The Wardrobe By Ginger

It’s 4 o’clock in the morning and I just made muffins. I also changed a picture of the twins from one frame to another. I goggled where to buy Cindy Crawford’s skincare system, emailed my mother and alas still am not sleepy. Call it moving stress or too much on my mind but I cannot sleep. Actually I went to sleep for an hour or so and then when Jim came to bed I woke up. He curled up next to me and held me tight. A little tighter than usual, I noticed. I knew Jim had been up late on the computer. And I knew he had been transferring both our old computer hard drives onto an external hard drive to take with us to Florida.

Earlier in the day, he had been working on Toy’s and Andrea’s old computers. We are continuing to compile writings for our book and he was searching for some old emails and things that Andrea had written. He also found all of his old music. I knew this jaunt down memory lane wasn’t easy for him. I was doing it myself in our master bedroom closet sorting through old letters from Troy, pictures of us, the safe full of his medals and flags and keepsakes. What to leave, what to take? With my parents moving into our home here in San Antonio, we are super blessed for so many reasons. Not the least of them being, we can safely leave many of our belongings here and not have to move them to Eglin for two years. Anyway, back to Jim at his computer… I walked in and he was listening to a song. He said it played on the radio the first night he met Andrea when they were only teenagers. I can’t say I was familiar with it since I was only 10 years old at time  (that was for Jim) but I knew the song took him back to that night. Earlier I had been on my old computer and poured over the emails Troy and I sent one another during his deployment to Iraq. Taking care of 5 kids under the age of 8, I was never a big email gal. But I quickly became one when Troy left as that was our primary source of communication.

Those emails took me back to the days and weeks and months he was away. Some of the emails were funny. Some were sad because we missed each other. Some were all-business and about the budget and how I was keeping up with doing the finances for the first time in our marriage. Some were about the kids. Some were about the war. But all were about us. Our life. Our hopes, our dreams, our struggles, our world.

Jim and I have been pretty open about sharing letters, etc…from our previous marriages with one another. We are both so curious to understand who we were so we can better understand who we are now that we agreed, for the most part, this was totally acceptable. So, I knew Jim had been reading the emails as he was downloading them and I was perfectly okay with that. Just as he was open to me reading Andrea’s earlier or listening to their songs. But when he came to bed and squeezed me extra tight, he said “I am sorry for how difficult that time was for you.” He said he understood me a little better from the insight he gained from the emails to my former husband in my former life. He said he knew Troy better and found the two of them to be even more similar than he had previously thought. He inched a little further into my heart with those statements.

In all the unsorted year-ago-move piles getting ready for the now-we’re-moving-again-we’d-better-clean-those-piles-out frenzy we have been in lately, I have come across many things. One of them was a book and card that Andrea’s friend Lisa had sent her. Though the card was from Lisa, it spoke volumes of who Andrea was as a friend. They had just spent a weekend together shopping, having lunch, catching up, etc.. girl stuff that I am sure Andrea didn’t always feel up to or get to do as often as she would like to have. Lisa talked about Andrea’s simple chic style and how much she liked having Andrea there to help her pick out the right thing. I enjoy “getting to know” who Andrea’s friends were. Some of them I have even gotten to know myself. But I always enjoy hearing Jim tell stories of Andrea’s friendships with many different types of women. And how she was a really good friend to all of them. A friend of hers called last week. She was an older Jamaican woman, who owned a tea room, from their church in NC. Jim talked about the opening night and how he and Andrea had helped her set the tables nicely for her first customers. I could just picture Andrea doing that. I have read her journals and always am amazed at how she remembered to pray for others when most of us in her circumstances would have only prayed for ourselves. I was touched when Jim showed me the day she had written my name down on one of her many prayer lists.

Jim read emails from Troy about how conflicted he was by fulfilling his duty to country yet knowing he was leaving me with so many responsibilities at home. Jim got in bed and told me how strange it was that we have seven kids together yet he reads emails to know me better. Old emails, worn letters, journal entries… Jim and I refer to them as “little windows” into our pasts. We take whatever opportunities we can if we think they will help us with this, our “new normal”; our new world.

If you have ever read C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe or seen the movie, then you probably remember one of the defining and pivotal points in the movie; the first time Lucy opens the wardrobe doors

Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy Pevensie are four siblings sent to live in the country with the eccentric Professor Kirke during World War II. The children explore the house on a rainy day and Lucy, the youngest, finds an enormous wardrobe. Lucy steps inside and finds herself in a strange, snowy wood. Lucy encounters the Faun Tumnus, who is surprised to meet a human girl. Tumnus tells Lucy that she has entered Narnia, a different world. Tumnus invites Lucy to tea, and she accepts. Lucy and Tumnus have a wonderful tea, but the faun bursts into tears and confesses that he is a servant of the evil White Witch. The Witch has enchanted Narnia so that it is always winter and never Christmas. Tumnus explains that he has been enlisted to capture human beings. Lucy implores Tumnus to release her, and he agrees. Lucy exits Narnia and eagerly tells her siblings about her adventure in the wardrobe. They do not believe her, however. Lucy's siblings insist that Lucy was only gone for seconds and not for hours as she claims. When the Pevensie children look in the back of the wardrobe they see that it is an ordinary piece of furniture. Edmund teases Lucy mercilessly about her imaginary country until one day when he sees her vanishing into the wardrobe. Edmund follows Lucy and finds himself in Narnia as well.

Jim and I are a lot like Lucy. The day we married we walked up to one another’s old wardrobes, open the doors and stepped inside of each other’s Narnias; strange and unfamiliar worlds full of family and friend s we were invited to have tea with. Except there is no Edmund to go with us and share both our old worlds and our new worlds with

We are learning about one another more everyday single day. About the incredible spouses we had who helped make us who were are. About what we did, where we lived, what we hoped and dreamed for.

As Jim and I move again next week, this time to a totally new place, one where we will simply be Jim and Ginger Ravella. More and less of who we were, it is with a level of peace (this is God’s plan) and a tinge of sadness (we liked His first plan as well). Thank goodness Aslan was in Narnia and Jesus is in Florida. We have the Light to shine on whatever new road He asks us to walk.

Isa 42:16
I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.

Fathers Day

The natural progression of raising children goes something like this: taking care of their many needs as infants…. watching them develop into “real little people”…. raising them to be godly, responsible young adults….equipping them with the skills they need to succeed in life…. and then finally enjoying watching them repeat the cycle with their own children….

The dots in between represent the little daily conversations, exchanges and events that take place in common everyday life. The way we all get to know one another as intimately as we do in what we call the family unit. Husbands and wives. Parents and children. Mothers usually spend a little more time at home so we are the ones front and center to watch the dynamic action between those relationships take place. When Troy would get home from work one of my favorite things was to humor him (or complain to him- depending on the day) about the goings-on of that day.

I always enjoyed telling Troy the cute, funny, fascinating and often “unique” things his kids had said during the day. I miss that. Don’t get me wrong, I love telling Jim these things, too, and the better he gets to know each child individually the more he appreciates and understands the subtle humor or inside meaning. Or the way their individual personalities expose themselves in the light of everyday banter. As time is marching on, he is definitely sharing in this side of the adventure more and more. With each passing month I witness his relationship with the children growing. Jim is a natural-born observer of human nature.. When that quality is the most needed is in the arena of parenting. As much as I see him observing the children I also see them observing him. Troy and I always had very open and loving children. And by the grace of God, the power of thousands covering their precious little hearts in prayer and many people to stand in the gap when Troy was physically gone or I was emotionally spent, they are still those same open and loving children. I knew they would embrace Jim and whether or not they truly understand it now one day they will see the many ways he is pouring himself into their lives. Jim's boys have not as readily embraced me. Yet, out of my love for their dad, I will never stop opening myself up to them and seeking relationships with them. I know Jim misses sharing their more-developed life occurrences with Andrea. I know next year when Anthony graduates from high school and Nic marries Kate one week afterwards, Jim will greatly miss their mother being next to him and seeing her boys reach yet another milestone and crossing into adulthood even further.

I can speculate as to what Jim feels about this situation. However, since he is an amazing writer I will leave it to him to write about his perspective on the subject of parenting without his original partner. Jim did get the blessing of sharing his boys’ childhoods with Andrea. He crossed many bridges with her. I, however, only made it part way before the bridge collapsed. Our babies were still pretty much babies when he passed away.

I dearly miss Troy knowing the kids better than he did when he last saw them. They have grown up and changed so much. Who they are, the way they think, the way they look at life becomes more evident with each passing year. The years are passing, Troy, without you. That thought makes me sad.

The first year milestones like birthdays, first times of this or that happening, holidays and the like become immediate in-your-face type of things I was all too acutely aware he was missing. Better known as the empty-chair syndrome. They caused muc heartache. Still I walk through those days gingerly, waiting for the wave of grief to come and sweep me away. Praise God, much healing has happened and I can enjoy these days for what they are now. Ever missing Troy but in a gentler, softer and more muted way.

However, it’s the little things, especially the little things that come out of the little mouths in our home, that I will never stop longing to tell him.

Troy, like Jim, was good at pegging other people’s personalities with having very little information about them. He was a great judge of character. He talked a little less and listened a little more than I probably did so that fact made him a great observer. And there is no one he observed more than our children. He really studied them. He talked to them a lot. He listened to them more. He spent quality time with them. I think as moms we are a bit envious of the fact that dads get to do that more than we do. I often felt like I just had too much to do taking care of all the needs and demand of feeding and cleaning them. You know how those big piles of laundry or the dirty toilets can seem more important at times. I admit it’s sometimes difficult to stop what I am doing and just listen to them. Troy was much better at that than me. So, even though the bigger kids were only 8, 6 and 3 years old at the time he left for Iraq, I still take comfort in the fact that he already knew as much as he could about who they were. Unfortunately with the twins only being 6 months old, he really never got that chance. I had a new photo taken of the kids and he received it just a few days before he died. His comment about the twins were “wow, they are big and beautiful!” They still are, Troy. Off the charts on height and weight! They look older than they are. And I have to brag, with their angelic little faces, big blue eyes and the blonde ringlets you never saw… they ARE beautiful!

I remember him talking about Bella’s strong will and sparkling personality. He knew she was independent and tough. He always laughed that boys cried much more than she did when they all got spankings. He thought she was going to grow up to be beautiful. He called her his “Pretty P” (the P short for princess). He also knew she would have some princess traits (aka somewhat high maintenance). Once when she was about four years old, I asked her repeatedly to pick up her toys in the living room and take them upstairs to the playroom. She looked me square in the eye and said, “Mom, I can’t do that.” When I asked her why? She replied “I can’t go up there because I look much more beautiful downstairs.” Hmmm, Pretty Princess. You were spot on, Troy. He also said nothing scared him in the world more than raising her, his first daughter.

She also has her daddy's obsession with all things chocolate. On more than one occasion I would catch Troy eating brownies for breakfast or handfuls of chocolate chips before dinner!

Bella and Greyson find an endless amount of topics to debate. Despite mine and Jim’s constant monitoring and disciplining, he looks for ways to make her feel stupid. A couple of months ago, I was standing on the back patio steps with the kids and we were all watching two bright green geckos as they watched us. The kids were fascinated. I asked the children what they thought the geckos might be thinking about us. I said, “Do you think they think we are some kind of giants?” Isabella likes to be the first to comment about anything and proudly speaks up, “Yes, I think they think we are the New York Giants!” Greyson turns to her with a look of disdain and says, in a quite demeaning tone, “Bella, we aren’t even FROM New York.”

I often wonder what Troy would do about this ongoing battle to encourage them to love one another. They constantly rub each other the wrong way. They delight in pushing one another’s buttons. I don't think he would be surprised , either, at how much Greyson and Isabella fight. I know it would ring and all-too-familiar bell in his mind at how he and his sister, Rhonda, went at it. Troy tormented her to no end. And always thought he needed to exhibit how much more he knew about everything than she did. Well, guess what Troy? I am getting the payback for that sin of your past with these two! I just know you would be apologizing to your mother about now for the endless amount of squabbling she must have endured between you and your sister.

