I can sympathize with their weariness. I, too, have been on many missions in the past month.
Imagining how boring it must be to eat MREs (Meals-Ready-to-Eat) every day, and understanding the tedious nature of life in the flat dusty deserts of Afghanistan, I took it upon myself as Commander-in-Chief-of-the-House to make sure that my boys were well cared for. I pledged my allegiance to the Postal Service of America and bought a stack of flat-rate boxes.
Then I sat down to do inventory:
1 healthy snack. Check. 1 sweet snack. Check. Oh! Rice Krispie Treats! They'll love those too..... Dried fruit. Check. There must be a serious deficiency of essential vitamins and nutrients... better buy some Centrum... 1 Candy. Check. Make it 3. Check. Love those tissue packs! Dan always get a little drippy before bed...throw em in! Something to pass the time. Pick Up Sticks or Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs? Oh, how about a deck of Uno cards. New boxers because Dan's turned brown. From his ACU's, he says...Check. 9 foot long, handmade fleece blanket. Check. Books. Check. Alarm clock. Check. iTunes gift cards. Check. Pictures of all my highschool trophies that I threw away last week because now I'm an Army life and I can't take anything sacred with me when we move 5 trillion times to the end of the earth. @#$^@$#$ !! Check.
I nearly tripped twice as I walked into the post office. It was hard to see around the massive box I had packed to the gills. But, I was proud of my individually packaged goody bags, each of which included a personalized, handwritten Thank You note decorated with a Bible verse , sparkly stickers, and inspirational phrases like "Hooah!" "You're a hero!" and "Go Army!" I nearly fell again when the sweet postal worker suggested I split the goods into two smaller boxes for quicker delivery. I dumped my precious cargo all over the floor and separated, organized, and collated efficiently while I tried to ignore the embarrassed flush creeping into my cheeks. All for the cause, Jussley....!
Finally packaged!
What?! I have to fill out an itemized list for the government?!
Forget that!
Item: cookies
Quantity: 400
Price: A lot!
Good enough! Feels like 400 cookies, anyway!
I proudly hauled the boxes up, paid my final dues (bringing the cost of the entire endeavor to a modest $200), and waved over my shoulder.
"See you next week, ladies!"
I pulled the car out of the lot and raced toward Walmart to start my next mission...
Apples to Apples On-the-Go or Bananagrams...?
...and again I say "Hooah!"
Sunday, April 10, 2011
my HOOAH man
My husband was once described as a "Hooah man."
Hooah! is the equivalent of the the Marines' Oorah! or the Baptists' Amen! or your 6-year-old's Booyah! It is the quintessential Heck Yeah! of the Army.
Perhaps my husband strikes others as a hooah man because of his intense patriotism. The first time I came to stay with my geographical bachelor after our wedding (I was still living in New Jersey while he was in Texas training for his deployment), I was delighted by all the adorable touches he had added to his apartment so that I would feel right at home: a cozy area rug, Disney princess posters, pictures of his Grandma. I contemplated getting a corporate job and allowing him to be the stay-at-home mom and housemaker. Then, he led me to his bedroom- "our bedroom", he reminded me! A proud light shone from his eyes, and his posture straightened, as I beheld hanging above our bed.... an extremely large American flag. As he fell to sleep that night with his arm locked in a salute, I thought it best not to ask if we would wake by the dawn's early light to the chords of Reveille...
Or, perhaps Dan is a hooah man because he absolutely loves what he does. He can't understand why any other man would NOT want to be paid to run around shooting guns, jump out of planes, and wear the same uniform for months on end. He can't fathom sitting behind a desk or computer when there is a nation to be defended, freedom to be sought, and ruthless enemies to be defeated. His sense of calling to a cause bigger than himself is deeply rooted.
But, I think the real reason my soldier was called a hooah man is because he has the most endearing habit of shouting "Hooah!" at every reasonable place in a conversation. There are many types of hooahs. There is the choral hooah shouted by comrades in arms at a pivotal moment of inspiration or rallying. There is the more casual ho-, which is shortened to give quick assent to a good point or join in a moment of banter. Then there is Dan's signature hooah. It is difficult to compare this to any human utterance. It is said in a high pitched moan through half-closed mouth, and sounds like hew. Dan is often mistaken for an ailing cow with lockjaw and laryngitis. I swear in those moments that I have no clue who he is.
My husband is a Hooah Man.
Which makes me a Hooah Wife.
Go Army. Beat Navy. Rejoice in the Lord always... and again I say, "Hooah!"
Hooah! is the equivalent of the the Marines' Oorah! or the Baptists' Amen! or your 6-year-old's Booyah! It is the quintessential Heck Yeah! of the Army.
Perhaps my husband strikes others as a hooah man because of his intense patriotism. The first time I came to stay with my geographical bachelor after our wedding (I was still living in New Jersey while he was in Texas training for his deployment), I was delighted by all the adorable touches he had added to his apartment so that I would feel right at home: a cozy area rug, Disney princess posters, pictures of his Grandma. I contemplated getting a corporate job and allowing him to be the stay-at-home mom and housemaker. Then, he led me to his bedroom- "our bedroom", he reminded me! A proud light shone from his eyes, and his posture straightened, as I beheld hanging above our bed.... an extremely large American flag. As he fell to sleep that night with his arm locked in a salute, I thought it best not to ask if we would wake by the dawn's early light to the chords of Reveille...
Or, perhaps Dan is a hooah man because he absolutely loves what he does. He can't understand why any other man would NOT want to be paid to run around shooting guns, jump out of planes, and wear the same uniform for months on end. He can't fathom sitting behind a desk or computer when there is a nation to be defended, freedom to be sought, and ruthless enemies to be defeated. His sense of calling to a cause bigger than himself is deeply rooted.
But, I think the real reason my soldier was called a hooah man is because he has the most endearing habit of shouting "Hooah!" at every reasonable place in a conversation. There are many types of hooahs. There is the choral hooah shouted by comrades in arms at a pivotal moment of inspiration or rallying. There is the more casual ho-, which is shortened to give quick assent to a good point or join in a moment of banter. Then there is Dan's signature hooah. It is difficult to compare this to any human utterance. It is said in a high pitched moan through half-closed mouth, and sounds like hew. Dan is often mistaken for an ailing cow with lockjaw and laryngitis. I swear in those moments that I have no clue who he is.
My husband is a Hooah Man.
Which makes me a Hooah Wife.
Go Army. Beat Navy. Rejoice in the Lord always... and again I say, "Hooah!"
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