Being a Good Wife: Recipe for Apple Turnovers

"Be All The Wife He Needs!" it says.

Choke.  Sputter.  Gag.  Cough.

I know.

Husbands are supposed to be the butt of jokes today.  They are never right; they make us roll our eyes at their ineptitude.  Have you ever seen a commercial where the husband knew more than the wife?  Or the kid?  Start paying attention while you're watching TV.  You'll notice the trend.  They're always sitting on the couch, screwing something up, or just not smart enough to figure out what the wife knew all along.

Here's one.

Here's another one.

And another.

There are dozens more.

Why should we respect men?  We don't need men anymore.  We can work, we can raise the kids (or pay others to do it), we can call a repair man for things that break (better do it before hubby gets his hands on it-HA HA HA).  When they get too grating we just get rid of them because marriage is disposable now.

What a grand "empowered" society we've created for ourselves.

There was a time when men were needed.  In all their imperfections, we couldn't live without them because they brought into our world something that could not be found anywhere else.  It wasn't just money to keep the lights on, although that was a big part of the equation.  They were strong and unemotional.  They slayed our dragons, and kept the bogyman away.  They went out and killed something and drug it home and yes, it fell to the woman to cook it for him.

And why shouldn't she?  She got to stay inside where it was warm and safe (because he made it so), teaching and raising her own children (because he did what he did, giving her that luxury).  She did those things with joy and was grateful to her man.  He did those things with joy because providing for his woman and children gave him something to live for, to be strong for, to be the best version of his masculine self for.

Tell me...why did we unravel that perfectly woven marriage tapestry?  Why did we think it would be better to emasculate our men?  When did we stop seeing the nobility of making a house a home and bringing our children up in it?  When did we stop being grateful for it?

I'm not always a "Good Wife" but I am grateful to my husband.  He has done so much to give us the life we enjoy today.  I respect him.  I want him to be a "Happy Husband."  I want him to look forward to coming home in the evening.  I don't think it makes me oppressed to go out of my way to fix him something I know he likes.  Even if it takes a couple of hours from start to finish, and makes a huge mess in the kitchen, and requires a trip to the store because I don't have all the ingredients.

A few days ago my husband said apple turnovers sounded good.  I don't make them often for the reasons just stated.  They are my, "I want you to know I love and appreciate you." food staple.  I made them for a birthday once, I packed them in tupperware, and drove them all the way from Kansas City to San Antonio so that he could have them for Thanksgiving while he was in AIT.  I made them last Friday even though it's our designated "Sheet Pan Pizza and a Move Night" and I already relegate myself to two hours in the kitchen making pizza from scratch (here is the recipe for that).  All because he said they sounded good.

Call me old-fashioned, but when he walked in the door after work, saw them cooling on the counter, took one, flopped down on the couch without even taking his boots off, and mumbled, "These are so good," it was totally worth it.  And I'm fairly certain that in that moment I was "All the Wife He Needs."  *wink, wink*

Apple Turnover
2 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 T. granulated sugar
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 cup cold unsalted butter, cut into little squares
1/4 cup cold shortening, cut into little squares
1/2 cup cold water
Put dry ingredients in the bowl of a food processor.  Pulse to combine.  Add butter and shortening.  Pulse 10 or 12 times until you get a sandy texture with chunks of fat no larger than a pea.  Slowly add water while you continue to pulse.  Let it whirl until it forms a ball.  Dump it out onto a floured surface, divide in two, wrap in plastic (it will be helpful later if you go ahead and flatten it out as you wrap it up).  Stick it in the fridge for at least 30 minutes.
*You can also make the pastry in a bowl, by hand.  No need to break out the appliances (less to clean later!)

3 cups chopped apples (2 granny smiths and 1 smallish red delicious work well together)
1/4 cup orange juice (usually half of a fresh orange produces enough juice)
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1 T. butter
Combine ingredients in a large nonstick pan.  Bring to a boil, cover and let it cook for 3-4 minutes.

4 tsp. cornstarch
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1 T. water
Stir to combine, add to apples, stirring constantly to avoid lumps.  Let it cook one minute more, then remove from heat and let cool.

Roll one of the pastries out to about 1/8" thickness, as close to a square as you can get it.  Trim edges with a sharp knife, divide into four squares.  Place a heaping tablespoon of apples in a square, fold over to form a triangle, seal edges with a fork. Brush with milk and sprinkle with sugar.  Repeat with other squares.  Do it all over again with your other chunk of pastry.

Bake for about 20-25 minutes at 375.

Takes some practice but once you get the hang of it, they come out nice every time.

Here's a pic of mine.  Not the most beautiful things in the world but *meh* he likes 'em.

How I became "just a mom"

I went to college, like a lot of young women, and didn't give much thought to anything other than working at the job I was training for.

And then I had a baby.

I went on a job interview when I was about 8 weeks pregnant and I cried all the way to my car out of the fear that I might get the job and have to leave my baby for 8 or 9 hours in the care of someone else.  

I didn't get that job, thank goodness.

My husband and I never discussed whether or not I would be a stay-at-home mom, or whether he was willing to make the sacrifices necessary for a one-income family to survive.  Heck, we barely knew each other when we got married.  I held my breath and tip-toed around the issue for a while and to my great relief, he felt exactly the way I felt: I should be the one to raise our children, not day care providers or grandparents.