He laughed at Greyson a lot. He always got a kick out of the way Greyson thought outside of the normal box compared to everyone else. He knew Greyson was going to be pretty intelligent, too, when he was amazed at how quickly Greyson picked up multiplication in kindergarten just by observing while he helped Boston with his homework. Greyson is in the gifted classes and had near perfect scores on the TAKS test this year, so you were right, Troy. Greyson was more interested in scientific facts and mathematical statistics than sports, though. I remember when Troy subbed for Greyson’s soccer coach once and Greyson was just leisurely strolling down the field noticing grass, butterflies and people more than that round black and white ball. These traits didn’t quite go with Troy’s competitive and excellent athleticism or natural drive, focus or determination. He wasn’t sure he could ever coach Greyson on a team again. He always said we might end up visiting Greyson as an adult in his paleontologist’s trailer on a dig site in some remote country. Greyson is still quite into science and space and looks at life with an interesting twist. But I think Troy would be surprised to see what a great basketball player he has become. Not necessarily because he has Troy’s same natural athletic ability but he does now possess Troy’s level of determination that he lacked that day on the soccer field. He will practice shooting hoops for hours all by himself. He has even developed his own daily workout routine. I catch glimpses of him laying on the driving repetively lifting a chair up and down. He likes numbers, routine and following directions to the letter. Troy never knew those things. He also has sleeping issues some nights and I wonder if it's because you are gone Troy, or would he have had them anyway? He never was a great sleeper so maybe that would happened anyway. Greyson also has a bit of a short fuse like his daddy so we work on good sportsmanship and exhibiting patience with others. But he would be proud of him for not giving up and I think Troy would find he might even enjoy coaching him now!

Boston. Ahh, Boston. You always said “That boy has a mighty heart. He’s special.” You couldn’t have been more right, Troy. As I watched him at his elementary school graduation last Friday, I thought of you. I saw the boy you knew growing into the young man you knew he would become. He won both best athlete and best artist. Two things you excelled in as well, Troy. He was on the Presidential list for academics. He was voted “Best Sportmanship” on his club soccer team. He won the Tim Duncan character award from the Spurs. His teacher put him in for it against many other students from all over San Antonio. He exhibited all the qualities the great player and man, Tim Duncan himself, deems valuable: putting others before self, good sportsmanship, integrity, going the extra mile… etc.. We only lived here a year. Even in that amount of time, strangers saw in him things you saw long ago. His character is solid. He is gracious and thoughtful and kind. He is a natural born leader yet never abrasive. He is patient and kind. He loves the Lord and even reads his Bible on his own. He grapples with deep spiritual issues. I will never forget, one day, months after Troy died, Boston and I were loading groceries in the back of the car in the Wal-Mart parking lot. We were both heartbroken, hurting so badly, desperately wanting the pain to go away. And Boston looked at me and asked with frustration, “Everybody always talks about how Jesus is coming back any day now. Why doesn’t He just come now and take us all to heaven?” There wasn’t much I could say. I wondered the same thing.

Boston, like his father, demands justice. He doesn’t like unfairness or people getting away without repercussions for their actions. I believe this is another way he is like Troy. Troy went to Iraq and fought the good fight that day in late November because he wasn’t going to let the bad guy get away with it. Boston has drive and determination yet is never demanding. He is the only child that remembered to ask me what I wanted for Christmas. And last week at the hospital during his scary fainting episode and ambulance ride, afterwards he thanked me for being there for him. You were right he has a mighty heart.

There have been many times just in the last few months that I have wanted you to hear the things they say or answer their questions. I had to have “the talk” with Boston because his fifth grade class watched the movie on puberty and body changes. I pulled out the book my mom read to me so many years ago and tentatively waded my way through the unfamiliar waters of telling your first-born the facts of life. Troy would have chuckled at the end when Boston said “Mom, I pretty much already knew most of this.” I guess I was too late. Ha.

Boston is addicted to soccer. He seemed to focus in on the sport soon after Troy died. Again, maybe he would have anyway or maybe it gave him something to pour his broken heart into. Either way, he now excels at it and practices alone in the yard for hours every day. He faithfully watches most soccer games and keeps up with all the players and soccer news. He analyzes the pros slick tricks and fancy footwork and is always ready to show me his latest success. The last one was taking his shirt off while bending over and balancing the soccer ball on the back of his neck without the ball ever falling off. Pretty amazing I must admit. He is always telling me about his favorite players and who is being traded for which team. But the other day, he just said out of the blue, “Mom, I wonder who Dad’s favorite soccer player was.” I was saddened to tell him I didn’t know. I wished he had been sitting at the dining table to ask that too as well. My only response was “You’ll have to remember to ask him that when you get to heaven.”

In Mercy Me’s song, “Finally Home”, I always think of Boston and Greyson when Bart Millard, who lost his own father as a teenager, sings about finally getting Home and being reunited with his father. How he tells him:
“I'm gonna wrap my arms around my daddy's neck and tell him that I've missed him and tell him all about the man that I became and hope that it pleased him.”

That will be my boys.

Isabella is never one to shy from a crowd. She never met a stranger. She notices EVERYTHING. Every little beauty flaw. Every little comment. She talks to everyone about everything and believes she is an expert on the subject, whether she is or not. (I think she might have gotten that trait from her Daddy!) The other day, we were talking about adoption and out of the blue, she told me that a little girl in her Sunday School class said that if parents don’t want their baby then Barack Obama will just kill them and wondered whether that was really true. As a mom, how do explain that one to your five-year old? Where was Troy to explain pro-choice vs. pro-life issues with her?

Then another day last week in the car we were discussing one of her friend’s and Bella was telling me about finally getting to go to her house and play. She said “Mom, she has the most beautiful toys. And she is really beautiful, too.” I agreed with her. Then Bella said, “Mom, you know who isn’t beautiful? Satan.” Well, yes, I had to agree with that one.

I confess I see a lot of both me and Troy in Isabella. As my friend Amy has always said, “Isabella has every personality trait Troy and I possess and that is a lot goin’ on in one little girl!” Sometimes it makes me smile. Sometimes it makes me cringe. She takes life by the horns and with passionate determination like her daddy. She loves socializing and girlie stuff like her momma yet is totally comfortable hanging in there with the boys and can persuade you to her side just as vehemently as her dad could. I always told Troy he’d have made a great lawyer with his debate skills. Isabella, too, has the power of persuasion!

She is fascinated with people, especially the famous ones. Where could she have gotten that from? (Yes, I still have every Princess Di book in print.) I also have a shameful little addiction to reading People magazine. Recently I have caught Bella pouring over the pages. For the most part it’s harmless. She likes to look at the pretty movie stars in their fancy clothes in exotic places. She will spend a little extra time on a page if it has some couple kissing. She loves love just like her momma. Yesterday we were sitting the lobby waiting on a prescription to be filled. Not much reading material for children there. Annalise was looking at a parenting magazine. Aspen chose a boating recreation one. And Bella, grabs the Entertainment Weekly, of course. She is scanning the pages looking at the rich and famous. I was watching her “read” and noticed a picture of George Clooney. I told Bella that I thought he was very handsome. She looked at me and said “He looks like Daddy Troy.” I think so too, Bella. Like mother, like daughter.

Jim was recently gone TDY for over a week and I noticed Bella tearing up more frequently over Troy. Then the second Jim returned home she would not leave his sight and clamored for his attention and affection. We wondered if his absence brought her back to life without the presence of a dad.

I know there will be an endless string of things Troy will never hear. A lifetime of stories and quips and comments that I can’t share with him about the children he and I lovingly brought into the world. But I still smile, even if it’s a smile tinged with sadness, when I think of telling him at the not the end of our day, but the beginning of our eternity how much these kids of ours, for better or worse, resemble us.

Troy, you were an inspiring example of how to be a great dad simply by knowing and spending time with your kids. I tell the kids you are watching them from heaven. Not necessarily because I have any biblical fact to base that one. But because I just can’t imagine you not being forever involved in their lives. And totally committed to helping them be the best they can be in Christ. You would be proud of Jim. He has stepped up to the plate and wants to make you and the Lord proud of him. You know how crushed I was that first Father’s Day without you. But, I remember we shared it with good friends at a resort swimming pool and Isabella learned to swim that day. I didn’t teach her. My friend Tami did. I was too sad. Too tired. Too heartbroken to even realize she was ready to learn. Troy, you were such a better swimmer than I. I can’t do the strokes correctly and I am always fearful the kids will drown if I let go of them. You were supposed to be there to do that. But how just like God to send us Jim, another great swimmer, to teach your last two little ones.

Parents dying before children is the "natural" order of things but not so soon. And not before they get a chance to witness all these firsts. For reasons I will never understand God thought you, Troy, had seen enough from your earthly perspective. Instead, He sent many others to step into your shoes that day. Pretty much every single day since you went Home. The Lord always had an amazing way of doing that after you were gone, Troy. Always.

The other day, Jim played me an old song titled, “You Left Me When I Needed You Most” by Randy Vanwarmer. I had heard it a long time ago. I think it must have originally been written by someone whose loved one had chosen to leave them behind but the words somehow still closely resembled the cry of my heart after Troy died.

"You packed in the morning and I
Stared out the window and I
Struggled for something to say
You left in the rain
Without closing the door
I didn't stand in your way

But I miss you more than I
Missed you before and now
Where I'll find comfort, God knows
'Cause you left me
Just when I needed you most

Now most every morning I
Stare out the window and I
Think about where you might be
I've written you letters
That I'd like to send
If you would just send one to me

'Cause I need you more than I
Needed before and now
Where I'll find comfort, God knows
'Cause you left me
Just when I needed you most

You packed in the morning I
Stared out the window and I
Struggled for something to say
You left in the rain
Without closing the door
I didn't stand in your way

Now I love you more than I
Loved you before and now
Where I'll find comfort, God knows
'Cause you left me
Just when I needed you most
Oh, yeah
You left me
Just when I needed you most

You left me
Just when I needed you most"

I did feel like I was standing in the rain holding all five of our children’s little hands. There couldn’t have been a more difficult time for him to have left us. I guess that’s how it always feels, though. There is never a “good time” to be left. Though, I can promise you that God never left me. Not alone, though I felt abandoned. Not in the rain, though it felt my entire life was swept away in a flash flood. Where I found comfort, God DID know. I found comfort in Him. The One who promises to never leave us or forsake us. He is the only Father that will remain forever. He is the Alpha and the Omega. The ultimate Father on Father’s Day.

What I deserve

Matthew 6:19-21

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. 20But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Courtesy of the Air Force this Father’s Day I’m sitting in a hotel room in Montgomery Alabama. It is not what I would have wanted but that is our career and sacrifices are all too common. My friend Mike said, “I can’t believe you have seven kids and are alone on Father’s Day.” Seems crazy bit maybe it was so I would have time to write this blog.

Today I heard a song today as I traversed Montgomery searching for a church, the song was by Natalie Grant, called “Our Hope Endures.”

You would think only so much can go wrong Calamity only strikes once And you assume that this one has suffered her share Life will be kinder from here

Sometimes the sun stays hidden for years Sometimes the sky rains night after night When will it clear But our hope endures the worst of conditions It's more than our optimism Let the earth quake Our hope is unchanged

How do we comprehend peace within pain Our joy at a good man's wake Walk a mile with a woman whose body is torn With illness but she marches on

We never walk alone This is our hope Our hope endures, the worst of conditions It's more than our optimism let the earth quake let the earth quake let the earth quake Our hope is unchanged

I listened to the words as I drove and I thought the concept of what we deserve. Of course Ginger and I have had this discussion many times. We did not deserve what we endured and Andrea and Troy did not deserve to have their lives cut short. But I doubt they feel cheated out of anything right now, it is those of us left behind are the ones who tend to fell cheated out.

I did not deserve to watch my wife suffer and die, and Ginger did not deserve to have men in blue uniforms knock on her door. What we deserved was to be happy and for life to progress the way we had laid out, to follow the script. The script many of us adhere to. A script usually penned by our own hand. The one that says when we place our faith in Christ we have a contract with God that entitles us to “What we deserve.”

This past week I was talking to a good friend and they are about to celebrate their 25th anniversary. I did not get that with Andrea and for an instance it hurt and last week our friends retired and built their dream home and have begun life without kids. I did not get that and in a way it also hurt. Andrea and I were 18 months away for an empty nest, and nearing retirement. We had paid the dues of a 20+ career in the Air Force and we were about to reap our harvest, our reward for faithful service, but we never got there. We would always say we will do that when “We get where we were going.” We never got there. And there is a sense of injustice when death erases all dreams plans and entitlements. One of the harder events soon after I lost Andrea was I attended a friends retirement. I sat and listened to the summation of a career and watch the happy family get what they deserved, the accolades for a job well done. I watched the wife pin the retirement pin on her husband and I listened to proclamation of recognizing the efforts of his wife. I watched the excitement as they set off on a new journey outside of the hectic pace of the military life. I felt cheated for Andrea because she will never be praised for all she did for me, my career and the Air Force. She did not get what she “deserved.”

