Deployment: A Tangent of Observation and Growth

For the most part, I try not to mention Brance’s deployment to strangers. However, my job focuses on authentic relationships with guests, making the previous statement quite difficult. On days when his absence weighs on me, my genuine reaction is to talk about it positively. But, I’m never ready for the sincere reactions of others. Immediately pity washes over the faces of acquaintances and I regret my transparent personality. The last thing I want is the furled eyebrow that questions “how do you do it?”. Before I can answer, the pity transforms to guilt as they realize all the moments they’ve taken for granted in their own lives. They offer condolences, and I want nothing more than to apologize for bringing down the mood. I did not mean to darken the day. I just wanted to be real. Instead, my truth seems to victimize me. I smile and water down the details, because I don’t feel I deserve their pity. 

Fact: it’s not fun when you’re loved one is gone. 

Fact: the reading on the suck-o-meter is equally awful, whether he’s away at a conference for a few days or driving tanks in a war zone for a year. 

This is the part of army culture I loathe so greatly. There seems to be an unwritten competition between women over the many woes of the military lifestyle. If I’m struggling with deployment, instead of getting support, a fellow army wife might dilute the experience- “How long is your husband gone? Only 9 months?! Well John was gone for a whole year.”  

That’s great and all. But now John is sitting next to you, nursing a beer and caressing your thigh. You got your husband back.

It’s not the distance that bothers me, we’ve already proven we can conquer distance. It’s the uncertainty of it all. I want confirmation that I’ll get to have him in my arms again- I could wait forever if God would promise me that. But He doesn’t. Still, there is a hope and peace that counters the uncertainty. I don’t understand it, but I’ll take it. I just wish the few women who relate to my situation would stop comparing battle scars and start practicing empathy. 

There must be a middle ground between the awestruck pity party and the emotionless narcissist. I’m not saying I’m innocent, but this lifestyle I’m entering into is hard enough without us women telling one another that the other’s feelings are unfounded. Especially when these people are supposed to be a support system during tough times.  Fortunately, like all walks of life, there are good eggs within the stereotype (and I’ve found quite a few). 

It’s so easy to magnify your own suffering and overlook the pain of others. I’ve played the victim on multiple occasions. It took a situation the world views as difficult for me to realize how selfish that mindset is. I am now focused on eliminating myself from the equation when dealing with others. I never want to make another individual feel unworthy of being heard. Instead of listening until I have something to say, I leave room for others to speak. I’ve never considered myself a good listener- I was always much better at the talking part. 

It wasn’t until today that I recognized my growth in the area. I grabbed tea with a friend and she complimented my ability to ask caring questions and create a safe space for response. Her observation caught me off guard, it seemed so far from the person I viewed myself as. But I’m not the girl I used to be. As my experiences change me, I need to allow my definition of myself to morph with them. 

I’ve held on to the image of myself from our last season of long distance. I was often inconsolable over the distance I couldn’t control. Now, we’re in the same position and I’m not sure what triggered the positive adjustment. I’ve been genuinely happy, despite my circumstances, and consequently I am a better support system for Brance. I’m the person I wanted to be 1 year ago when I lived in New York and he moved to Washington. I'm living proof that change can happen, even when it’s impossible to trace its origins. 

Home Is Wherever I'm With You

Today marks the half way point of Brance's (aka the fiancé's) deployment. Before now, the longest we've ever gone without seeing each other was 2 months- it's been 4.5 months since I've last cracked his thumb knuckles, smelled his rugged ACU's, or rubbed the short hair on his regulation haircut. I thought this moment would be more monumental- THE halfway point. But it feels like... he's still far from home. I notice his absence and I continue to feel out of control and uncertain. I'm continually trying to let things go. I can't control his safety. As he smiles at me over a pixilated connection on FaceTime, I always ask him to be safe. He always says "I'll try, baby." I jest and order him to do more than try, and he knows deep down it's not a joke. But he never changes his answer. He is a man of integrity and he knows, as much as he would like to, it is a promise he cannot make to me. His future is as uncertain as mine. In a lot of ways we are where we were 4.5 months ago, the unknown still hangs in the air and we are waiting for these moments to end. I plan a wedding praying he'll meet me at the alter. While some couples question whether marriage is the right choice for them, we wonder whether God will grant us this blessing in a broken world.