*DISCLAIMER: Young girls, I do not recommend that you marry a fella you've known less than a year like I did.  I lucked out!  He turned out to be a wonderful, trustworthy man but all I knew of him, really, was that he was handsome and he hadn't missed a day of work in all the time I knew him (except for once, we both played hookie while we were dating to see the airshow but that was partly my fault).  

Here we are now, 10 years later and I have never, not once, regretted that I didn't work full time.  I'm not going to tell you that this is God's best, original plan for how the family should function.  It's the way my family functions best (and it happens to be the way families functioned for a millenia before our generation--who knows everything about everything, amiright?--came along) but I also know that we live in a great big world with all kinds of people living all kinds of lives and there's room for us all.  

If reading about how to make SAHM life work is not your cup of tea, that's all right.  

I don't think that makes you less of a mom than me.  But I also don't think that me choosing homemaking over a professional career makes me less of a woman than anyone else.  The internet has given me this platform so I'm going to sing it from the rooftops (er...well, the front porch of my audience of family and friends):  YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORK.  

I grew up post-women's lib and I've come to believe that the movement to get women out of the kitchen and into the workforce has been incredibly destructive to the fabric of our society.  This is a very complex issue and I'll get into it in future posts and again, we are allowed to disagree, but it has taken me years to be comfortable with myself as "just a mom."  That is a shame.  

Nuthin' wrong with that!

The Big D: Our First Skype Fight

Sometimes I love FB. It's my main line of communication with my hubby. It has been a great way to get to know new people at my FDS and I've also been able to keep in touch with friends back home. I can post a pic of my 7 year old with her just-pulled tooth between her fingers instead of having to call all the grandmas individually. It's great. But sometimes I believe that FB is the freaking spawn of Satan and has no earthly business distracting us from our real lives with virtual pseudo-crap that masquerades as real life. But I digress.

 My husband and I fling arguments back and forth for a while on FB chat but he has to go to work and I have to take my daughter to art class so hours go by without responses and a conversation that should have taken 20 minutes and been done with dragged out ALL DAY LONG. That is not good for women--to stew all day on stuff like that. It makes petty little things grow and fester into malignant, all-consuming problems. Yes, it was a horrible, horrible day.

So, here's what I did and why I'm telling you guys about this. I've been around long enough to know the destruction that can be wrought during a fight in which the words you use are typed/written instead of spoken. Once you click "send" he can read your words over and over again. He can read in between the lines and infer things you didn't mean. You can never take the words back, even if you apologize and say you didn't mean it--the words are still THERE, hurting each other for internet eternity. So I thought on that and prayed before every single reply I wrote to him. There were some messages that I typed while my heart was thumping and smoke was pouring out of my ears that I deleted and started over because it was more important to me that he understand why I was ticked than to just know that I was ticked. I could have called him names (and believe me I wanted to) but I didn't. I didn't want to pretend nothing was wrong either, so I kept my words honest and focused on me instead of accusing him (he didn't hurt me intentionally and I always knew that even though it didn't diminish how hurt I was). It wasn't about venting or harping at him either. That's not communication. I tried really, really hard, as mad as I was, to keep an even temper while I was writing and tried to anticipate his reaction to what I was saying. Honestly, I didn't know for sure. He said he thought he was being funny and meant nothing by it. I could have been makings worse but hoped I wasn't.

And you know what? I woke up this morning to a lengthy, apologetic, sappy, romantic message and I wrote him one right back. Can I tell you part of what he said? It makes me smile.  "I'm waiting to come home to you because you are the most beautiful woman I know. You are the mother of my children, the love of my life, my best friend, the person I would die for." I would have rather had hot make-up sex, of course, but this wasn't a bad substitute. And now we have those loving messages full of kind words that we can look at over and over, for all internet eternity.

Love prospers when a fault is forgiven, but dweling on it separates close friends. Proverbs 17:9.          

The Big D: And Marriage

26 July
Well, I am back from the longest vacation EVER, and glad to be home. I loved visiting my family and my husband's family but it's nice to wake up to reveille every morning again.

I have learned a little bit more about deployment. For instance, one of the biggest health issues my husband treats is...er...pooping problems. Do your husbands a favor and tell them to eat the fresh fruit that is offered at the dfac every chance they get, lol. That will keep them from knocking on the medic's door and asking all sorts of embarrassing questions while the medic's wife waits patiently on the other end of Skype, snickering quietly and honestly feeling bad for the guy who's never experienced these..."problems" and their side effects before.

Other than that, things have been pretty quiet for my husband and his unit. They continue to work at their mission and have nearly completed it. They have begun talking about making preparations to return to kaf, and then to return home even though they're barely more than halfway through the whole deployment. I'm learning that it takes a lot of time to get things put away, packed up, inventoried, and ready to out-process (by the way--helpful tip: "Redeploy" means "come home"). They are even spreading rumors about coming home early but I don't believe them for a second. My husband was given a target date at the beginning and that's what we're looking at as a countdown day but we all understand that everything is fluid and subject to change.

Ironically, things back home have NOT been quiet at all, I discovered as I spent time catching up with old friends. Three families we knew split up. Three. Two of them were not surprising, but one of them was a total shock and it makes me want to cry to think of it.