But maybe my grip is not so much what Andrea deserved but what I think I deserved. Really Andrea and Troy got more then they deserved, and it is called mercy. Today Andrea does not hurt, her bones do not ache and she no longer suffers endless doctor’s appointments. Today she has no need of faith, like the lyrics from “I Will Rise” by Chris Tomlin. “My faith shall be my eyes.” Who says we deserve living in the presence of our creator? Thankfully we don’t get what we truly deserve.

Romans 6:23

For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.

After church today I noticed I had missed a call from Ginger. I played the message and I heard three sweet voices tell me, “Happy Fathers Day Daddy, I love you. As I listened to their words I thought of Troy. I always think their love is his. I fell like I’m at the Academy Awards Troy is unable to attend the announcer says, “Accepting the award for Troy Gilbert is Jim Ravella. The crowd still cheers and applauds but I know their praise is not for me. The pride I fell is his pride and the joy I feel is his. I just have the honor of standing in. It is hard to describe the emotions of being a dad to Troy’s children. He did not walk out on them, nor did he dread his role as a father to five. It could not be more opposite. He loved his kids and loved being a dad. You don’t have to be around very long to learn that about Troy. You hear it from family and friends but I see it most in Boston. He loved his dad and he misses him. Greyson and Isabella know what a special dad Troy was and they definitely feel the loss, but Boston remembers his Dad the most. As the oldest I think he felt the pain Ginger suffered in a different way than the other kids. He was thrust into manhood when all he should have been worried about was being a boy.

I don’t feel nearly the weight of filling in for Troy as a fellow fighter pilot, and he was a war hero. Instead it is the weight of fathering his children that I feel the most. I feel that weight every time I read to the boys hear the girls holler “Watch me Daddy.” I feel it every day of my life. Every time I watch Boston play soccer, Greyson play basketball, Bella draw a picture, Aspen dress up and imagine herself at the ball or Annalise fearlessly take on life. And I feel somewhat guilty for taking any credit for their accomplishments but it how I honor Troy, and his memory.

It helps me to think of myself as standing in for Troy because I know one day I will meet him. I want to know I did my best to raise them to know Christ to know the amazing man that their father was. I know Ginger wrote about the adoption earlier and truthfully that was merely a legal ceremony where I pledged to be legally responsible for the kids. Not to belittle that day because it was a very special day for us all, but I did not become their father that day, I was just made their legal guardian. I considered myself their father the day Ginger and I decided to marry. I picked up a baton that Troy laid down and I will carry it with honor until God calls me home. I don’t ever think of myself as replacing Troy in anyway, but I do stand in the gap for him and in many ways I feel him beside me.

I think one day I will be held accountable for my life. First of course is to Jesus, for my life and what I did with the gifts and talents He gave me. But second, I think is to Troy, for how I raised the kids. This is probably not a biblical principle but it is the level of importance that I place on my role as their father. I hope Troy is proud of me when we meet.

I wish I could attach the message the girls left me to this blog because I cannot capture what it meant to me to hear that from my girls; my first official Father’s Day as their dad. You have heard the saying sweet as honey that is what their words were to me. I’m woefully inadequate in my ability to capture what I felt in this blog. I have been a dad of boys my whole life and I love raising boys and doing boy things but I’m learning that girls are very different. They really do melt your heart. I loved playing Army, or rockets with Nic and Anthony. I loved cutting out guns from wood or making battle flags and forts. I loved reading mysteries and adventures with them. I loved and still do, love watching sports with them. With Nic living abroad he does not get a lot of American sporting events so I called him on Skype and turned the video camera to the TV and we watched Hockey and football together. I have many fond memories of being a dad to Nic and Anthony and I feel that again with Boston and Greyson but I can tell you there is adoration and love in a little girl’s voice when she tells you she loves you. It is humbling to be given such responsibility to care for a little girl. I don’t want to upset any women who might read this and think somehow I think girls are not equal to boys, or boys are better then girls. That is not what I’m trying to say. Boys and girls are equal and they are different and that is okay, it is how God created us. I find that more than my boys, I feel a responsibility to protect my girls. I feel that with Ginger and I felt it with Andrea. It is what made watching her suffer and not being able to stop it so difficult. I can tell you I feel it when I heard the girls say, "I love you Daddy." You sense it in the way they respond when you talk firm or discipline them. They seek your approval more than a little boy and they advocate the role to you. You don’t sense the struggle for independence as much as you do with a boy, Bella being excluded! But even in their independence they still seek approval from dad and I felt it in their sweet soft voices when they said “I love you daddy.” How I felt today when I listened to their voices will be with me forever.

Then it hit me, as much as Andrea and I did not deserve the suffering we endured I do not deserve the blessing of raising seven wonderful children. I concluded maybe I should not look at this life as my reward or my punishment. Maybe I need to remind myself that what I deserve is not wrapped up in the results of this life but in how I react to this life. The truth is the only crown we are promised is when we stand before Jesus.

1 Peter 5:1-5

To the elders among you, I appeal as a fellow elder, a witness of Christ's sufferings and one who also will share in the glory to be revealed: 2Be shepherds of God's flock that is under your care, serving as overseers—not because you must, but because you are willing, as God wants you to be; not greedy for money, but eager to serve; not lording it over those entrusted to you, but being examples to the flock. And when the Chief Shepherd appears, you will receive the crown of glory that will never fade away.

I’m reminded that this life is hard and sometimes it does not go according to the script but then again that depends on whose script you are reading. I need to remind myself that I freely accept Christ suffering for my salvation yet somehow I feel a sense of injustice when I’m asked to pick up my cross.

I will close with my own Father’s Day wish,

Happy Fathers Day Troy. You would be very proud of the kids. Of course they are all growing up way too fast but they are children of character who are a Godly example to those around them. From what I hear, they get that from you.

Until we meet,
Jim

National Cancer Survivors Day

Memorial Day the day we remember those who lost their life serving in the Military. As a member of the Armed Forces I’m proud that our nation remembers those who paid the ultimate price serving this country. It goes without saying that Memorial Day holds a very special place in the life of my family. We spent this Memorial Day talking to the kids and remembering Troy. Ginger and I tried to explain to 5 children the “why” in the tragedy of their lives. We of course fell short for there is no adequate explanations to help an 11 yr old boy understand what happened to the security of his life and sanctuary of his family. I watched our 5 year old, Isabella, cry missing her dad and I knew I had no answer for her tears. Really the only answer I have is that God Love remains an answer that is difficult at times for an adult to understand yet alone a 5 yr old.

Memorial Day is not just a day to cook out, or just the official beginning of summer, nor just an excuse for a day off work. No it is a day for this family to remember we pay that “ultimate price,” words that flow off many a tongue on Memorial Day but few realize the reality of what those words mean to a child or a mother, father, brother, sister or spouse.

But do you know what the first Sunday in June is? A short 2 weeks following Memorial Day is National Cancer Survivors Day, celebrated this year on 7 June. I saw the posters at the base hospital and news stories online. I began to wonder were to those who die from cancer fit in? There is no day of honor, or really even acknowledgement of those who did not “survive.” I guess it takes away the positive spin and may in fact take away the hope we are trying to instill in those who are fighting cancer. Or maybe it is just too hard to raise money for cancer research if you focus on the hundreds of thousands that did not make it. Maybe the dollars we spend might seem inadequate in the light of the cost in human lives this disease is costing us. Maybe.

Here is what is posted on the National Cancer Survivors Day Website:

National Cancer Survivors Day® is an annual, worldwide Celebration of Life that is held in hundreds of communities throughout the United States, Canada, and other participating countries. Participants unite in a symbolic event to show the world that life after a cancer diagnosis can be a reality.

Who is a cancer survivor?

The National Cancer Survivors Day Foundation defines a "survivor" as anyone living with a history of cancer – from the moment of diagnosis through the remainder of life.

Do we fear that young men will not join the service or volunteer to fight for this nation if we reminded them that they might die? No I think we instill a value of what it means to serve. We elevate service before self, when we take the time to remember our war dead. We lay a wreath at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and we place flags on every grave in the national Cemeteries. We do this to show the value in the lives that were laid down for the freedom we all enjoy. And rightly so.

But somehow I think there is a shame to acknowledge the price paid for cancer. Maybe because we are supposed to die and somehow dying from cancer is “expected” so the warriors are those who beat the odds and live where death was once the expectation. I really don’t know. All I do know is Andrea is lost in the numbers, just one of the 20,000 women in 2007 who died from breast cancer. There is no day or time to remember those who died. When you go to a Relay for Life, or Komen Race for the cure they always start with a “Survivors Walk,” a time to honor those who are alive. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad there are more and more survivors each year from this horrible disease. I guess when you are trying to raise money for cancer research you don't want to remind people about the losses. It makes for an uncomfortable feeling when you are representing someone who died. I find myself wanting to tell someone about this amazing woman who never choose this battle, yet fought it with courage equal to any. Yet there is no moment to acknowledge those who paid the ultimate price in this battle.

I remember going to the Relay for Life with Andrea in North Carolina. It was a festive time to walk the track and visit with friends but there were the ever-present luminaries lining the track. Some labeled “In Honor of…” and some labeled, “In Memory of…” As a cancer patient it was difficult to see the lives represented on those luminaries. There were pictures of loved ones, notes from family members all in an attempt to capture a life on this white paper sack. It is all you get as a “Non-survivor,” and it was very difficult. Difficult because Andrea and I knew how close we were to going from “In Honor of” to “In Memory of.” It was a fine line and we were in the fight, and it was as if we were on a raft drifting ever closer to the falls and our only hope was to find a low hanging branch to grab onto. We never found one.

So where does that leave me and the memory of Andrea. There is no national day set aside to honor her, no moment where the nation stops to reflect on the lives taken and families disrupted. Just me and my memories, maybe it is a song I hear on the radio, but those are becoming ever fewer as new songs come out. Maybe it is a sunset I know Andrea would have loved to see, or a flower she would have loved to plant, but they are moments in day, and they happen in the seclusion of my mind. Sometimes they bring a smile mostly a tear, both only known to me. But I would say Andrea was a survivor, because she never let cancer dictate her life. She lived her life, yes she adjusted to the reality of cancer, she dealt with the sickness and the endless doctor’s appointments but she took this on as her new normal and she lived. To me that is what defined her as a survivor.

So happy Cancer Survivors Day Andrea, I miss you.

Here I Am

Bible studies, movies and Bar-B-Ques might not always go together but I think it was the perfect way to spend Memorial Day.

Jim and I feel it is very important to teach the kids (and re-teach ourselves) the importance of the meaning behind Memorial Day. We honor their dad everyday, I hope. Yet on Memorial Day it seemed more important than ever to pause and talk about it a little more extensively. That morning, Jim gathered us all together and opened the Bible to Hebrews. I hadn’t a clue where he was going with this one but for our family it was perfect not only for Memorial Day but for the crazy God-filled week that followed.

Much of Hebrews teaches us about the comparisons between Old Testament ways and the New Testament WAY (Christ). God ordered things just a certain way under Old Testament Law to help the people ritually cleanse themselves from sin. If you have studied about the Old Testament Tabernacle you know the Lord specifically laid out the set up: two rooms, the outer and inner with the lampstand, altar, oil, consecrated bread, etc… each in their own designated spot. A curtain separated the rooms and only the high priest once a year, after numerous ceremonial washings and carrying the blood of only the most flawless and unblemished goat or calf could enter in. He went to God on behalf of himself and all the people to ask God for forgiveness of sins. I don’t think we can imagine what a huge production this was year after year because as New Testament believers He has never asked us to undergo such stringent practices. But God Himself knew this wasn’t the “final answer”.

Hebrews 8:5
“They serve at a sanctuary that is a copy and shadow of what is in heaven.”
And He knew it wasn’t good enough to bring us into His presence for eternity.

Hebrews 8:7
“For if there had been nothing wrong with that first covenant, no place would have sought for another.” God sent Christ, His Son, THE unblemished One, to be the final answer.

Hebrews 10: 4-7
“…because it is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins. Therefore when Christ came into the world, He said: “Sacrifice and offering You did not desire, but a body You prepared for me; with burnt offerings and sin offerings You were not pleased. Then I said, “Here I am-it is written about me in the scroll- I have come to do your will, O God.”

That was our lesson for Memorial Day. Obviously, in a much different way, those who volunteer to serve their country and put themselves in harm’s way and sacrifice things very dear to them, often the ultimate, on the behalf of others (most of the rest of us) mimic that same spirit as Christ. Those men and women stand up and say, “Here I am”.

Lyrics from the song “Here I Am” by the Christian group, Downhere, immediately come to mind:

Sometimes your calling, comes in dreams
Sometimes in comes in the Spirit's breeze,
You reach for the deepest hope in me,
And call out for the things of eternity.

