Some people I know ask me why I do not go to church. It seems unusual living here in the Bible belt, but I have personal reasons for not believing. I am a very free thinker, and I want my children to make their own choices as I was never allowed to, and I will respect them and support them. Don't get me wrong, I have tremendous respect for those who believe their religion and live it. Or at least TRY to, as no one is perfect. Just please do not preach to me and tell me that I am a horrible person or that I am wrong. You have no idea, nor have you walked in my shoes. Some groups have been taught that the way to heaven is by condemning others and save them by showing them their faults. I look at this in the same light as the person who steps on the wounded in the trenches in order to get out themselves. Later they say, "but they were going to die anyway". For some this is the only way.
There are so many good and wonderful church goers. My mother was one. Before she died of breast cancer, she was one of the ones that tried to live her religion to the fullest. She was not perfect, but she was perfect at trying to live it, and I still respect that 100%. She always wanted me to see her way because she really thought that it would make me happy, not because she wanted me to conform. Right at the end she finally saw that I WAS already happy, and that was our last gift to each other.
Some are the Sunday-sermon-only church goers. These are what we call the "Clackers". These can be terrifying on a Sunday afternoon in Wal-Mart. If you have ever been there you know what I mean. They have come from church, they are feeling exteremely self-rightous, and they MUST get that last minute stuffing or broccoli and velveeta for their supper that night. They are feeling so good that when they see me and my daughters in our yoga pants, braided hair, and baseball caps (so what's wrong with THAT???) or anyone else dressed as if they clearly have not been to services, they look down on us and decide to judge. This is when we get shoved, rammed, stepped on, etc. I have watched this happen so often that it can almost be timed:
Everyone is shopping is happy bliss, grubby, hair up, no makeup, greeting each other in the Sunday morning paradise that is Wal-Mart. The common bond of a secret, uncrowded store is shared by those "in the know." We smile and stroll along for a bit looking at things you cannot usually see, birds are singing.....(ok, ok, sorry)
As the later hours near, people start looking at their watches, and the pace quickens. Expressions become frantic. It begins to look like a game show as families start throwing merchandise into their carts. Suddenly, we hear it-the first "clack". It's the sound of a high heeled shoe hitting the floor signaling the end of one of the local church services.
Bedlam ensues. Cashiers run to the registers. Customers in tennis shoes race to the front, at least those lucky enough to have finished on time. Those like me who are often late prepare to be afflicted with the daily sermon of judgement of pushing, shoving, and looks that are trying to say that they have to be somewhere more important than I do. Never fear, Clacker, you have been there, and it clearly did not take the first time based on this behavior.
Here is my sermon for next Sunday: put on some yoga pants, push a cart round, and maybe help an older man reach that package of Oreo's that got shoved to the back. Watch him smile in gratitude. I'll bet that sticks with you for more than 30 minutes.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Monday, Bloody Monday
The world woke to the news today that we have hit the 4000 mark of soldiers killed in Iraq today. I was filled with sorrow for those who have lost a loved one in this horror, whether it be American, English, Australian,, Iraqi, etc...somewhere there is a mother that lost a son, or a wife that lost a husband. A daughter that is the same age as my youngest, 10, is being told that she will not see her daddy again. She does not know if her daddy or her big brother was on the "good" side or the "bad" side. She knows that the person that ran along side her while she rode her bike without training wheels for the first time will not do that with HER children. She will not hear that bedtime story again, or get him to take her to learn to drive for the first time. These are the things we are losing, and I wonder if the loss is worth the gain?
Before my husband left he made a Build-a-Bear for me. It was a rare moment that he was on leave and we had a few days together. We went to one of the stores, and the ladies that worked there found out what he was doing for me an put him through his paces. He danced with the stuffed Cheetah that he picked out, washed it, dressed it in camo, named it and put a little voice recording in it. Of course I was teary the whole time because he was being so sweet, and the women in the store were as well. He mentioned that now while he was gone I would be able to hear his voice whenever I wanted. I noticed they were all glancing at each other as if they were communicating something, so I finally persuaded them to tell me. They told me this story:
There was a man that went into their store a few years back at the start of the war to make a bear for his daughter. She was about 6 at the time. He went through similar steps in choosing the perfect animal, dressing it, naming it, and putting a personal message inside. He left it for her as a special surprise after he was gone. She played that message every day, not realizing that was the last time she would hear his voice. He was killed by a roadside bomb, as so many are. About six months later she came into the store with her mother in hysterics. She had played the message so many times that it was no longer working. They spoke to the manager and gave their name, and after looking up the information, the manager leaned down to the child and told her to wait just a minute while she went to the back. She came out holding a copy of the voice insert. The soldier had made a duplicate, just in case. They also had a copy sent to the headquarters where they made several more and they were waiting. The manager told her to listen as much as she wanted, and they would keep her bear washed, stuffed and in great shape as long as she needed it. The store employees told me that this child still wore her bear out but that she is now a part of their "family", and that she frequently visits just to say hello. Those people in that store- they are heroes. Every one of them is a person to be admired. They have gone above and beyond for the sake of a child and the sanity of a mother.