So many of us in this Army life worry about the separation the Army causes and the toll it takes on marriage and kids but in my little universe, it's living in the real world that is more destructive to a marriage. This family I know...they had it all together.  They had some issues due to job losses but they still got to live in the same house and be parenting partners and figure out how to get through their trial together. I envied them their "togetherness" when my husband was yanked away from us by the army. And yet that family chose to separate.

I felt so bad for the wife, my friend, until she started talking about the therapy she was going to and how it was time for "her" now and she deserved "respect" too and in a way she was relieved by the separation.  A part of me wanted to pull my hair out and scream that she GETS to be with her husband and CHOOSES to do life ALONE!?!? I'm so sick of doing life alone and I long to be with my husband again and no, things are not perfect in our marriage--no one gets to say that. Sometimes he is selfish and sometimes I am selfish. We had a particularly difficult time in our marriage a couple of years ago when I wanted to throttle my husband and was so mad at him I wouldn't speak to him for days. Some might have said that I would have been justified in leaving him but no matter how much my feelings were hurt I couldn't deny that deep down he was a good man, and I picked him, and I considered myself "stuck" with him. Now that we are past that trial we had, I can say it with a smile. And I can tell you what a GIFT it is to be married and to have a partner in life--even when he is on the other side of the world.

I've said it before I feel so strongly about it, I'll say it again. Deployment is NOT the end of the world. It is not the worst thing that could happen to a marriage. There are ways to stay close and connected and we are SO BLESSED with technology that keeps us in contact every single day. It is hard work, yes. It's not the same as having him here with me. It's not what I would choose. And I have no idea what it's going to be like when he's actually home and we have to relearn how to do life together after being apart for essentially a year and a half (with a few hectic weeks thrown in there between training and deployment). But life rarely turns out how you plan it. It just doesn't. You don't always get to choose how things will be and even if you did, there is a limit to what you can know about the future so your choices will be flawed and leave you with a feeling of discontent. All you can do is to learn to be content in every circumstance--whether you have a little or a lot, whether your stomach is full or empty, whether you wanted things to be this way or that. This is not some kind of phony "positive thinking" mind game you play with yourself. It can sometimes only be accomplished through prayer and dependence on something you believe is in control when you realize you are not.

If your husband is near you right now, do me a favor and give him a big hug and tell him you're thankful for him. If he's not, write him a love letter and tell him you're doing ok and that and you're thankful for him. And if you're a praying person, toss one up north and tell God you're thankful for your husband even when things aren't exactly as you thought they'd be.


 "It would be the greatest of tragedies to sacrifice others in the effort to find ourselves." Erwin McManus    

The Big D: Countdown to the end

12 September
Every day that passes gets me closer to the end of this.  Until then, I just continue to carry on and stay active, putting things on the calendar and taking care of things that need taking care of but I think this last little bit is going to feel like the longest of the whole deployment.

I have a handful of friends whose husbands just returned in the last week or so and I'm not going to lie to you. It is so hard to see them with their husbands. I had to watch a friend and her family sit in front of me at church last Sunday and their little boy (who looks SOOO much like his daddy, who I had never seen before) was crawling all over him, clinging to him and whispering in his ear, and I knew how happy they were because I watched her cry, 10 days before his return, overwhelmed by the absence they had endured and the excitement of him finally coming home. But there I was, still alone and fighting the urge to be insanely envious of her. In those moments, it feels like I still have SO LONG to wait!

There are so many of those hard moments when it feels like this separation will never end, and maybe it even feels like the cost of this life is just too great.  I've heard from several women who are struggling and I'm the kind of person who says we have to be master of our emotions and turn to something that encourages us.

I happen to be reading "Bonhoeffer," right now, a book about a German pastor who stood up to Hitler in the years leading up to WWII and was arrested and executed for his part in an assassination attempt. He spent 18 months in prison before being executed by the Nazis but during those long months he was permitted to write letters and he had a fiancé named Marie who received many of them. Something he said to her in one of his letters has encouraged me and I go to it in my mind every time I want to feel sorry for myself or I wonder if this is all worth it:

"No, you needn't have a moment's worry--I'm not worried either. You do, of course, know from the little we've said to each other that danger exists not only out there [on the battlefronts] but here at home as well, sometimes rather less so, sometimes rather more. What man of today has the right to shun it and shrink from it? And what woman of today should not share it, however gladly the man would relieve her of that burden? And how indescribably happy it makes the man if the woman he loves stands by him with courage, patience , and above all--prayer." Dietrich Bonhoeffer

I want to encourage you who are struggling. The separation will end, the hard moments will pass, and when you are reunited, the painful memories will fade. I don't say this as an expert because I am still living through it. I say it because I believe it will happen. Be courageous, have patience, and pray.  If all else fails...

    

The Big D: The end is near and the pressure is on

02 October
With my mind on reintegration (we have such an unbelievably short time left--and the date is still holding!!) I've had some strange thoughts swimming around in my head and I've resolved some of them, which has removed a huge amount of pressure I stupidly placed on my shoulders, so I thought I would share some of my stupidity and how I am getting past it:

I am an over-achiever. Let's just get that out there. You might have been able to figure that out through reading my other posts, or if you know me personally. If you ask me to do something, I will not only do it, but I will do better than that if at all possible. I also like order. I like when things make sense and that's a big reason why I am even writing all of this. For so many young wives, enlisting in the army and sending a husband off to BCT makes them feel like their life is a suitcase that's been dropped down the stairs and all the insides have been dumped out and scattered all over the place. I like to walk up behind you, pick up your things, fold them neatly, tuck them back in, then hand you back your suitcase with a smile, having made sense of it all for you.

