Dawn

     I'm starting a new blog.  I figured that this brand new chapter in my life deserves a fresh place to record and share my journey.  For my new friends, or those just discovering this blog, my name is Jennifer.  My life has never been simple, but it was fairly routine and I thought I had a good idea where it was going.  I am married to this amazing man, Nathan, the love of my life.  We've been together for almost twelve years. He worked a steady job with a good income and got three days off a week to spend with his family. We raised our four children on our five acres in the high desert of Central Oregon with plenty of animals, and rocks and trees and dirt, lots of dirt. I worked for a home birth midwife, my dear friend, serving families, and witnessing miracles.  My life was busy and hectic at times, but it was comfortable.  I was used to the chaos.  I would drive by properties for sale and look them up to see if they had "settle down" potential.  You see, I had this vision in my head - my husband and I on the porch of our home in the country, horses grazing and chickens pecking.  There would be something sweet baking in the oven, a glass of wine in one hand, and my husband's hand in the other as we watched our grandchildren playing in the dirt.  I'd have my phone on me, of course, volume turned all the way up because, as a "granny" midwife, this would just be an old habit anymore...

     ...and then, something happened.  My husband, my sweet, steady, loving husband, became unhappy.  And I don't mean a little down, I mean a deep, soul-crushing, withering sadness that only comes when your day-to-day routine is literally sucking your life force away.  I could smell it, see it, feel it.  And it devastated me.  I'd never seen him like this before.  He'd had low periods, sure, but this was different.  This wasn't going away, it was only escalating and I was watching him get up every morning, and endure it all over again, every day, and it killed me.  He was suffering for his family.  He had to provide, we all depended on him to put food on the table and roof over our heads and so he set aside his happiness and pride and went to his soul-sucking job for ten hours a day, four days a week, for years.

    

     This could have gone on for many more years.  He's just that kind of a man.  He doesn't ask for things for himself, he doesn't put himself first, he just endures, perseveres.  I couldn't stand to see him so miserable.  It broke my heart to witness how taking care of us and our needs meant he was losing who he was.  He'd made so many sacrifices so that I could do what I wanted to do, what I felt fulfilled me and made me happy.  I wanted so much for him to be happy again, to see his eyes light up and hear passion and excitement in his voice and see a spring in his step.  But I didn't have any answers, any solutions, and he didn't either.  So, I prayed.  I bowed to the One who loves and cares and comforts, and I begged Him to reveal a way of escape for my husband. 

     The answer came slowly, in stages.  It started in conversations, you know those long, exhausted conversations, when you're so tired, but you can't sleep because the thought of tomorrow is just too depressing so you hash and rehash the misery together and you think to yourself, "Didn't we have this conversation yesterday and the day before and the day before that?" We were watching one of our favorite shows together - "Ultimate Survival Alaska".  It's this reality show where contestants are in teams and they have to go through a series of challenges over a series of weeks before the winning team is chosen.  We were absolutely addicted to that show.  We liked critiquing the teams, boasting about how we would "survive" better and move through the challenges faster with our general awesomeness and mad skills.  Our favorite team was the "Military Team".  They were comprised of rugged, bearded military guys who just seemed to get along better and work together more than the other teams.  We always cheered for them.  In a sheer moment of randomness, I turned to Nathan, mid-conversation, and said, "What about joining the National Guard? You could experience something new and challenging, learn new things, go new places, and even get an education!" It was that question, that one off-handed suggestion, inspired by a bunch of guys on a reality show that started all of THIS. 

     Next thing I know, he's at the Army recruiting station (because he was only interested in going full Army active, not the Guard) and I'm walking around Hobby Lobby for four hours with my children, praying that if it's not meant to be, that he'll be told "no" quickly, because I just couldn't stand it if he got his hopes up for nothing.  And so it began, the long, drawn-out process of him joining the United States Army.  It was not an easy process, there was studying and tests and paperwork (LOTS of paperwork!), and phone calls, trips to Bend and road trips up to Portland. Hurry up! Sign these papers! Submit this form. Oh, we lost the forms, sign them and submit them again, hurry, hurry! And wait. So much waiting without answers.  It wasn't the usual process because he's not an eighteen year old fresh out of high school.  He's in his thirties.  He has a health history and twice the "limit" of children.  So, we signed and submitted, faxed and drove and waited.  All the waiting gave us plenty of time for discussion.  We spent many nights talking long into the night, sometimes the early morning, discussing any and all possibilities of this major, life-altering decision.  Are you really going to get in?  Are they really going to accept you, after all of this?  What if you hate it?  What if I hate it? What if the kids hate us for this?  Will you make enough money?  Can we handle the separation?  What if it changes us and we aren't "us" anymore?  Do we really want to move, leave everything, everyone?  What about that vision - the farmhouse with the midwifery and the grandkids, will that still exist anymore?  Are you seriously quitting your job, the good job, the union job with the money and the benefits?  Are we insane?  The questions were never-ending.  And we honestly didn't have answers for most of them.  We just trusted.  We trusted that if it was meant to be, that it would work out and, whatever happened, we would be ok.  And we prayed, a lot. 