Of course I was a complete mess by this time and realized that we had an audience that had been listening. It was time for me to be presented with my Cheetah. He had to dry out a bit. I think at least 20 people shook my husband's hand that day, including several small children. It's one of those "moments"- the ones that are engraved on you forever.
I never knew that little girl's name, but I thought about her all day when the news came on with that 4000 number. I wish for her sake it would have been 3999. I wish that she could somehow know how much she has inspired me. I wish she had her daddy's real voice and warm arms instead of a worn-out recording from a threadbare toy to tuck her in at night.
I think I will go to bed now and kiss my little girl on the way.
Before my husband left he made a Build-a-Bear for me. It was a rare moment that he was on leave and we had a few days together. We went to one of the stores, and the ladies that worked there found out what he was doing for me an put him through his paces. He danced with the stuffed Cheetah that he picked out, washed it, dressed it in camo, named it and put a little voice recording in it. Of course I was teary the whole time because he was being so sweet, and the women in the store were as well. He mentioned that now while he was gone I would be able to hear his voice whenever I wanted. I noticed they were all glancing at each other as if they were communicating something, so I finally persuaded them to tell me. They told me this story:
There was a man that went into their store a few years back at the start of the war to make a bear for his daughter. She was about 6 at the time. He went through similar steps in choosing the perfect animal, dressing it, naming it, and putting a personal message inside. He left it for her as a special surprise after he was gone. She played that message every day, not realizing that was the last time she would hear his voice. He was killed by a roadside bomb, as so many are. About six months later she came into the store with her mother in hysterics. She had played the message so many times that it was no longer working. They spoke to the manager and gave their name, and after looking up the information, the manager leaned down to the child and told her to wait just a minute while she went to the back. She came out holding a copy of the voice insert. The soldier had made a duplicate, just in case. They also had a copy sent to the headquarters where they made several more and they were waiting. The manager told her to listen as much as she wanted, and they would keep her bear washed, stuffed and in great shape as long as she needed it. The store employees told me that this child still wore her bear out but that she is now a part of their "family", and that she frequently visits just to say hello. Those people in that store- they are heroes. Every one of them is a person to be admired. They have gone above and beyond for the sake of a child and the sanity of a mother.
Of course I was a complete mess by this time and realized that we had an audience that had been listening. It was time for me to be presented with my Cheetah. He had to dry out a bit. I think at least 20 people shook my husband's hand that day, including several small children. It's one of those "moments"- the ones that are engraved on you forever.
I never knew that little girl's name, but I thought about her all day when the news came on with that 4000 number. I wish for her sake it would have been 3999. I wish that she could somehow know how much she has inspired me. I wish she had her daddy's real voice and warm arms instead of a worn-out recording from a threadbare toy to tuck her in at night.
I think I will go to bed now and kiss my little girl on the way.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
How It Is-THE CALL
For those who think that going day to day is smooth sailing for those left at home, I can tell you that it's not. We fight our own war. You see, those who are over in the sand are in grave danger every day, and while I do not trivialize that in any way, it is that exact danger that puts us left here in mental jeopardy. He says, for example, that he will call a certain day, and then he does not.
The panic begins.
Now this is a strange feeling for someone who does not ordinarily deal with this sort of thing on a day-to-day basis, and so I am not equipped to handle it well. The best way to describe it is a wave of terror that can come and go at the worst moments. The phone becomes an appendage. Suddenly you realize that you have left the room without it and your chest tightens until you cannot get a breath, your eyes water, and you just KNOW that he called while you were so STUPID. You race to find it and check and then the disappointment sets in when you see that there are no missed calls. Again, your chest tightens, your eyes water, and by this time you do not know if you should feel relief that you did not miss it or anger that he STILL has not called like he said he would. As you are deciding how to feel a third concern sets in that he might not have called because something terrible has happened. Then generally the tears start....Hopefully at this time you are in the privacy of your own home and not somewhere like work, the store, or a meeting where everyone is in the middle of telling you how much they admire how courageous you are being.
That is also another element of call panic. The well-wishers. They are the wonderful people in your life that mean to be so kind and tell you how great you are, and how much they admire both you and your man, and want to "do something for you if you need ANYTHING". (My yard is about a foot tall, I am allergic to grass, and the well-wishers are nowhere to be seen...). One of the scariest parts of the panic is when you see a well-wisher approaching and the chest is in tight mode. You KNOW they are going to say something, you KNOW they have the best intentions, (they really are wonderful people) you hope they will just decide to talk about the weather because you do not want the flood of emotion to come out. Surely if you are not equipped to handle this, they most certainly are not. So you smile, thank them, and hope they do not notice that you just need them to move along so your phone can ring....