So now you will understand, maybe, the range of emotion that has been running through my brain at having such a close homecoming date to hold on to. I have gone from "This doesn't feel real yet," to "I've got to drop EVERYTHING and make the house perfect," to "Forget perfect, I need to finish this project before he gets home because he will totally not 'get' why I'm spending so much time on it and I won't be able to work on it much after he's here," to "Crap. What else about the way I've been doing things is going to have to change?"

Let me clarify...it's not "change" that scares me. We've been married a long time and have been through lots of things that have changed us as individuals and as a couple. Change is just a part of the marital package. What's had me all wound up is the fact that I have ordered my life in a very intentional way that makes sense to me. I have priorities--for me, they're spiritual things (church is where we are on a Sunday morning; yes, Bible study is an hour away twice a week but I wouldn't miss it for ANYTHING, if there is a social thing or a service thing going on with church, I do my best to be there). Doing life this way is how I feel I am being obedient to God (maybe if you're not a person of faith you have nothing to relate this to, but maybe you do, so I'm just going to put it all out there).

A couple of days ago, I had this raw, panicky thought: how do I continue to live in what is, for me, a God-honoring way, when I now have to share my daily life and these priorities that I have had the ultimate say in, with another person--a person who hasn't been on the same journey as I have and who isn't where I'm at spiritually? My husband and I make a really good partnership but my walk with God is something about me he appreciates from a distance, y'know? Anyway, this thought really threw me for a loop and I shared my concerns with my bible study friends (who are much smarter and wiser than me, lol) and one of them said to me, "Can I say something? You're breaking my heart a little bit by thinking you have to have everything perfectly ordered when your husband comes home. It doesn't have to be, ok? Just take it a day at a time and quit trying to be everything to everyone." I burst into tears when she said that. It was such a relief to hear someone say those words and I didn't even realize that's what I had been doing in trying to anticipate what my husband's reactions would be to the way I'd ordered our lives (let's face it--it's been a year and a half since we sold our house in Kansas City and had anything resembling a normal life as a family unit so there's bound to be some surprises for him), and trying to fit all the mixed up pieces together beforehand.

So, I'm not doing that anymore and it is SUCH load off! I do anticipate that some of my habits will have to change but I will give them up and not require my husband to conform to my routines because it just shouldn't be that way...in my very old-fashioned opinion, anyway. My husband has never been one to aggressively be "The Man of the House" and he's never played that card with me to get his way, but I think deep down, that's what men really are when they are at their best, God-given potential as leaders, lovers, providers, and protectors. I want him to slip back into that role without being hindered by my whining about what I'm giving up. And even though it feels like what I am giving up is good (and I've been fortunate to have the alone time to develop some of the life-long disciplines I didn't have before), I am resting in the knowledge that by submitting to the way my husband wants to order our lives--it's ok, because God gave me my husband and in being a good, and happy, and undemanding, and uncomplicated wife, I'm still honoring God with my life. It will look a little bit different after the big day but I'm not really losing any ground with Him. He knows.

Wowza. That ended up being really long. I'm sorry if this makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, lol. But I still hold onto the off-chance that there is someone out there who can use this to make sense of their own unique situation and so I'll hit "post" instead of "delete."           

The Big D: It's over

18 October
No words. Just.....          

Delivered

Evelyn settled herself into the cushioned chair, set her purse on the floor, and used her orthotics-clad foot to slide it under her seat.  There were 20 or 30 chairs in this small, shadowy room and thanks to the thoughtful design of stadium seating, the spectators would get a great view.  As if they had come here to watch a movie or a ball game and not to watch somebody die.

There was an armed guard standing in the corner, wearing a baseball cap of all things (the casualization of society, she called this), watching people trickle in.  There were a few she figured were reporters.  Who else would want to memorialize this event with a yellow legal pad and a ballpoint pen?  Some faces she recognized from the trial as families of the victims.  One of them was a victim.  Evelyn tried not to look at her.  She sat two seats away and one row down.  The woman had been shot and raped and left to die but somehow survived.  Her testimony at the trial was horrific and is probably what convinced the jury to vote unanimously for death.  In a perverted sort of way that Evelyn would have denied if anyone had asked her about it, she hoped the woman got some kind of satisfaction out of today.  Then at least one good thing would come out of her son's life.

She kept her eyes on the window in front of her and wondered if it was a one-way glass.  Maybe Richard wouldn't even know she was here.  Maybe it was best that way.  She thought of him as a boy and how he would stick out his hand, and wave a big goofy wave, and say, "Hi, Mom!" when he saw her, the way he did when she was 15 minutes late picking him up from school once.  He was the only student left and stood on the sidewalk with a teacher who lifted her watch and stared at it when Evelyn arrived.  Richard never doubted that she would be there for him eventually.  She hadn't once come to visit him in prison.  

Time had stopped for her around the time he was convicted 11 years ago.  She knew intellectually that he was no longer a boy and that a grown man of 29 would walk through the door on the other side of that glass, but she preferred to live in her memories, a time of promises made, before she knew they wouldn't come to pass.  Not in Richard's lifetime anyway.