But I'm a man, of dust and stains,
You move in me, so I can say,

CHORUS:
Here I am, Lord send me,
All of my life, I make an offering,
Here I am, Lord send me,
Somehow my story, Is a part of your plan,
Here I am

When setbacks and failures, and upset plans,
Test my faith and leave me with empty hands,
Are you not the closest when it's hardest to stand?
I know that you will finish what you began.

These broken parts you redeem,
Become the song, that I can sing

Here I am, Lord send me,
All of my life, I make an offering,
Here I am, Lord send me,
Somehow my story, Is a part of your plan,
Here I am

Overwhelmed by the thought of my weakness,
And the fear that I'll fail you in the end,
In this mess, I'm just one of the pieces,
I can't put this together but you can.

Here I am, Lord send me,
I wanna live my life as an offering
Here I am, Lord send me,
Somehow my story, Is part of your plan,
Here I am

Here I am, all my life an offering to you, to you
Somehow my story, Is a part of your plan,
Here I am


I wanted the kids to comprehend that Memorial Day commemorates not only their dad but all those that died that in the line of duty. I received a touching and convicting email from General Rand, our family friend, and I asked him if I could share a part of it. His military career and life experience have given him the perspective we all need. He says:

“ Unfortunately, we really have "lost the bubble" on Memorial Day. We use it as the official kick off to the summer, going to the beach, vacations, rock concerts, etc. I fell into that trap when I was at Kunsan by endorsing block party functions over Memorial Day, similar to what we did during all the other long 3 or 4 day weekends (Fourth of July, Labor day, etc). Very little focus was on the true meaning of Memorial Day. Learned from that mistake, and toned things down significantly while I was the Commander at Luke, and by the time I was at Balad as the Wing Commander. I fully appreciated how Memorial Days should be celebrated. Our Memorial Day that year in Iraq wasn't celebrated with brats, hot dogs, burger burns, keggers, softball tourneys, outdoor concerts, or pool parties. Instead, in May 2007, we had a 24 hour vigil with volunteer airmen guarding our small Memorial wall in honor of all fallen airmen during OIF, in addition to a solemn service in a big tent that held 500+ warriors who gathered to reflect and remember. On the stage were nine empty chairs....eight chairs representing the eight airmen the 332 AEW had lost from Memorial Day 2006 to the Memorial Day 2007,and one chair representing all the soldiers, marines, and sailors who had died during that same period. After that service and over the next three weeks, five more 332 AEW airmen, and over 100 soldiers and marines were killed in Iraq. Prior to my tour in Iraq, I thought I had a healthy appreciation for what Memorial Day meant, but will now admit it is crystal clear. This week I was hosting a delegation of Israelis at a lunch. Somehow, at my table we got on the subject of how our countries treat their respective Memorial Days. In Israel, it is the day before their Independence Day, and it is a time of serious National mourning and reflection. Stores and all public businesses are closed. No parties, and not not an excuse to just get a day off from work. Without any prompting from me, one of my Israeli colleagues who I have gotten to know fairly well over the past two years described the difference between Israel's Memorial Day and the United States Memorial Day. Here is what he said, "in Israel we don't use it as an opportunity to party, go to the beach, or have bargain sales like America does." He didn't mean it as a slam. It's been my experience that Israelis are straight talkers who tell you how they feel. In this case, he was sadly correct. I was ashamed, and all I could think to say was, "one of the unfortunate things about freedom, especially in America, is that it allows people to act really stupid."

Powerful words, I know. Words to make you stop and think. And though I will never be thankful that one of those empty chairs that day in Balad was for my husband, I will always be thankful that he was not forgotten.

Not forgetting who he was. Who those that have suffered and died are. That’s exactly what we talked about with the kids that morning sitting on the bed with the Bible open. We also talked about other’s, especially Andrea’s, willingness to serve Christ and tell Him, “Here I am, Lord, even in the midst of a bunch a circumstances I despise, ready to lay down my desires for Yours and still give You all the glory along the painful way.” Without ever personally speaking to Andrea, I know those were her heart’s words.

I have given lots of thought these past two and a half years since Troy died to what he would have liked to have happened after he was gone. I believe that is one of the ways I can honor him most. He would have loved the family devotion time we had on Memorial Day morning. Jim brought me breakfast in bed so I could spent some quiet time before the poignant day began. Troy would have done the same. He would have spent time with the kids, which we did. We took them to the movies and laughed. We came home and swam together. Troy was a good swimmer and loved to play in the water with the kids. We cooked burgers and hot dogs. Despite us packing out in a month to move, Jim re-hung the American flag whose brackets’ had been blown down in a storm months prior. It was a nice normal day. Troy would have wanted that for us.

The next morning we woke up and dressed the kids nicely, loaded them in the car and went to the courthouse. Before God, a courtroom full of people (we all didn’t fit in the judges chambers and also were on the docket with other folks – one in handcuffs- which made the whole thing somewhat of a field trip to our wide-eyed children), the lawyer and the judge, Jim raised his right hand and officially adopted all five of Troy’s precious children. As we explained to the kids the day prior during devotion, Jim has grasped the baton from Troy and continued running the race of taking care of his family on his behalf. Jim standing before God and saying, “Lord, here I am.”

Just a couple of days after that, Boston, ended up in the ER from passing out after a vaccination. He complained of his back hurting from how he fell so they stabilized him on the floor with a neckbrace and backboard to be transported to the nearest hospital in the effort to take all precautions necessary had there been spinal injury. Praise God his back is fine. He was scared though. More scared than I have ever seen him. I, along with his brothers, sisters and a team of medical staff were hovered over him, staring at him and waiting for the ambulance. Boston was crying softly. I am crying imagining the worst. Jim walks in, smiling, caring, assessing the situation, confident that everything was going to be fine and then all of the sudden just lays right down there on that hard hospital tile floor next to Boston so he didn’t feel so all alone. That thought never occurred to me. Something a dad would do, I guess. His presence there in that room and on that floor I could see put Boston a little more at ease. The nurse had Troy’s social security number so I had to explain that whole thing to her which made me cry even more. Praise the Lord for Jim stepping into the room that day and most of all stepping into our lives. I cannot think of any better ways for Jim to honor Troy’s memory on Memorial Day.

I have asked other widows and mothers who have lost their sons how they have remembered the lives of their lost loved ones with the things they now do. I found some real inspiration in their answers.

My friend, Roxanne, lost her husband, David, in his mid-forties, a couple of years ago. He died instantly of a sudden heart attack while driving and left her with 7 children. Her husband each year took the older kids on mission trips to Mexico to help build housing. Though Roxanne was way out of her element, just this Spring, she loaded up the next ones that he would have taken and they hammered their hearts out building houses in the heart of Mexico in honor of what he would have continued to do had he lived.

Patti, a fellow F-16 widow and author herself, lost her husband, Marc, over the waters of the Adriatic Sea years ago. She says her husband was “amusical” but desired for their children to have the exposure to music he never had. So she put all three of them in piano lessons. Her only daughter has not only won musical competitions now but has plans to make music her education and career. Her oldest son is now at the Air Force Academy, like his dad. And he just moved into his father’s former squadron to keep that family connection there alive, though he has few actual memories of his daddy. Patti, a health nut, says every year she takes the kids out for a greasy burger and milkshake, their dad’s favorites, to honor him in a fun way. But my favorite of all of Patti’s tributes is she has highlighted in blue in her Bible all the verses her husband had highlighted in his. As she reads, she is reminded on her husband’s passion for God’s Word. I am going to do that myself! Thank you Patti!

My friend, Debbie, lost her son, Marc, in Iraq. He was the first Navy Seal killed in the war. She now travels the country telling his heroic story and passionately speaks out for troop’s rights, just as her son would have wanted her to do.

Memorial Day is especially difficult for Troy’s parents, Kaye and Ron. They are proud yet they are so sad. This year, they first spent time with some good friends. How they met this couple has God’s fingerprints all over it. Right after Troy was killed, Kaye was at the Wal-Mart photo center making copies of pictures of Troy. She was utterly broken and bitter, justifiably so. She was hurting so badly she found it difficult to reach out to anyone as they simply could not have understand the level of her grief. The woman standing behind her that day, gently asked who Kaye was making pictures of. They began talking and this woman, Carol, told her she had lost her daughter as well. She now worked at Hospice and helped people in their grief. God sent Kaye powerful tangible evidence of His love for her that day at Wal-Mart when she needed it most. Now, years later, they played cards and cooked out on Memorial Day. Troy had specifically told me before he died how much his mom needed a good friend there in Wichita Falls. And not to mention, the only game I could ever get him to play was cards! That was fitting! Then on Memorial Day, Troy’s parents always attend a service at a military cemetery if they can’t be in Arlington. She talks with others who have lost loved ones, decades ago and recently. She hears from others all over the world who attend services where Troy’s name is mentioned and his heroism remembered. She says after speaking to others, she is again reminded of how very honored and lucky a woman she is to have had a son like that. To quote her own emailed words to me, “Never dreamed he would be a hero to this nation. Knew he was always my hero.”

Troy’s sister, Rhonda and her husband Shane were just blessed with the birth of precious twin baby boys. After many many years of infertility, Troy knew they longed for children. They came to visit us on Memorial Weekend. We got to hold those sweet babies, our nephews. Though Troy never got to meet them, I know he must have been smiling from above (maybe laughing too!) as Jim, after over twenty years of NOT holding a newborn, sheepishly first held his nephews. By the end Jim was a pro, carrying them both in his arms and singing lullabies into their tiny ears. They handed me the birth announcement, which took my breath away. A close up profile shot of the babies facing one another, hands entertwined, asleep. With their names written underneath “Landon Troy and Colton Lee”, named after the loving uncle they would never know . Shane purposely positioned them in the photo so that when their middle names were printed on the birth announcement it would prominently read “Troy Lee”. What a thoughtful tribute, Shane.

There are so many other stories. Ways those of us left behind, try to fill the big shoes of those who have gone Home.

I will keep the snowboard, hunting rifles and mountain bikes from getting too rusty and will make sure Troy’s sons know about the things he enjoyed. Just as Jim will continue to remind his sons of Andrea’s love of cooking and gardening and studying the Word. We do what we can. Most of all we will make sure they remember them by remembering the One they loved most.

Crosses

The weeks surrounding Easter are always interesting to me. On one hand, it IS the pinnacle, focus and entire foundation of Christian faith. THE answer to the question how can a fallable, sinful man (us) could ever be invited to live with a flawless, sinless King (Christ). Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday gave us just that; the invitation to outdo all invitations. Can't you just picture it? Elegantly hand calligraphied by the Master Himself. On the finest of linen paper. Brilliant white paper to represent His purity. Signed in red, His own blood. Edged with a thin line of gold to hint at the glamour of the event desitation; heaven.

On the other hand, it is us- those same folks, that are celebrating this glorious victory over the grave that scurry around stuffing jellybeans in plastic eggs, glazing the perfect ham and making sure the hairbows all match the dresses? I hope I always focus more on the former paragraph than the latter but I need to keep myself in check just to be sure. So back to my thoughts on Easter, the Cross and this most sacrificial and coveted invitation we will ever be handed...

Haven't you ever just longed to be invited to that most special of events? I remember the early days of Troy's and my marriage. We were pretty financial strapped (okay poor). Just out of college. Right before our Air Force life began. First jobs and not making much money. We became friends with a group of people pretty far out of our income bracket. They were friendly kind Texas people. Young and newly married like us but without any financial restrictions. They were always attending some sort of gala, ball or fancy charity fundraiser. They had the prestige and the money to "worthy" themselves the invite. In my mind, they were in the favored position in society. None the less, we were all friends and hung out. But once or twice, they had us put on the invite list to THE parties in town, as their guests. I was so excited. I longed for these invites to feel included in with THE incrowd. Troy wasn't so hung up on stuff like that but he was a good sport. I fretted over what to wear, who all would we talk to. Would we be out of place because they had to have known who had money, family lineage, the country club memberships, etc.. Troy worked at the country club. I worked for an interior design firm. These were our customers, not our peers. We knew how to fit in in pretty much any social setting but would someone question why we deserved to be there? We went and it was nice. But you know what? Now, I remember very little about it. Mainly I remember just trying desperately to blend in. Seem like I was one of them. Be charming and witty and use the right silverware with the appropriate food.

Isn't it wonderful and amazing that Christ's invitation sent from the Cross to us isn't so wrought with social implications and segregations? We are all invited no matter where we come from or what we've done to deserve or undeserve to get there!