We still worry and wait, but we've also learned to hope. By emptying our hands of what we cannot control, we free ourselves from the responsibility of it. It is very difficult to carry the weight of power you do not actually possess- believe me I've been doing it for years. Only now am I learning to let go. Just one of many plastic necklaces I'm hoarding in my closet.

Things I've Learned During Brance's Deployment:

• I don't need him. I can survive without him BUT I want him, more than I've wanted anything in my life.
• I can parallel park- it just takes 3 attempts.
• In lieu of a man, cold feet can be remedied by fuzzy slippers. 
• Is He safe? No. But He is good.
• I can tolerate football.
• It's important to show yourself grace.
• Being a good wife takes effort daily and a lot of prayer.

Generation YOLO

I hate waiting- a consequence of being a privileged American. Waiting symbolizes inefficiency, an unacceptable quality in our every changing culture. We are a society plagued with FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out), desperate to have the golden egg the second it is available. We all know what happened to Veruca, and still we ignore Willy Wonka and reach for the undeserved prize. This attitude towards waiting corrupts our ability to understand the benefits of the process.  

Mothers try to convince us that some things are worth waiting for. We roll our eyes and mouth YOLO, while Miley Cyrus’ latest hit pulses through our earbuds- “we can’t stop, and we won’t stop.” Sad. We reject wisdom and glorify foolery. We encourage friends to “do you” which rationalizes anything short of mass murder. As long as you’re not hurting anyone, it’s all good. But what if you’re hurting you? 

Instead of learning patience and growing while we prepare ourselves to receive something worthwhile, we label waiting as an idle act- completely static. In turn, we praise busyness, scheduling each second of the day, so there is no time to assess our personal situation. In yogi terms, we avoid checking in. We fail to acknowledge the areas in our life that need change and support. 

The lack of attention paid to ourselves hinders us from learning personal grace. When we are finally forced to face a crumbling corner of our soul, it’s a permanent blow. We don’t have time to let the wound or shortcoming heal. Instead we label it broken, a irreversible fracture in our structure, and readjust our standards for ourselves. We live in mediocrity, because we don’t have the patience for greatness.

But there is time to heal. If we’re strong enough to slow down and embrace a season of waiting, we can mend our broken pieces and even grow. We can be great if we understand that it takes more effort to hold off on something you really want, than hurdle over prerequisites for rapid results. The former reaps long term benefits, the later delivers momentary bliss. Impatience breeds one night stands, not intimacy- eating disorders, not healthy habits- fast food, not free range. 

We omit the long term to feel in the moment, then we fill the empty space left over with whatever we can to avoid analyzing yesterday. In reality, analyzing yesterday, spontaneous or premeditated (idiotic or awesome), is our way of knowing ourselves. If we are apathetic to our experiences, we are lost. Unfortunately, intimacy, even with ourselves, takes time and patience. We must commit to holding ourselves accountable and stop rationalizing our stupidity. We must decide who we are and who we aren't, and act accordingly. A mistake is not a permanent blemish, but an opportunity to learn and hopefully not repeat. Taking care of ourselves will teach us grace and forgiveness toward our faults, and also help us forgive others. The road is long and involves a lot of waiting before any breakthrough.  But 10 years from now, we’ll be happy to recognize and respect the face staring back at us in the mirror.

What makes me an expert on patience? I'm not. However, circumstance forced me, with little choice, into the world of waiting. I fell in love with an army officer. I moved to Seattle. We got engaged. He deployed. I’m not just waiting on our wedding. I’m waiting for my other half to come home safely from Afghanistan. I refuse to accept that this season adds up to Netflix movies and late night worrying. There has to be more. I needed to find meaning and movement in this time of uncertainty. Slowly, as I explore myself and this city, I am growing and learning beyond my expectations. I am finding the the space between busyness and stillness. It is good.