The door to the room beyond the glass opened and Richard walked through in his baggy orange jumper, hands behind his back, followed by a physician and a man in a suit.  Richard said, "You want me to sit?"  Evelyn was shocked she could hear voices.  She thought it would be sound proof and panicked a bit at what she might hear in his last moments.  Despite everything, she didn't want to hear him suffer.  The man in the suit told him not to sit just yet and took the handcuffs off.  He bumped Richard lightly as he moved around him in the small space and Evelyn heard her son's voice again saying, "Pardon me," as he rubbed his wrists.

They nudged Richard toward a gurney in the center of the room and sat him down on a plastic green mattress and hooked him up to a heartrate monitor, which seemed to her like a waste.  Thin black velcro straps dangled limp from the sides of the bed, jostling with Richard's weight in a grotesque little dance. 

Richard was calm.  More calm than she'd ever seen him, though to be fair, the last time they were together he was on drugs.  For six excruciating years, his eyes were either dilated and darting all over the place or glazed over, hollow and sunken.  Now they were clear and blue.  His face was clean shaven.  He looked so...healthy.  There wasn't even a tremor in his hand as he stretched his arm out to have the inside of his elbow swabbed with alcohol by the physician, another waste of time it seemed to her, and have an IV started.  

He laid down and inched his body up the mattress a bit to position his head on the little white pillow.  The man in the suit fastened the velcro around Richard's arms and legs.  He mumbled something she couldn't hear and Richard looked up at him and nodded.  She thought Richard would be scared but he wasn't.  He was just expectant, as if he was being strapped into a ride at an amusement park and had just been asked by the bored, sweaty, zit-plagued employee if the straps were tight enough.  "Enjoy the ride," the teenaged boy would say, and it would have been vaguely appropriate here but that's not what the man said.  He asked Richard if he had any last words.  Richard stared unblinking at the ceiling and said, "Life is death, death is life. I hope that someday this absurdity that humanity has come to will come to an end.  Life is too short. I hope anyone that has negative energy towards me will resolve that.  Life is too short to harbor feelings of hatred and anger. That's it, Warden."

Evelyn gripped the arms of her chair.  It was all she could do to keep herself from standing up and facing the room and giving a proper statement for Richard.  She wanted them to know that he was sorry for killing his own brother with a 20-gauge shotgun.  He was sorry for shooting those two other women, raping one of them, and leaving them all for dead.  He had to be.  She wasn't mother to a monster. 

She labored for 26 hours to bring Richard into the world.  His head was stuck for so long in the birth canal, when he finally emerged it was misshapen and lopsided and covered in meconium.  His nose never did quite straighten out but she loved him even more for it.  "Look what we did!" she had whispered excitedly to her husband in the dark early morning hours after his birth.  "This is the one.  Our deliverer," she said, welling with pride over her beautiful boy.  He was born with the promise of greatness and he could get Evelyn back home where she belonged.  She didn't deserve to go back after what she had done but the promise had been made and she trusted that it would be kept.  Richard would save them all.

She reminded him of it often, even when he began resenting her for it.  The summer Richard turned 12 was when her faith in him began to waver.  He'd been in trouble more than he was out of it and she stood at the stove, stirring a pot of pasta and letting him have it.  In her mind, she liked to see herself as June Cleaver with her apron, flats, and pearls, in control of every situation, telling him why he needed to stop this behavior and come to his senses.  "We're all depending on you, Richard.  Don't forget that."  But in reality, she was barefoot, uncombed, exhausted, stressed to the point of sickness, and the pasta water had boiled over, hissing and bubbling, scorching the glass stove top. 

"I don't give a (the foulest expletive in the English language, in her opinion) about the promise!" Richard shouted.  Her fingers froze, just short of the knob to turn the heat down, and she stood like a statue while he railed at her.  "Andy never gets this bull(another vile expletive that makes her cringe to remember).  Why don't you do this to Andy?  You leave Andy alone and you're always on my back!"  Of course that was peppered with proclamations of hating her and wishing she was dead, but that wasn't what haunted Evelyn about the exchange.  Later, she scrubbed furiously at the stovetop with her brillo and Softscrub, stunned that he was jealous of Andy.  If anyone had a reason to resent her, it was Andy, who was always being overlooked and disregarded in favor of Richard. She didn't mean for it to be like that but so much was at stake for Richard and Andy just...was.  Andy, eternally sweet Andy, never held it against her.  He loved everyone and did everything that was asked of him without complaint.  He was probably professing his love for his brother right up until Richard shot him.   

Evelyn was constantly going over the years leading up to that nightmare in her mind, redoing scenes in her imagination that might have changed the trajectory, if only she would have known what Richard was capable of.  One scene she would have like to do over was the evening her husband had been working late in the fields.  Richard approached him and demanded to be paid for his labor.  His father laughed in his face and told him his labor was unacceptable, and that it took a lot of nerve to walk up to him in this field with his hand out, as if he owed Richard something.  Richard faunched and fumed and sputtered horrible things about hating his father then too. 