If you have been around many churches for very long you have probably noticed a little booklet sitting on a table as you enter or exit. It's a small monthly devotional titled "Our Daily Bread". My dear dear friend, Tami, in Phoenix was also our pastor's wife. She always had an little issue of the latest "Our Daily Bread" in her purse or car. And she encouraged me to read the daily lessons when I didn't have the time or energy for much less with regards to Bible Study. They are short but many times have little nuggets of truth and a scripture reading for the day. A "snack" in terms of real Bible study. But, all of us frazzled busy moms out there will take whatever spiritual vitamin we can get our hands on to get us through the days.

I grabbed one this past Easter Sunday as I was leaving church. It was a special Easter addition. We spend so much time gearing up for Easter Sunday and then it seems over so quickly. So it has been nice to continue to read a little more about this most meaningful of seasons. Today's devotion was titled "Taking the Cross". It is based on the scripture reading about taking up our cross and following Jesus.

Matthew 10:38

"He who does not take his cross and follow after Me is not worthy of Me"

I quote from the lesson; "The cross. We see it today as the rough wooden instrument of death for Jesus Christ. But before His followers had even a faint idea that Jesus would die that way, He spoke of the cross. The men didn't associate the cross with Jesus' approaching death, but they kinew what a cross signified. Crucifixions were a common method of execution. The disciples had a vivid picture of the agony, punishment, and misery that a cross represented. Taking a coss mant walking life's toughtest road. So why was Jesus promoting cross-bearing? Because He wanted disciples who were willing to face the difficulties it would take to serve His cause. That's still our challenge today. Are we willing to take the cross and serve Christ in self-denial? The task is great- but it is eternally rewarding.

When I was nine years old and accepted Christ’s gift of salvation and gave Him all I had to give, a little girls devoted heart, I had no idea what it would mean to take up my cross. Even if I could have imagined it would involve carrying a load so heavy-laden with snapshots of loss and grief, I had total confidence that I would not go through anything alone. Jesus would help me. He helped me through the playground girlfriend squabbles all the way to the morning my precious husband died and each step of the way since.

That promise was exactly what Jim and I told our dinner guests last night.

I am finishing this blog weeks and weeks after I began it. What was April has now turned into May. What was the Easter holiday is now almost Memorial Day weekend. Life and its’ numerous obligations have stood in the way of me writing lately. But after last night, when our guests drove away, I knew I couldn’t have finished it properly without knowing them first.

The couple’s names are Sarah and Brad. I had never even heard of Sarah and Brad until the end of last week. Though, through the graciousness and mercy of the body of Christ, they had heard of me and prayed for me. During the time of Troy’s accident, they were stationed in Korea with some mutual friends, the Grevens. John and Wendy Greven will always hold a very special place in my heart. Not only for their loyal friendship to Troy and I during the time we were all stationed together in Italy but for their gift of quiet strength and service in the body of Christ. At no time was this more evident than when they showed up, all the way from Korea, to come to Troy’s memorial service in Phoenix. I can’t imagine the expense, time, planning, and jet lag that went into that quick turn-around trip for them. It just meant the absolute world to me and always will.

Sarah and Brad brought me and the kids, strangers to them, before the throne of Christ to ask for His help and healing for us. Now it is my turn.

Brad and Sarah just got stationed here in San Antonio at Randolph AFB. They are high school sweethearts and just 28 years old. They are the darling, fun, Christian military family. They are just begininning life, for all purposes. They haven’t even moved into their home yet or received their belongings from their last assignment in Japan. A few months ago Sarah found out she was expecting their first child. A few months ago Sarah found out she has Stage II breast cancer. All in the same week. Joy and Sorrow. Excited expectation and disappointing dread.

As soon as Jim and I heard about them, we wanted to meet them to help them in any way we could. But we wondered whether they would be encouraged by us. Would we give them hope? Would we give them fear? We just wanted to love on them and encourage them. Last night, they came over as complete strangers but left just hours later as friends and true brothers and sisters in Christ. Yet, I think they encouraged us more than we encouraged them. They are young in age but mature in their faith. They are putting all their hopes and dreams right where they belong, in Christ. They are trusting the Lord more than I believe I could ever hope to in such a situation as theirs. Sarah was thinking of ways she could minister to those she knows she will be in treatment with. An incomprehensible thought to the world. But the world doesn’t understand that her strength is not her own. Her strength comes from the Maker of Heaven and Earth.

Just three hours ago, they entered the chemo room for the first time. Sarah, with their unborn baby tucked inside, is picking up her cross. Brad, her husband, is standing beside her, praying for many miracles and that God would give her the strength to carry the baby, carry the cancer and carry the cross He has asked her to. Everything in the world that is precious to him is sitting in that chemo Lazy-Boy. Praying that the poison will kill the cancer and leave his wife and baby unharmed. Jim is on his way to meet them in the same chemo room he sat with Andrea in.

Back to my earlier devotional lesson in Our Daily Bread, this one titled “Dying to Live”. It says: “The cross in Roman times was designed for death. It had no other use. So what did Jesus mean in this verse?:

Luke 9:23:

“Then He said to them all: “If anyone would come after me, he must denu himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. “

He wasn’t saying that we must all be crucified. The “cross” to which He was referring is the act of putting to death our own heart’s desires (and dreams, emphasis mine) and quietly submitting to God’s will (whether or not it makes sense, emphasis mine).

Such dying is denying our need for larger homes, more compliant children, more accommodating mates. Such dying is accepting unchangeable circumstances, unthinkable horrors, lack of physical healing or safety in the skies. Such dying is loving despite misunderstandings, hurts and broken relationships. Such dying is walking forward without your life’s partner into a lonely world, with only your children by your side.

Each of us has or will have our own cross to carry. Our prayer should be that God would give us the strength not only to carry it for the journey but to willingly lay down upon it and accept it in order to pick it up in the first place. I witnessed in Sarah, a young woman with a very spiritually strong back.

The devotion says, “Jesus said we must take up cross daily. We are to rise each morning and cheerfully (not easy, Lord!), bravely (even less easy, Lord!) shoulder our load, because there is something else that is “daily”. It is the continuous, sufficient grace of the One whose strength is made perfect in our weakness.

Paul writes in:

II Corinthians 12:8-9

“Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it (the undisclosed thorn in his side) away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

In Matthew, Scripture tells us even Jesus, knowing God’s perfect plan, and desiring to do the will of His Father became “sorrowful and troubled” with the trial of suffering, humiliation and agonizing pain God was asking Him to endure at the Cross.

Matthew 26:38-39

“Then He (Jesus) said to them (His disciples), “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.” Going a little farther, He fell with His face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cupn be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as You will.”

I believe the hardest thing is to say to God, with total trust and confidence, not my will but Yours be done. And then to take His will and allow Him to shine through us.
We can rest in the fact that Jesus paved the way before us. The deep groove in the road was carved out by the heavy weight of the burdenous cross He carried so we wouldn’t have to carry ours alone. And we certainly won’t have to carry them forever.

II Corinthians 1:3-4

“Praise be to the Lord and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort who comforts us in all our t4oubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferiengs of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows.”

Missionary and poet Amy Carmichael wrote “In acceptance lieth peace.”

Peace be with you today, all who are standing up for the first time with that unfamiliar weight of your new cross. The God of all compassion will not leave you today; not alone as the red chemo drips through the tube in that room or walking behind the flag-draped coffin at that cemetery or anywhere else you never thought you'd end up.

Hebrews 13:5-6

“…Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” So we say with confidence, “The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?”

The answer is nothing. Nothing that Jesus didn’t save us from in the past or walk with us through now and in the future.

Crazy

I know it has been a while since we have written on the blog but life has been pretty busy. So many people have encouraged Ginger and me to write a book that we have decided to focus our "extra" time towards that endeavor. Our hope was to have it complete by our move....oh well it was a plan.

Today I'm sitting on our hotel balcony in Phoenix. I took Ginger here for our 1 year anniversary. In some ways it is hard to believe that it has been a year, in other ways it is staggering to think what we did in the last year, hence the title "Crazy."

One year ago I was driving from Phoenix to San Antonio with Ginger the three girls and Ginger's Mom. We set off on the adventure pulling our U-Haul trailer. Our wedding day, May 5th was a good indicator of the craziness of our life at the time. I flew into Phoenix on the 5th. The movers were finishing loading Ginger's stuff and I along with some very good friends loaded the U-Haul and cleaned the house. Yes that was the 5th our wedding day. We told the movers they had to finish by 4 so we could get married at 6! I almost forgot, Ginger and I had to get our marriage license that day as well so we took a break from the packing and cleaning to run to the County offices for our marriage license after lunch. Well we made it by six in time and had a beautifully simple wedding at the Wigwam Resort. The next day we drove to El Paso and were met by 50mph winds and blowing dust. We stayed appropriately at Ft Bliss. The next day we drove the final 10hrs to San Antonio. But along the way the twins had simultaneous diarrhea at a restaurant. It was then that I knew my life had changed! I will forever remember walking up to the restaurant and looking over a fence and seeing Ginger bent over two naked girls her mom running to the bathroom for cups of hot water. Too funny. But that was just the beginning of what was a crazy year. A new home, new schools, and a new family, and during all that Ginger and I were newlyweds.

As I look back on the past year I see the miracle of our life, our love and our family. The other day I looked at Ginger and said, "We were crazy, no wonder people thought that." I said that because I thought of the odds of us making it the last year with smiles on our faces. I thought about all that could have happened and I realized the odds of not just making it one year but the odds of finding each other were staggering. But our marriage is not about odds. The odds were Andrea would have lived. And the odds were Troy would have come home. Odds are for betting or people who seek assurance in this world, they find numbers that attempt to predict the future, or give certainty to the uncertain. Odds do not give us assurance in this life, Christ does. And with Christ all things are possible, even the crazy way Ginger and I got married in what was a whirlwind of change that involved 7 kids as well as Ginger and I.

So as I look back at our first year I see God's amazing grace, and mercy. I see a miracle of our love, and our family. When I look into Ginger's eyes I feel a bond beyond what is humanly possible. We are friends and we are husband and wife, we love each other and we love being together. We both lost amazing spouses and yet we have found another. We agree on so many small things in life and marriage and parenting. Our lives before were similar in many ways it reminds me of God's love and plan for us. I saw Christ in my loss and I saw Christ in Andrea's suffering and I see Christ in my joy. I think we tend allow ourselves to see Christ in someone’s suffering; because who would have chosen pain? Maybe it is pity, or relief that it was not us but I think we tend to view someone’s joy in a different light.

Ginger and I have grown a lot this past year. We are learning how to be someone else's spouse. We have learned, or at least I have, that we may have a few weird quirks that we thought were normal but may not be a normal as I thought. But if I had to pick one thing I have learned, or actually relearned, it is how important communication is. I learned that Andrea and I could and would communicate without many words. You just become so close over 27 years of knowing one another that sometimes words are not necessary and Ginger had the same experience after 14 years of marriage to Troy. But Ginger and I had to learn to communicate in our own unique way. The language we spoke with Troy and Andrea was at times a foreign language in our marriage. We would have a conversation and understand the words but the meaning and expectations were lost in the translation. So we had to go back and learn our own way of communicating. It has not been without our moments but those moments are the beginnings of our life together. We both know that life is not about how you avoid difficulties but how you respond to them.

We continue learning and growing closer and we continue to be humbled by God’s blessings in our life. Now, one year after getting married and moving Ginger and the kids from Phoenix we are getting ready to step over the edge of the boat and move to Florida…yeah, I know it is a little crazy.

The Dirt

Our Father, who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy name.

Thy Kingdom come,

thy will be done,

on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom,
the power and the glory,
for ever and ever.
Amen

I am ashamed. I had to look up the exact wording of The Lord's Prayer. I haven't been in a church recently that has had us say it as a congregation and for some unknown reason I messed up a few words and couldn't remember the exact order of others. But it was all I could think of as I laid my face on a part of Troy's flying gear taken from his crash site. My tears mixing with the dirt still embedded in the fibers. The dirt is on my fingertips as I type this. The dirt from a farmer's field in a land faraway. The dirt that clings to pieces of Troy's crumpled and burned helmet visor cover, the empty face of his watch, his Leatherman, his kneeboard, his flying notes and his barely recognizable camera. None of it would ever come completely clean. Nor would I ever want it to. That dirt. That filthy dirt in that filthy country where hate grows from the ground more abundantly than crops. That dirt is part of the last things that he touched which were a part of the last day he lived. I can wish it away. I can wish it all away. But in reality, that soil will always be a part of our lives.

Jim so beautifully wrote in his post about my visit from our friends who recently delivered these precious things to me the box sits in front of me now. I hate these things because they truly mark the last second he was alive on this earth. I love these things because they mark the first second he was made whole and joyfully met his Savior.