     

     And, eventually, after more than half a year, our answer came.  He was accepted.  And not just accepted, but he passed everything - ASVAB, MEPS, all with flying colors and glowing recommendations.  In fact, he even qualified for any job he wanted and for cool "extra" things like Airborne and other things I'm not even sure I understand.   We finally had it, our answer.  He was going to be a soldier.  And everything was about to change.  It was a weird mixture of happiness and dread, watching him swear in.  He had that spark back, that light in his eyes again, like he had found something he'd been searching for.  He was standing straighter, smiling more, he looked lighter.  And I was so pleased for him, so excited to see him finally acting like he felt there was hope.  But I was terrified.  All those questions without answers?  They were still unanswered.  And there was so much we had to do in such a short six-week time frame.  Sell four vehicles, a horse trailer, greenhouse and all of our furniture, have a garage sale, find homes for our chickens, horse, goat, and dog, find an apartment, pack all of our remaining belongings into totes, and move to Colorado.  It seemed absolutely, impossibly daunting.  And then there was the emotional side of things.  We would be leaving our family and all of our friends - these amazing, incredible, irreplaceable people whom we loved and adored and couldn't imagine living without.  And, as the "day" inched closer, the reality that we would have to endure so much time apart hung over our heads like a thundercloud.  There were many days I literally could not get out of bed because the sheer weight of it all was pinning me to my bedsheets.  I spent lots of time on the floor of the shower, letting the water splash and flow on me and around me, just wracked with sobs.  It was all just too much. 

    

     But, we did it.  We got it all sold and re-homed, and packed and moved.  We had this absolutely gorgeous, gutwrenching, painful day where all our friends and family gathered and we ate and packed and hugged and laughed, prayed and cried.  It's a day I will cherish and remember forever.  And, the next day, my parents, brother, and my dear friend came for one last "goodbye".  I stood in my empty house, the house where we had made so many memories, where we had had death and birth, Christmases, birthdays, laughter, joy, pain, sickness, health, life.  Tears welled up and spilled over onto my cheeks as I looked out the window, at the pasture where I had held my friend, my beautiful horse, Mr. Manners, as he died.  I took one last look around our house, and then I walked out the back door, got into my car, and drove away.  

     We had one week before we had to hand Nathan over to the Army.  We made the most of it, I think, even though I was sick and we were moving and unpacking.  Going to the zoo, museum, aquarium, eating good food, making memories.  Then "the day" finally came.  I drove to the MEPS building with the children and we waited in this room with the other family members for Nathan to finalize more paperwork and swear in (again).  I was stressed, sleep-deprived, short-tempered, angry.  I didn't want to have to say "goodbye" to this man.  He was mine, and this was so unfair.  And then my children started to complain that they were hungry.  I asked Nathan if there was time to go get them food and he said he thought there would be plenty of time.  After all, everything in the Army seems to take an unusually long amount of time.  Except for this time.  No sooner had I sat down with my children at a restaurant, when I get the text, "They say I'm leaving in 15 minutes!!!" No! My heart sank to my feet and I started shaking...we literally threw our food into bags and ran the four blocks back to the MEPS building, my baby on my shoulders and my poor youngest girl in her stocking feet because her shoes kept falling off.  We made it back, panting and out of breath, just as he was walking out the front doors with the group, headed to the bus.  He kissed me, he kissed the kids, and then he walked away.  My oldest daughter collapsed onto the steps, face in her hands, sobbing.  And I just lost it.  What are we doing?  Why are we doing this?  Why am I watching my husband walking away from us?  What kind of insanity led us to this?  God, I love you, but this SUCKS.  

     That was my attitude for weeks.  Anger, fear, sadness, resentment.  How could he do this to me, to us?  I shouldn't be having to do all of this, to be all of this, to be feeling all of this.  My children shouldn't have to go through this, their tears are unbearable and it's all to hard to explain to them, they just simply don't understand.  This is cruel, this is unfair, I can't do this.  Long, sleepless nights, marathon episodes on Netflix, way too much wine consumption, hot, angry tears...

     Then something changed, I started getting letters from him.  He was exhausted, he was in pain, sleep-deprived, cold. But, he was happy.  I could literally feel the "spark" in his writing.  He's found himself, his path, his soul is alive again.  He's talking about how well he's doing, as well as his struggles, he's talking about trying and learning, growing and change, working as a team and discovering his own strength, being a part of something larger than himself.  He's talking about missing us and tears and homesickness.  He's talking about chapel and God and Jesus, encouragement and prayer.  And I remembered, I had prayed for this, begged God for this.  This was my answer to prayer.  It's definitely not what I pictured when I was still having my "vision" for our family.  In fact, I would have probably never prayed that prayer in the first place, if I had known that this was the answer.  However, seeing my husband finally discovering his passion, his place in this world, is a gift.  I don't know how long we will be on this journey together.  I don't know where this will take us, what will happen along the way, or where we'll end up.  I still don't have answers to all of those questions we spent all those nights asking.  But I do have this answer, this right-now.  And I'm looking forward to this new chapter as we move forward in this gift.