Evelyn would have gone beyond praying if she had another chance at that night.  She would have begged and pleaded with him, disgracing herself if need be, to get him to return to his father with a contrite and humble heart, knowing her husband would never turn him away.  Nothing would have worked though; she knew that now.  Richard's resentment morphed into an all-consuming bitterness.  The whole family walked on eggshells around him.  His anger bubbled to the surface any time he didn't get his way.  Drugs entered their house.  Richard dropped out of high school.  A stolen car led to jail, then probation.  Finally, the unthinkable in a field 16 miles outside town.  An act so heinous, Evelyn refused to believe it until she watched Richard in the courtroom, cold and remorseless, not denying that he had done it.

Richard came back to the house after killing Andy to sleep off a drug-induced high.  He woke up famished, drank half of a gallon of milk while he stood in front of the open refrigerator, and kissed Evelyn on the top of her head before walking out the door to take care of his "business," which she now knew was to pay off a drug dealer with money from an earlier robbery.

She shuddered in her seat, remembering that kiss, as the warden gave a little nod.  Someone somewhere was flicking a switch, or pushing a button, or depressing a plunger that was shooting poison into Richard's body.   Seconds passed and Richard twisted his head back, raising it up off the pillow, to find the warden who stood behind him. 

"Wow!" Richard shouted. Evelyn jumped in her seat at his outburst.  "That is great. That is awesome! Thank you, (that foul expletive again, an adjective this time) Warden!"  His head fell back on the pillow at an angle that looked like it should have been painful.  His mouth and eyes stayed open but everyone watching from the other side of the glass knew the end had come for Richard.  He was gone.  But the promise wasn't gone with him. 

It was foolish of her to believe that it would be her son.  Her own sins were too greivous.  She never thought in a million years that murder would be the result and she would give her life to undo her mistakes.  But she wouldn't spend the rest of her life grieving Richard either.  He always believed he had a right to his anger and his life reflected that.  He chose to hate and to hurt others.  Now, looking at his dead body, Evelyn could see that the one who was really destroyed was him.  

All around Evelyn, hugs were exchanged, sighs of relief that had been held in for 11 long years were expelled.  But the woman who had been raped hadn't moved.  She stared at Richard's body, seeming totally unsatisfied, maybe even feeling a little jipped.  She probably came here to see him suffer or cry like a pathetic, scared child.  Evelyn wished she didn't feel the inclination to apologize to the woman because her son wasn't more pathetic but there it was.  She was burdened for this woman who would walk out of the room this day with a choice to make as well.

People began to trickle out.  They had seen what they'd come for.  Now it was dinnertime and they would celebrate as they broke bread together at the TGI Friday's across town.

After 15 minutes the doctor entered the room and pronounced Richard dead.  They unhooked the heartrate monitor and wheeled the gurney through the door and out of sight.  Evelyn had already checked the boxes and signed the papers for the prison.  There was nothing left for her to do except to leave this room as well and go home to get on with the rest of her life.  She pulled her purse out from under the chair, hooked it over her shoulder, and stood up, realizing that the woman had remained in her chair, staring through the glass into the now empty execution room.  They locked eyes for a second and Evelyn looked away. 

"You had another child," the woman said rather than asked.  Evelyn choked out a hoarse, "Yes."  She cleared her throat and said it again, clearer this time.  On the one year anniversay of Andy's death, baby Seth had arrived via c-section to her aged body.  In the quiet, early morning hours after his birth, she had whispered to her husband through tears of grief, "The Lord has given us another son in the place of Andy."  Her husband had agreed at the time but as Seth grew, Evelyn realized that Seth was different than Andy. Seth was obedient like Andy, but he also had a love for God that came from somewhere beyond Evelyn's doing or understanding.

Evelyn shuffled through the narrow path between the chairs and timidly laid a hand on the woman's shoulder.  "Choose love.  Choose life."  She paused and said, "So that you can live long after this life is over."  The woman remained stiff and unaffected but Evelyn gave a motherly squeeze and left the room.

Seth had a son named Enosh.
Enosh
Kenan
Mahalelel
Jared
Enoch
Methuselah
Lamech
Noah
Shem
Arphaxad
Shelah
Eber
Peleg
Reu
Serug
Nahor
Terah
Abram
Isaac
Jacob
Judah
...
David
...
Jesus, the promised Deliverer, referred to himself as a Son of Adam (Man) more often than as the Son of God.  





This allegory of Genesis 3:15-4:25 is loosely based on the story of Texas inmate, Richard Cobb's execution in Hunstville on April 25, 2013 as reported by Michael Graczyk, AP.
http://news.msn.com/crime-justice/man-put-to-death-for-texas-store-abduction-slaying

Ready? 1...2...3...Cannonbaaaalllll!

So, it's been four months since I've written.  Anything.  That creative and thoughtful part of my brain totally shut down when we invited all sorts of crazy into our lives with Army enlistment.  We have sold the house we lived in for 8 years (which is its own crazy story), moved in with in-laws, left a wonderful school district, submitted a resignation from a job I have loved, and the hardest thing of all: preparing to say good-bye to the church that has loved us, sustained us, and changed us.  All this while doing my best to figure out what to do with my present while all my ideas about what our future would have held unraveled and then knit itself together in a radically different pattern. 

The new pattern has lots of camo in it.

And combat boots.  And automatic weapons.  And acronyms.  And long lonely nights while my soldier is away doing what needs to be done.