I began this post a couple of weeks ago only to abandon it because of the difficult emotions that surrounded writing it and minimal time to devote to it due to preparations for the boys and my trip to France. Now I sit on the plane, returning from our special week in Paris contemplating how God would have me finish it. Or the life lesson I can take from the depths of feelings that overcame me from my weekend with the Chief and Baba (General Rand). The first thing that comes back to mind is thankfulness for the gift of their efforts in hand-carrying Troy’s final belongings to me. From their example, I hope I will choose to go the extra mile to do something for someone who needs that mile more than I selfishly need my own. I do not know what I will do with those dirt-covered things found at the crash site. I know his parents would like his camera back. I know I will hold especially dear to my heart the hand-written note from the pilot that searched for hours and found it all in the field next day. I will leave his name out and hope he doesn’t mind me sharing what he wrote to me. I hope to meet this man someday but his tenderness and kind words ministered to my aching heart. A stranger was there in that distant place lovingly and carefully taking care of the things for me, the one who loved Troy the most, when I was unable to.

Dear Ginger,
I was blessed to have known Troy and share his company at Balad before he was lost to us forever. I will always selfishly cherish the time I had with him. I was on the scene very early the morning after (the crash) spending several hours on site. My team and I found the special articles in this box and I will tell you finding each item was like discovering a treasure connecting us to Troy. Hundreds of soldiers and then Marines had spent the previous night searching for Troy and securing the location… The morning was bright and sunny and the gentle breeze floating across the quiet fields belied the true nature of the location. On that peaceful 28 November morning in 2006 I came across the exact spot where Troy died. I knelt and praved for him and for you and your beautiful children. I asked God to watch over Troy, to give you strength to deal with your enormous loss and to be able to endure the difficult days, months and years ahead. I think of Troy often and I periodically visit Section 60 (in Arlington National Cemetery) and have a word with Troy. I tell him that I hope he is well and how much we appreciate the sacrifice he made for us so we may live happy and free. Thank you for sharing him with us.

I am not certain how or when to show our children what those sweet men brought us all the way from across the world. The kids only knew Dad’s friends from the war came for a visit. See, I have chosen to protect our children from much of what happened that fatal day their Daddy went home to be with Jesus. I believe, in time, they will ask more questions and I will give them more answers whenever it’s appropriate. I am not sure there is an appropriate time to explain to them that hateful men would appear at the crash site and remove their Daddy from his seat and carry him away before our troops could reach him. And that a small wooden box holds all that was found. I can hear the disbelief in my own voice as I again repeat the facts of that fateful day. Only my Father in heaven knows what happened right after Troy’s plane went down and his body taken probably rolled up in a carpet. The assumption is that he was buried within the first twenty-four hours, under Islam law, somewhere in a field. That stupid dirt, again, just as I said the other night when I held the things from inside the box. The enemy reached him first. No, they did not, I remind myself. God reached him first and took him home. Troy’s soul and spirit, what made him who he was, immediately left behind his shell. That shell was only his temporary home. I loved that home. I nestled in the arms of that home each night. Troy was handsome. Dashingly handsome. But what I loved most was what he was inside and the hate-mongers never laid hands on that part of him. And when I tell the children, one by one, when the time is right for very wrong news, that is what I will remind them of.

Of course I and his parents still ask for reaffirmation that the search for Troy continues. And each time we ask, the answer is the same. Always. Every lead is followed. No stone left unturned. No man left behind is their motto. I have had to surrender this to our military’s hands. I can’t physically go to Iraq and hunt for my husband’s body the rest of my life. But I can daily lay my requests to the Lord who knows right where it lays. Those are the loving Hands I actually surrender my desires to. Yes, my heart breaks over this. I never imagined having to sit my 5 children down and tell them their Daddy wasn’t returning from war. But, by God’s strength, I did. Therefore, I know that by that same strength, someday I will explain to them what DNA is and how, for now, that is all we have. I either trust God with everything or trust Him with nothing. I pray I will see a flag-draped coffin with Troy inside being escorted from across the world by another brother-in-arms , just like General Rand or Chief did with his belongings. I, like others from wars past, pray he will be returned home to this country’s soil. I can’t understand why God allowed this to ever happen. But I know He has a plan, even in this specific corner of my sorrow.

We all have corners of sorrows. Quadrants of unanswered questions. Sections of unexplained suffering. Maybe we get answers. Maybe we get healing. Maybe we get reconciliation. Maybe we get our loved ones home. But maybe we don’t. Then what will we do? Will the injustice of it eat away at our bones and darken our hearts? Will others see the peace of Christ in us or only the hollowed-out shadows of those without hope?

Will we only view death as "A moment of terror...then an instant later the eternal dark?" This is how Joan Didion describes it in her book The Year of Magical Thinking. It is her memoirs written the year after her husband suddenly died while her only daughter was deathly ill in the ICU. This book had been mentioned to me through different friends. I just finished reading it. It was an odd journey. At times, I could so relate to Joan's thoughts and feelings, it was as if we had the same blood coursing through our veins. Her opening lines are "Life changes fast. Life changes in the instant. You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends." She notes how most of when describing the events just precluding "the moment" are usually described as ordinary and unremarkable. So true. One minute I am standing outside with my friend, Christy, drinking Starbucks coffee and watching our children jump on the trampoline and the next I am sitting in my daughter's pink bedroom hearing the unthinkable from strangers in blue uniforms. Joan was cooking dinner and chatting with her husband, only to have him not answer a question and find him slumped over the dinner table. One's mind cannot catch up that fast. It takes months for that to happen. She and I agree on that fact.

At other times, we parted ways as I felt I walked on through the grief and darkness with similiar despair but with echoes of light. The light of Christ's hope. God's promises etched on my the palms of my hands and enscribed on the tablet of my heart. Joan Didion and my stories were similiar; the sudden loss of a husband, the shocking disbelief, the desire to reverse the hands of time and go on as if one's new reality did not involve the death of your soulmate... etc.. She speaks of the leaden feeling one wakes with during those first few days. In that moment of foggy conciousness before you remember what really happened and you only have a sense of something not being right. How you lose all concentration and cognitive abilities to think clearly. How the waves of grief hit you and you forget to breathe. How you want to scream and how you just want them to come back. How life changes fast and in an ordinary instant. How grief makes you have temporary insanity. She states, "How grief passes but mourning, the act of dealing with the grief, recquires attention".

After Troy died, I remember feeling as if each day I must get up and go to my new job. That job involved not only the practical details of "taking care of things" but of studying, reading, weeping, working out my new reality and what truth meant now. Joan says she began to notice the common traits of those of us bereaved; fragile, unstable and raw. The struggle of self-pity and feeling sorry for oneself. And how to reconcile that with the desire of others to have you not dwell on it or the need to go on. Or in mine and Jim's case the delicate balance and anguishing confusion of not going forward quickly enough or going forward too soon, depending on who you were talking to. Joan describes how she didn't want to change her husband's voice on the answering machine because she would do so with a sense of betrayal. Joan eloquently describes how we not only mourn the one we lost but we mourn ourselves, who we were. How you wander through streets, your own home, your own life avoiding the painful reminders of walking those familiar paths alone. In the last chapter, she writes, "How there comes a point at which we must reliquinsh the dead, let them go, keep them dead. Let them become the photograph on the table." I felt the same things she so beautifully wrote about. The depths, the blackness, the swallowing up in the pain... all of it I could relate to all of it.

Yet, as a Believer, those of us knowing God's Word stands as the ultimate truth and victory over death, my path and Joan's parted ways. She wonders if when her husband died he experienced "a moment of terror...then an instant later the eternal dark." She says she never believed the words she learned at church that the body would be resurrected. She views death as the end, bleak and void of meaning. She says "No eye was on the sparrow. No one was watching over me." That's not what Christ said.

Luke 12:6-7

"Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed the very hairs on your head are numbered. Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows."

I Thessalonians 4:13-18:

"And now, brothers and sisters, I want you to know what will happen to the Christians who have died so you will not be full of sorrow like people who have no hope.For since we believe that Jesus died and was raised to life again, we also believe that when Jesus comes, God will bring back with Jesus all the Christians who have died.I can tell you this directly from the Lord: We who are still living when the Lord returns will not rise to meet him ahead of those who are in their graves. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven with a commanding shout, with the call of the archangel, and with the trumpet call of God. First, all the Christians who have died will rise from their graves.Then, together with them, we who are still alive and remain on the earth will be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air and remain with him forever.
So comfort and encourage each other with these words."

The world tells us it is never easier to forgive. It is easier to hate. But I disagree. There is a freedom in letting go and giving it back to to our God. When I said the Lord’s prayer and asked that He forgive my trespasses as I forgive those who trespass against me, I instantly think of those men that took Troy's body, filmed it and aired it on their Arab terrorist websites - their utterly heinous and despicable acts. Yet, I must remember, I too, have many sinful acts of my own which I do not deserve forgiveness for.

Matthew 6:14-15
“For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.”

My fingertips have long been washed of the dirt that was on them as I began typing this blog weeks ago. Yet, I can feel it still. Probably always will. Now that I have all of the material things recovered but still not his body, what do I do? As I have said before, what does not make us bitter will make us better. I want to be better. I need to be better. There is no bitterness in Troy today. I can choose to hate and think mankind to be more evil than good. Or I could open my eyes to see the goodness around me. It’s really up to me.

Matthew 7:16
You can detect them by the way they act, just as you can identify a tree by its fruit. You don't pick grapes from thornbushes, or figs from thistles. A healthy tree produces good fruit, and an unhealthy tree produces bad fruit. A good tree can't produce bad fruit, and a bad tree can't produce good fruit. So every tree that does not produce good fruit is chopped down and thrown into the fire. Yes, the way to identify a tree or a person is by the kind of fruit that is produced. "Not all people who sound religious are really godly. They may refer to me as `Lord,' but they still won't enter the Kingdom of Heaven. The decisive issue is whether they obey my Father in heaven."

There are three black small children on this flight from Africa. I watched as three middle-aged white American women, perhaps nurses or social workers, cared for them. Everyone at the airport couldn’t help but notice these odd-looking travel companions. One little girl is obviously crippled with spina-bifida. One tiny baby with a cleft palate and severe mouth deformity. One small boy needing heart surgery and just crying. I spoke with a woman just now on the plane who explained these children are being transported, via volunteers called Airline Ambassadors, from Africa to America to receive surgery and health care and then returned back to their families. Doctors in America donate their medical care, hospital and surgical facilities. Host families house the children until they are well enough to return. France must have been only a stopping point on these travelers long journey. The small boy, maybe only 20 months old or so, will undergo heart surgery and will recooperate and rehabilitate for 6 months in America before returning to his home. I imagined his mother handing him over to strangers. Knowing she must trust her beloved in the hands of strangers. Knowing she won’t be able to touch him, hold him, help him in those moments he needs her. As a mother, she must be willing to do whatever it takes to help her precious son. Love tears your heart to pieces.

I have watched people on the airplane offer to help these women. The crying one must be constantly walked. Right now, an older gentleman is holding this little African baby and walking him up and down the aisle to calm him. He drops his pacifier and the young Indian woman in front of me picks it up and hands it back to him. There is mercy left in the world. There is unselfish beauty. I just can’t have my eyes so tightly closed with despair and anger that I miss these moments. He finally got him to sleep gently patting him on the back while lovingly looking at him. I see one of the social workers come by and thank him for giving them a much-needed break. Now the tiny boy is awake and I watch him smiling and touching the man’s face and the man kissing his little neck. Only hours ago this gentleman and this tiny African boy were strangers. There is still hope in this dark world.

Troy and Andrea are singing and dancing and rejoicing in their new-found wholeness. No sickness, sadness, sorrow or incompleteness where they are. Just perfectly joyful eternal life. Life abundantly. I can’t wait to join them! However, when Jesus came to earth and died He was temporarily separated from God for the first time in eternity and then took our black sin upon His pure as snow shoulders, I believe He did it so we could have a taste of that life here on earth, as well.

John 10:10:

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have {it} abundantly."


Hebrews 10:12-14
"But our High Priest (Jesus) offered himself to God as one sacrifice for sins, good for all time. Then he sat down at the place of highest honor at God's right hand.
There he waits until his enemies are humbled as a footstool under his feet.
For by that one offering he perfected forever all those whom he is making holy."

Hebrews 10:19
"And so, dear brothers and sisters, we can boldly enter heaven's Most Holy Place because of the blood of Jesus."