Usually these sessions happen at least a dozen times a day and until THE CALL finally comes. The frustration, joy, relief and anger over the last few days battle it out for about the first five minutes of THE CALL. If you are very lucky, you can just let the joy show through and he has no idea how silly you have been over it. This goes along until it's time for the next call, and the cycle begins again.
So, maybe there are some that do not have this strange phenomenon, but I daresay that there are thousands that do. I have personally spoken to many who have the same type of experience. For all the well-wishers, if you see a strange, tight look on the face of a serviceman's wife, simply squeeze her shoulder and maybe truly do something kind for her without talking about it. She will talk to you when she is able.
Now it's time to go. I have a call to wait for and my chest is getting tight.
The panic begins.
Now this is a strange feeling for someone who does not ordinarily deal with this sort of thing on a day-to-day basis, and so I am not equipped to handle it well. The best way to describe it is a wave of terror that can come and go at the worst moments. The phone becomes an appendage. Suddenly you realize that you have left the room without it and your chest tightens until you cannot get a breath, your eyes water, and you just KNOW that he called while you were so STUPID. You race to find it and check and then the disappointment sets in when you see that there are no missed calls. Again, your chest tightens, your eyes water, and by this time you do not know if you should feel relief that you did not miss it or anger that he STILL has not called like he said he would. As you are deciding how to feel a third concern sets in that he might not have called because something terrible has happened. Then generally the tears start....Hopefully at this time you are in the privacy of your own home and not somewhere like work, the store, or a meeting where everyone is in the middle of telling you how much they admire how courageous you are being.
That is also another element of call panic. The well-wishers. They are the wonderful people in your life that mean to be so kind and tell you how great you are, and how much they admire both you and your man, and want to "do something for you if you need ANYTHING". (My yard is about a foot tall, I am allergic to grass, and the well-wishers are nowhere to be seen...). One of the scariest parts of the panic is when you see a well-wisher approaching and the chest is in tight mode. You KNOW they are going to say something, you KNOW they have the best intentions, (they really are wonderful people) you hope they will just decide to talk about the weather because you do not want the flood of emotion to come out. Surely if you are not equipped to handle this, they most certainly are not. So you smile, thank them, and hope they do not notice that you just need them to move along so your phone can ring....
Usually these sessions happen at least a dozen times a day and until THE CALL finally comes. The frustration, joy, relief and anger over the last few days battle it out for about the first five minutes of THE CALL. If you are very lucky, you can just let the joy show through and he has no idea how silly you have been over it. This goes along until it's time for the next call, and the cycle begins again.
So, maybe there are some that do not have this strange phenomenon, but I daresay that there are thousands that do. I have personally spoken to many who have the same type of experience. For all the well-wishers, if you see a strange, tight look on the face of a serviceman's wife, simply squeeze her shoulder and maybe truly do something kind for her without talking about it. She will talk to you when she is able.
Now it's time to go. I have a call to wait for and my chest is getting tight.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Pulling It Together
It's not that easy to pull it together and try to figure out how to do this alone. I have been alone many times, and have been through a deployment before with him, but it was very different. Last time I had family around and friends that I saw every day. My marriage was a bit less secure though. This time there is no family but my marriage is better, which just makes it hurt more. My other half is gone so far away. I wish this stupid war was over and we could have them home finally! This time we are sending our oldest one off to college and he will miss that as well as her high school graduation. We are so close and I am already missing that. I am terrified that he will change into a different person like he did last time. I hope he will keep all his promises to me.
I am finding things to concentrate on, such as school work and my various causes. I am pouring myself into everything. Tonight the girls and I are celebrating Ostara, one of the lesser Sabbats. We chose tonight to add to the fun. I put a bunch of eggs outside with glow-in-the-dark paint on them and fun prize coupons inside with things that we can do together, such as movies, bowling, shopping, extra allowance, etc....they will have to search with flashlights and there is also a full moon. I adore them and we will have a ball. They need distractions too, and they time with me as much as I need them. I am so lucky that we are this close.
I have a list of things that I want to do while he is gone, and different things to try and accomplish personally. I am going to try and be positive, but this generally goes against my nature-hahaha.
If I think good things, surely they are bound to happen???
I am finding things to concentrate on, such as school work and my various causes. I am pouring myself into everything. Tonight the girls and I are celebrating Ostara, one of the lesser Sabbats. We chose tonight to add to the fun. I put a bunch of eggs outside with glow-in-the-dark paint on them and fun prize coupons inside with things that we can do together, such as movies, bowling, shopping, extra allowance, etc....they will have to search with flashlights and there is also a full moon. I adore them and we will have a ball. They need distractions too, and they time with me as much as I need them. I am so lucky that we are this close.
I have a list of things that I want to do while he is gone, and different things to try and accomplish personally. I am going to try and be positive, but this generally goes against my nature-hahaha.
If I think good things, surely they are bound to happen???
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