But this new future is lovely in its own way.  It will involve lots of change.  But change is the essence of an adventurous life.  There will even be pain.  But pain is the key to growth and, to borrow a phrase I learned recently, all growth is spiritual growth. 

Some people, upon hearing this truth and desiring spiritual growth for themselves, creep along the edge of change and dip their toes in, gradually warming up to it.  Not us.  We grasped each other's hands, took a flying leap, and plunged in cannonball-style.  Not because we are more brave or adventurous than the next family.  But because the pain of staying the same was worse than the pain of change.  Sometimes, that's what it takes to get a person to move.

I could be the type who holds a grudge against God for allowing calamity to reign down on our lives with the first devastating job loss that got this ball rolling.  At the time it seemed like the end of everything good in our lives.  Now I realize that it was only a stumble.  We got kicked in the shins  and limped along for the next few years, rebuilding, surviving, looking for silver linings, thinking the worst was over.  There were uniforms hanging in the house again.  The smell of leather and gun cleaner was like perfume to me.

But it was not to last.  The next time we got punched squarely in the gut.  While we were writhing around on the floor, trying to suck a life-giving breath into our lungs, God was quietly bringing together a plan that would set us on our current course.  But before we could take the first step, we had to be looking up at it from where we lay.  Only then would we see it clearly, accept it, have joy in it, and do the cannonball into it.

Only now I believe that its not only each other's hands we are holding.  According to Psalm 37, "The Lord directs the steps of the godly.  He delights in every detail of their lives.  Though they stumble, they will never fall, for the Lord holds them by the hand."

I'm not quite ready to look back on our lives and delight in all the details, but God, who sees the beginning, the present, and the future, does.  And as I look as far as my limited imagination can see into the new future that has been knitted together, before I take a step, I will reach my hand up and hold on tight as He takes me on the ride of my life. 

Well, you don't seem to be freaking out!

Reactions to our news--that my husband at the age of 33 has enlisted in the Army--has run the gamut from from, "I'm so proud of you," to, "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into," (yeah, we haven't been thinking about what it means for us AT ALL).  But, "Well, you don't seem to be freaking out!" is by far my favorite.  I like it because it was spoken by a friend who knows exactly what military life is.  And the truth is, I'm NOT freaking out even though life as we knew it is pretty much over and hubby ships off in less than five months.

Most people who know us know what we've been through in the last three years or so.  Job loss, followed by the struggle to be grateful for crappy, undesirable, low-paying jobs, followed more job loss, etc.  It's been difficult.  Imagine in those three years getting more letters than can be counted that all begin with the following statement: "Thank you for your interest in (fill-in-the-blank) law enforcement agency.  We've selected a more desirable/qualified candidate."  Over and over and over.  A never-ending stream.  What they're basically saying is, "We don't want you (even though you tested really well).  You have baggage (even though we all have if we're honest with ourselves).  We believe we will regret hiring you (even though you could bring with you a vast amount of training and experience).  We know your old bosses and what they say is far more influential than anything you've got to say to redeem yourself."  Ouch.

Now imagine that you are sitting in the Army recruiter's office.  It may seem like a move of desperation to some but the truth is, you are kind of excited about it.  Some guys are just meant to do this kind of work.  There's just one problem.  There are no jobs available.  The military really isn't beating down anyone's door to join up because "the war is over" and all that, I guess (does anyone really believe that?).  But the seargants you are working with are determined to get you in because they see something in you, or because your test scores are really high, or because they felt some unexplainable nudge from above, or because you brought them Slivinski's donuts at 7am, or whatever.  The point is THEY WANT YOU. 

They want you so bad they are willing to make a call and subvert the system and manually input the job you really wanted to begin with but were told it wasn't likely you could get because the availability of jobs is so limited.

Now, I'm not an empathetic person by nature but...wouldn't that just turn your whole world around?! 

I'm still too busy being ecstatically happy for my husband to bother with freaking out.  I'm not sitting here in blissful unawareness that the future will indeed hold many challenges and trials for our family.  I'm already trying to figure out how to live in the tension of security (steady job, healthcare, housing, etc.) mixed with the insecurity of not knowing where we will be living a year from now.

But I'm not scared.  I'm not sad.  I'm definitely not freaking out.  I have even entertained the notion that perhaps the difficult and crooked path we have been on for the last three years has been sifting away the chaff of materialism, needing a false sense security to feel safe, hanging on to things I need to let go of, and thinking the wrong things are important.  I am ready for this adventure.  I am prepared as much as my limited knowledge of the future can allow me to be.

This next chapter is going to be very interesting.....

Taking a Risk

I've never been what one would call a risk taker.  Except for when I was an ignorant kid who couldn't see my future past the end of my nose.

I did a lot of my growing up years in a small town with a very busy highway running alongside it.

One day when I was about 16 years old I found myself in an old beat up S-10 pick-up truck sandwiched between two guy friends, who, one can only assume, had nothing to lose.  On a quiet little road that crossed the highway, the driver got the sudden brilliant idea to floor it and race across the intersection without stopping.  I held on to the rickety dashboard for dear life, envisioning for a split second what it would look like for us to get side-swiped by a car going 65 miles per hour.  Another split second later, we were safely on the other side and the two guys laughed like idiots and high-fived each other.  Pretty much an idiot myself and not wanting them to know I nearly soiled myself, I probably laughed too.