As I look out the window of this airplane and see us soaring high above the clouds I wonder if we are any nearer to Troy or Andrea than we are on the ground? Wouldn’t it be amazing if the closer we got to heaven we began to hear the faint echoes of angels singing? This past Sunday, we went to the American Church in Paris with our friends. The architecture of the old cathedral was breathtaking. The ornate stone carvings and the towering arch windows of brilliant stained glass were magnificent. The high flying buttresses towered above our smallness. The massive polished organ pipes housed within masterfully-carved dark wooden framework evoked immediate images of fairytales and castles. As we entered, all of my visual senses were overwhelmed . But then I stopped looking around and started listening to probably the most beautiful singing I have ever heard. An American woman with just a hint of Irish-folksiness in the way she lead worship wearing a flowing lavender dress stood in front of this magnificent church and sang praise songs like Jesus was the only one in the audience. Her melodic soliloquies and trills ministered to my heart. She sang Grace Like Rain by Todd Agnew. It’s basically Amazing Grace with some awesome contemporary twists and turns. I joined her in singing and for a moment thought I sounded like her J. If all wishes are granted in heaven then I wish for that angelic voice to sing praises to my King! Tears spilled from my eyes as we sang….

“When we’ve been there ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun.
We’ve no less days to sing Your praise, than when we first begun.”

I fully expect the moment I meet my Savior and see Troy again, timelessness will begin. Troy will have been singing for years and I will join him as if no time has past since that fatally sad day separated us in the fields of Iraq. The old dirt of this life will be long forgotten.

Psalm 30:11

“You turned my wailing into dancing; You removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing to You and not be silent. Oh Lord, my God, my heart will give you thanks forever.”

The older gentleman cradled and walk the small boy the entire flight across the Atlantic. I told his wife that she had a special husband to do that. And how I knew the baby’s mother would be so thankful if she knew what strong arms had taken care of her son on this part of the journey. I know this with all my heart. Because a stranger walked through a field in the middle of a war to care find Troy’s things for me. My precious cargo, as well. Love may tear your heart to pieces. But love also puts the pieces back together again.

Recipes

It’s the kids’ Spring Break and I am currently sitting on an airplane with Boston and Greyson and we are headed to Paris. Not Paris, TX the REAL Paris! Even with all of the traveling we have done visiting friends since Troy died, this trip by far gets the prize for being the biggest. We are going to visit the Woodcock Family, dear friends we were stationed with in Italy.

Troy, the kids and I arrived in Aviano, Italy just a month or so before they did. We knew we would be in the same squadron and so invited them over for dinner right away. And the rest is history. I don’t remember what we cooked that night but I remember the fellowship being delicious. We spent quite a bit of time with their family. And the kids and I have seen them twice since Troy died. We all still talk of cherished memories of the fun and food we shared during our one tour together. Now, the boys are older and I hope they can enjoy and appreciate the specialness of this grand vacation, good friends and hopefully even another culture’s food.

Jim comes from a cooking family. He often makes his Italian grandfather’s pasta sauce and it is yummy! Jim grew up with seven brothers and sisters and his dad was in the military so you know his mom cooked A LOT! I, on the other hand, grew up with one brother and a mother who prefers to wash and wax her car over preparing an evening meal. My mom, affectionately known as Juju, is such an amazing mother with all kinds of gifts and talents. Cooking, bless her heart (Southerners understand that phrase), is just not one of them. She hung a sign in her kitchen that read, “If it ain’t burned, momma didn’t cook it”. She wasn’t kidding. That’s the gospel right there. I couldn’t count the number of times my mom burned toast, rolls or even dinner itself. She loathes going to the grocery store and meal planning and rarely ever had half the ingredients she needed to make anything. I would ask for something like chicken and rice and she would say okay only to realize she had no chicken or rice, only the Cream of Mushroom soup. (That is a staple, you know). I remember her starting a grease fire that burned the ceiling of our kitchen black. Once, when I was about 7 or 8 I awoke on a Saturday morning to a smell that literally made me nauseated and burned the inside of nostrils to the point I wondered if a doctor’s visit would be necessary. The really funny part was the night before I had sneaked into the living room to watch the television show, “Bewitched”, which was 100% banned in my home due to my Southern Baptist roots and the program’s glorification of witchcraft. In retrospect it actually seemed like Samatha’s space-cadet husband and overbearing mother were more of the issue but I do respect my folk’s intentions. Anyway, when I awoke the following morning to that powerful pungent aroma of unidentifiable burned meat I thought I was being punished by God for the sin of forbidden tv watching. Hmmm… Maybe I was? Well, I asked God for forgiveness and my mom never made that dish again. Maybe she was cleaning the oven? Sometimes it was hard to tell. Okay, enough of my mom’s cooking stories. You KNOW I love you Mom!

My mom’s mother was a fantastic cook and gardener. She made everything from scratch with fresh ingredients. I still can taste her black-eyed peas and okra, potato rolls and homemade peach ice-cream. I think she inspired in me the desire to cook and to understand food. Marrying Troy, who had already lived around the world, helped me to appreciate different foods. I was always fascinated by foreign foods. I grew up in a small town in New Mexico and though I still think I ate some of the best Mexican food on the planet, I had never even heard of sushi or schnitzel. While I am telling all of my childhood secrets I might as well go ahead and confess that I had a slight obsession with Princess Diana and therefore all things Anglophile. My fascination and relationship with her (okay it’s only an imagined one) would be the topic of an entirely another blog so I will leave it with that. One quirky thing I remember doing, however, was I would beg my mom to buy me these chocolate-covered thin mints called “After Eight Mints”. They were made in England and at the age of 12 I considered them to be a delicacy from a far-off land, even though I am pretty sure she bought them at Walgreens. I would hide them under my bed so no one else would eat them and only pull them out for the moments I would savor the pages of my Princess Diana picture books. Okay, it’s strange, I confess. But it was my escape and way to explore culinary culture.

After I married Troy, I realized he not only appreciated all the Tex-Mex I had grown up eating but also had eaten a myriad of other mysterious and fun foods. Which brings me back to the schnitzel. Troy’s family was stationed in Germany and this was their favorite dish. It greatly resembles chicken-fried steak, which is why I think they all liked it so much. But it was smothered in this yummy brown mushroom gravy and he got me hooked onto it as well. If there was a German restaurant anywhere near, it was what he ordered. Eventually he perfected cooking it AND chicken fried steak, too. Troy didn’t do a lot of the cooking but like most everything else in his life, if he attempted it he was successful.

Moving around in the Air Force and being exposed to many different types of cooking. If we ate out or at someone’s house I always asked questions and was interested in how their dishes were made. I won’t say I am a great cook but I continue to learn and experiment and will enjoy my children being done with their picky-eater phases so I can get back to cooking something gourmet-ish again.

Jim and Andrea liked to cook together. With only two kids they had a little more time to devote to the art of it. And I know Andrea was a very good cook. Last week was Anthony’s birthday so we began pouring over Andrea’s recipe books to find the one of the cake that she made for him every year. As we all sat at our dining room table and began thumbing through her life’s recipes, I felt as if I was catching a glimpse of her private life. All women know their recipe file truly represents who they are, who they know, where they’ve been and what they likes. It made me feel as if I spent a little time with Andrea in her kitchen, maybe sharing a cup of tea and swapping recipes. Many were handed down from her mother or her Air Force friends. Many more were penned in her own hand and lovingly worn thin. I know it was a tender and sad moment for Jim and Anthony. And then Jim found a neatly folded email he had written to her on their 20th wedding anniversary. He was TDY and it was all they had that special day. He read it and I know it brought back memories of that time of their life. Bittersweet chocolate of moments these are.

Oddly enough, right after Jim and I got married and I was unpacking boxes full of my cookbooks and recipe files, I found a card Troy had sent to me from Iraq just a month before he died, in between the pages. I wondered how it ended up there because I don’t think I cooked real homemade food one time after he died. Like Jim’s to Andrea, it was penned with love and encouragement during a military separation. Like Jim’s, it was written for my eyes and my heart alone. Yet, there they both ended up in the privately public forum of each other’s recipe books.

I think I could eventually master an Iron Chef America recipe given a couple of tries, the correct ingredients and the right cooking equipment. But life, this messy life that boils over the pot, burns to the bottom of the pan and often is so bitter to swallow… is much more difficult to master. When my personal life turned into a disaster I remember crying out “What do I do now?! Will someone just tell me what on the earth do I do now?! How can I remedy this? Can life ever possibly taste good again?!” No one could give me the answer. Because the answer can come from no man. Only God has the perfect recipe for life.

You know when you eat something really delicious and then you find out what’s in it and you know you never would have even tried it much less liked it had you known what went into it? Or you wouldn’t possibly have attempted this or that recipe if you had been thumbing through the cookbook because the ingredients sounded too strange or untasty or just too darn complicated? Well, that’s life. One part joy. Two parts pain. Three parts fulfillment. Four parts suffering.

If you wrote out my life, all that’s gone into it these past two and a half years, I never would have signed up to attempt THAT recipe. It would’ve been just too daunting and too unimaginabley awful-tasting to even think about. Waking up one day with my five little bitty children at my feet to find out from a knock on the door that I was a 36 year old widow? No thank you, I won’t be having any of that. Not to mention, once all those ingredients; grief, anger, loneliness, cups of tears, etc…were mixed in then it would all have to go through the fire, the burning hot fire, to eventually come out being good or at best, palatable.

Many of our lives end up that way. Andrea and Jim’s with the monstrosity of a long-term battle with cancer. Mine with the aftermath of a fatal 2- second plane crash. None of the four of us ever feeling our feet to the fire or our faith put to the test like we had planned when we wrote our own recipes of life as right-of-college-happy-in-love-newlyweds. And to the unbelieving man without God’s hope of giving a purpose to the bitter ingredients and seemingly spoiled dish, it seems impossible. It WAS impossible. The only way it HAS been possible was with God being the head chef. We can dabble in the control of the input of materials we put into our lives, attempting to create some sort of masterpiece of our own. The Ravellas and the Gilberts were right there doing just that. Happy, Christian, military families, raising kids, serving God and country, yet, about to be blindsided by an unexpected ingredient that would spoil the whole dish - death. And I can tell you, even with Jim and I having one another and a complete family again, without the Lord, the dish would still be spoiled. Because the grave would have been the end for us.

Jim and I daily stand in the middle of a miracle of love and hope and healing. But we can both honestly admit that without God’s help DAILY with the pain and with the struggles, we would be consumed. There would be no victory only momentary flickers of relief. Without the promise that even through the worst heartache imaginable and the most desperate of times there is a reason and there will be good. Or that even the best this life has to offer, it is still a only mere shadow of the greatness that is to come when we are finally Home. There is a song echoing in my head right now… the lyrics going something like this:

“There will come a day, with no more tears, no more pain and no more fears. There will come a day when the burdens of this place will forever be erased, when we see Jesus face to face.”

We won’t find the perfect recipe for life on this earth. Even with healthy wives or husbands at home. Nothing will ever taste the way it should, until we meet Jesus, THE secret ingredient – THE one part joy. The rest of the ingredients just won’t matter after that, will they?

I Witnessed...

This is a picture Troy took on 20 Nov 2006. I hope you can read the words on this sign.

It says:

"Memorial Lane

Dedicated to those in the American military who have made the

ultimate sacrifice for the cause of freedom in Iraq"

One of the many things I love about serving in the Air Force is the amazing people I get to work with. I have heard it said from many people who have retired they miss the people more than anything. I think that will be true of me. This past weekend I was reminded of this. Ginger and I had two very special guests who delivered a very special item to Ginger. Those men were Brigadier Gen Rand, and Chief Dearduff. Both of these men worked closely with Troy. Troy was Gen Rand’s flying executive officer and Chief Dearduff was Gen Rand’s Command Chief at Luke and in Balad. I served as a Wing exec as Troy did and I can tell you there can be a special relationship with the leadership. Both Gen Rand and Chief Dearduff have gone separate ways and since serving together at Luke and Balad but their friendship never waned.

I had met Gen Rand and his wife Kim at our wedding in July but this weekend was the first time I had met the Chief. Ginger had told me what a great man he was and how Troy respected him. Having known the caliber of people who achieve the rank of Chief in the Air Force I had an idea of the type of man he would be. But even so I underestimated him.

Gen Rand and Chief came to visit us to deliver Troy’s belongings that were recovered from the crash site. Chief hand carried the items from Iraq, and they hand carried them to our house never wanting to trust these items to the US Postal Service. There visit started off with dinner at our house and afterwards we looked at pictures of Gen Rand, Chief and Troy from Iraq. Bella sat in my lap and in her way tried understand what she was seeing. Pictures of “Daddy in Heaven.” She probably did not comprehend it fully or maybe she did, but we were looking at pictures of three men, two of which stood in our living room, the third was her dad and he was not there. Why? Why was I holding her as she realized the other men in the photos were standing behind her? Those questions will never be answered in this life.