I took other risks too.  Risks with my heart, with my soul, and with my reputation.  It is only by God's grace that none of these risks resulted in consequences that lasted a lifetime (except for one garish and regrettable tattoo that still makes me cringe when I look at it).

I think it's interesting that I was so willing to take a risk when I so proudly (and foolishly) boasted that I was the only one looking out for me.  Now that I know God, and I know that He made me, He has plans for me, and He'll never forsake me, the thought of taking a risk makes me break out into a cold sweat.

When my husband was unemployed for just a few short days, the thought of not making a house payment, losing the house, and (horrors!) having to change school districts struck such fear in my heart that I found myself weeping in the arms of my pastor's wife who I needed at that moment to quiet my fears and reassure me that this would not, in fact, be the end of the world.

When did I turn into such a wimp?  I think it happened when I became a slave to the false hope of worldly security and personal comfort.  God gave me this gift of my life, not so that I could pursue home ownership and full retirement accounts.  He put me here to do big things.  Risky things.

And time is running out:

"Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be.  Remind me that my days are numbered--how fleeting my life is....  My entire lifetime is just a moment to you; at best, each of us is but a breath.  We are all moving shadows, and all our busy rushing ends in nothing.  We heap up wealth, not knowing who will spend it.  And so, Lord, where do I put my hope?  My only hope is in you."  Psalm 39:4-7

It's true, when you believe in God, you know that this life is not all there is.  But you also have a responsibility to make this life count for something.  I can't do that if I'm going to be a wimp and cling so tightly to security and comfort that I miss the opportunity to take a risk.  

Boasting about the "What if's"

A new job begins today for my beloved.  A blessing?  That remains to be seen.  It's hard to say when there are so many what ifs.

We can't help but strategize with our limited human imaginations: "What if this new job keeps you from doing the part-time thing you've got going on the side...what if it isn't enough to pay the bills....what if the people there can get you a job at a department you REALLY want....what if taking this job means a better opportunity is passed up....what if this turns out to be so great we might want to move to be closer....what if this turns out to be a dead end and a total waste of time....what if....what if?"

I have never doubted that God would work all things out for good to us who love Him.  But there are so many twists and turns and decisions to be made along the way.  I have to force myself to resist asking God for answers to the "what if" questions.  It's not for me to know and I probably couldn't handle it anyway.  Life never makes sense when we're looking ahead or when we're in the middle of it.  It's only in hindsight that we can see the purpose in the pain.

I will also resist making up my mind what would be "best" for us.  A job here or a job there?  Or how about a job here for a year or two and then a job there.  And we won't be satisfied until the ultimate dream job becomes a reality.......right?  But this is the biggest "what if" of all: what if the thing we say we want the most is not really in God's plan for us at all? 

Jesus' brother, James, warns us of doing this in his book, James 4:13-15.  "Look here, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we are going to a certain town and will stay there a year.  We will do business there and make a profit.'  How do you know what your life will be like tomorrow?  Your life is like a morning fog--it's here a little while , then it's gone.  What you ought to say is, 'If the Lord wants us to, we will live and do this or that.'  Otherwise you are boasting about your own plans, and all such boasting is evil."

Lord, help us not to waste this pain by boasting about our plans.  We do not pretend to know what's better for us than You do.  And we look with anticipation to the day when we will look back on this, a changed family, transformed by the pain--made better by it, making sense of the trial, and thanking You for it.

Casting Stones

You know the story...the woman is guilty.  Every one knows it.  They caught her sinning.  They're prepared to stone her; a practice so horrific, so barbaric, I can't even bear to imagine what it is really like.  But when they are told that anyone who hasn't sinned can cast the first stone, they walk away, one by one, beginning with the oldest, until every single person has left.

I've taught this story--more than once--during my years of teaching children's church.  I've also taught the one about not pointing out the splinter in another man's eye when you've got a plank in your own.  I read these scriptures and I nod my head, in complete agreement with Jesus' teachings about humility, honesty, and grace.  Yes, we should all be like this, I think to myself.

But it's a little more difficult to live by this truth when the person who has rained down chaos, uncertainty, and loss on your world is the same person you share your life with by day...and your bed by night.  When the voices in my head are screaming, "YOU did this!!  How could you put us in this position....AGAIN?!?!"  I can't say this out loud, of course.  My girls still need to respect their father...even though my DH, whom I choose to love in times of plenty AND in times of want, is not perfect. 

But I am reminded that he doesn't need to be.  I already have a bridegroom who is perfect.  He'll never disappoint me, never leave me, never forsake me, never let me down, never forget about me, never leave me hanging.  He is completely trustworthy. 

And He is all those things to my DH when I am the one to let him down.  Because one day I will.  I know this because 1 John 1:8 tells me, "If we claim we have no sin, we are only fooling ourselves and not living in the truth." 

So even though my ego and my pride are telling me that he deserves to "pay" with silent treatment and daggers in my eyes, and that I "deserve" to be angry, I will not be casting any stones.  Not only is that the LAST thing he needs right now, but I am the LAST person to be casting them.  Instead, I will root for him.  I will believe in him, in his goodness.  I will be humble and gentle; patient with him, making allowances for his faults because of my love (Ephesians 4:2).  With God's help...I will do these things.  And with God' grace, he will return these favors when it is my sin casting shadows over our lives.