The next evening we went out to dinner and then came back to our house were Gen Rand and Chief present a beautiful hand carved box containing Troy’s belongings. I sat by Ginger as for the first time she held items that were with Troy that day. All the items were in plastic bags, tagged and numbered as they were found by the first team of crash investigators. It was solemn as Ginger opened each of the bags and ran her hands across the items, feeling the dirt from the field where he had crashed. In the box was Troy’s visor cover, his knee boards with part of his checklist, his Leatherman, a pocket from his survivor vest, his watch which Ginger had given him, and finally his camera. The camera his mom and dad gave him when he deployed. I will tell you if you have never lost a loved one there is something special about holding something that you know your loved one held. There is a closeness to touch what you know they touched. Like Andrea’s journals, I would trace the words with my fingers and feel the pen in her hand and hear her thoughts as she penned the words. To hold something of theirs is as close as you can be to someone who is no longer here. I know for Ginger she was experiencing the same as she ran her hands across the kneeboard and held Troy’s watch.

I learned a lot about being a human, a Christian and an Officer that weekend because I witnessed the greatest example of servant leadership I had ever seen. I witnessed two men who serve in very busy jobs whose families have endured countless late nights at the office, missed anniversaries, birthday and holidays voluntarily take time to spend the weekend with Ginger and the kids. I watched the Chief play catch with Bella. Not just for a minute but for as long as Bella wanted. I watched them both talk to the boys not just “How are you?” but talk to them to find out what they like, what they do. I watched Boston display his soccer uniforms to Gen Rand who took the time and made Boston feel he was the most important person in the room. I watched the Chief do the same with Greyson and his basketball shoes. I never felt they were rushed, never trying to get this over with; they were here for us, totally. I watched this knowing for them to do this their families were somewhere sitting alone. A son missing his dad or a Grandson missing his grandfather.

I witnessed Sacrifice.

I witnessed two men tell stories of Troy. I realized both men saw in Troy that special quality of a future leader. I understood they both wanted to pass on their experiences to a younger officer, not to advance their career but to rise up the next generation of leaders. I know Troy was going to be a better leader having served with these two men.

I witnessed Mentorship.

I witnessed two men who had been profoundly changed by Troy. Both men are very successful in their careers, yet both men were willing to allow a young Major to impact them. Gen Rand told a story of when the three took a trip together to visit Al Asad. On the way back Troy leaned over to Gen Rand and said “I haven’t seen you in church lately. I’m Just checking to make sure you are okay and you have your priorities straight.” I learned a lot about what made Troy such a great man, and how he was able to impact so many people in such a short life. Troy loved his job, he loved being a fighter pilot, he loved being a dad, he loved being a husband. But most of all he loved being a believer and he loved the Lord. And this love was evident in how he lived his life. He loved Gen Rand enough to ask that question. Most people would have never asked such a question for fear of what our boss might think, or how it may impact our career. Fewer things I have heard of Troy speak to his character more than this story and this question he asked Gen Rand. Troy loved Gen Rand enough to ask that question. He worked with him closely enough to know the duties of a Wing Commander; especially a Wing Commander in War can easily distract someone from what really matters. I think Chief and Gen Rand knew they had met someone special in Troy and it forever changed them. But many of us have had a similar experience, whether it is Troy, Andrea or someone else and sadly sometimes we allow that person’s memory to fade only temporarily impacting our life. We talked a lot about how Troy impacted Gen Rand and Chief this weekend. But there are those of us who never had the blessing of meeting Troy, or those who never meet Andrea and it is up to those who did know them to tell their story. For it is a story many need to hear for their stories bring purpose to this life. I left feeling convicted to live a changed life. I left knowing nothing honors Troy and Andrea’s sacrifice more than that.

I witnessed Humility.

Finally I witnessed Gen Rand giving Ginger the box, wrapped in a handmade cloth his wife Kim sewed to protect the beautiful hand carved cross. The box itself donated to Ginger. I saw what must be a commander’s most difficult task, returning belongings to a wife. I witnessed firsthand the cost of war. I learned what it means when people say freedom is not free. I have written before about my experiences watching Andrea endure chemo and the suffering of cancer. And about the first day I realized I could only go so far in that experience with Andrea. She faced the fear during a CT scan as they took her away. She faced the fear of surgery as they wheeled her from me and only she sat in the chemo chair. (See my blog View From the Lazy Boy). As I watched Ginger open that box I realized only she fully understood the pain of holding her husband’s belongings. I know we all feel Troy’s loss in some way, at different levels but as I witnessed her hold his watch, a gift she had given him, I realized she was alone in her grief. I mean alone in the sense that she was experiencing a deeper grief than any of us. I understand and I can empathize in her grief but in that moment her grief was hers alone. I may be wrong but other than the spouse, I would say no one goes to that depth of grief except a Mother. As I saw the camera Ron and Kaye gave Troy I felt for Kaye who lost her only son. It breaks my heart to know she has suffered and still does every day. It breaks my heart to hear the kids call me dad in front of her and Ron. I know how bad it hurts to lose someone and I’m sorry they have had to pay such a high price. I understand that the depth of pain felt is only born from the height of love lived. I witnessed four people all hurting all feeling the vacuum created by the loss of Troy for the world lost a great man on Nov 27 2006. But in the midst of that moment I saw the greatest quality of all, whether you are a leader a follower.

I witnessed Love.

In the end I hope I am a better husband, father, and leader for what I witnessed this weekend.

These pictures were downloaded from Troy’s camera which was found at the crash site. The camera was barely recognizable yet the memory card looked as if it was brand new.

Troy at Al Asad

The last picture on Troy's camera
Note the date

Ginger had never seen this picture until now

Gen Rand, Troy, Chief Dearduff

Gen Rand and Troy
Troy had insisted they get the perfect picture that day.

Chief Dearduff and Troy

Gen Rand and Chief served in Iraq with Troy. he pictures below were taken on the day of Troy’s first flight. It was the Chief who set up the photographer that day forever giving Ginger and the kids this priceless gift.

Troy getting his vest fitted before his first flight

Gen Rand and Troy getting ready to fly.

Troy fitting his helmet and Night Vision Goggles

Adoption

Okay, calm down. The title of this post is NOT an announcement that Jim and I are adopting another child. We need to hang onto what little bit of sanity we have left, you know. We now, however, do have a new future daughter-in-law so that does make us officially "Eight is Enough". Which, incidentally, I remember watching that show when I was about 9 or so and didn't it seem like they were ALL nearly adults? Perhaps that's why "John and Kate Plus Eight" is such a hit. We all wondered what those parents did the first 18 years! Anyway, this post is about Jim officially adopting Boston, Greyson, Isabella, Aspen and Annalise. It is also about me and you and the rest of God's children. The Great I Am desires to adopt all of us and call us His very own.

For the past 6 months Jim and I have been working with a lawyer trying to orchestrate and finalize this process. I have many friends who have adopted and I remember the long wait and many hurdles they encountered. But this one was supposed to be fairly quick and simple. It definitley has not been. Social worker visit, lawyer meetings, lots of paperwork, fingerprinting at the sherriff's office, local and state background checks, reference interviews, financial expenses, numerous phone calls and some more waiting. It is still not quite finalized. After discussion we decided to add the surname "Ravella" to the girls names but leave the boys "Gilbert". It will be Boston and Greyson who carry on Troy's honorable name. Six of Jim's seven children are not biologically "his". Anthony was adopted by Jim and Andrea when he was two years old. This is all yet another unique circumstance in Jim's life that he probably never anticipated. Yet, I believe, his heart was specially designed for this very thing. I believe as well that in time my children will see the significance of having another man CHOOSE them to call his own.

Jim comes from a large family. He is the youngest of eight (sticking with the "Eight is Enough" theme yet again!). I was never honored to meet his parents as they have both passed away. But I have been blessed to have now met all of his siblings. They are each wonderful, diverse and have been so kind and welcoming to me, though I know they all miss Andrea very much. It has been fun to be a fly on the wall listening to their lively debates and discussions. Their parents must have been strong people because they are all full of conviction and opinion in varied arenas. I think Jim might be one of the lesser vocal of them all, maybe because he's the baby of the family, but he has just as strong of beliefs and convictions, none the less. Their latest round of discussion, via email, has been on religion. As I have read each of their views I could not help but make a connection with the adoption process we are going through.

The story of Jim adopting the majority of his children is a sweet one. But the story of God adopting us is poignaintly beautiful in a way like none other. First, simply the fact that He would desire our company or seek relationship with us. He is God, after all. Complete and not lacking anything. Second, we can be quite unlovable; rebelliously rejecting His offer and outstretched hand time and time again.

The band Tenth Avenue North has written a heartfelt song portraying God's pursuit of us titled "By Your Side". These are the lyrics:

Why are you striving these days?
Why are you trying to earn grace?
Why are you crying?
Let me lift up your face.
Just don't turn away.
Why are you looking for love?
Why are you still searching as if I'm not enough?
To where will you go child?
Tell me where will you run?
To where will you run?
And I'll be by your side
Wherever you fall.
In the dead of night
Whenever you call.
And please don't fight
These hands that are holding you.
My hands are holding you.
Look at these hands and my side
They swallowed the grave on that night.
When I drank the world's sin
So I could carry you in
And give you life.
I want to give you life.
(Chorus 2x)
Cause I, I love you.
I want you to know
That I, I love you.
I'll never let you go.

I have heard and read many discussions on the "how-to's" to have a relationship with God. I think we make it so much more complicated that it actually is. It is not us reaching to God asking Him to take us in or doing enough good works that we would catch His eye and be deemed worthy enough to be called His own. We could never reach that high. He reaches down to us. We could never be good enough. Or follow the rules enough. Even if we gave everything we had to the poor and devoted our lives to world peace, we couldn't possibly earn enough good merit badges to gain access into heaven's pearly gates.

Ephesians 2:4-5

"But because of His great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions - it is by grace you have been saved."

Remember we were made from dust. It was His breath that first gave us life. It was His last breath that saved us from death.

Genesis 2:7

"...the Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being."

Psalm 103:14-16

"For He knows how we are formed, He remembers that we are dust. As for man, his days are like grass, he flourished like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more."

Ephesians 2:8-9

"For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith-and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God-not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do."

God's grace saves us through the vehicle of our faith in an unseen God. We are the workmanship, the craft of His hand and our purpose is to serve Him and do good because He gave us the gift of Christ Jesus. Will we be rewarded in heaven for our works? Yes.

Psalm 18: 24

"The Lord has rewarded me according to my righteousness, according to the cleanness of my hands in His sight."

I believe our country must be very careful with passing laws advocating the shedding of innocent blood. Someday, God will ask us to turn over our hands. No doubt He is looking for that cleanness.

Proverbs 6:16-19

"There are six things the Lord hates, seven that are detestable to Him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked schemes, feet that are quick to rush into evil, a false witness who pours out lies and a man who stirs up dissension among brothers."

I Corinthians 3:8

"The man who plants and the man who waters have one purpose, and each will be rewarded according to his own labor."

Revelation 22:12

"Behold, I am coming soon! My reward is with Me and I will give to everyone according to what he has done."

Do our works get us into heaven? No. However, right thinking and right living should go hand in hand. The Bible says even the demons believe there is one God. We must put action behind our beliefs. Otherwise we are no different than them.

James 2:17

"In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead."

Abraham was considered righteous and his faith genuine by his actions and his faith working together. He laid his precious son, Isaac, on the altar. He would never have been able to do that without placing his trust in God first. I have often said that without my faith in God and the prayers and love of others with that same faith, I would not be sitting here today. Faith, that was often shaken in my tumoltuos despair after losing Troy, was the only thing I had left. It saw me through the months of hating my life and wishing for death. It saw Jim through God answering no to Andrea's healing. Those were things bigger than we were. Bigger than we are still.

Matthew 16:24-27

"Then Jesus said to His disciples, "If anyone would come after me, He must deny himself and take up cross and follow Me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it. What good wil it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul? For the Son of Man (Christ) is going to come in His Father's glory with His angels, and then He will reward each person according to what he has done."

We take up our crosses. Our crosses may be carrying the weight of sickness, tragedy, sorrow and loss yet hanging onto Him on the journey. Yours may be a cross of abuse, abandonment or unfairness, an unwanted pregnancy, a longing for a baby or the loss of financial security. We must understand we cannot save ourselves. Or seek to gain a world of knowledge and success in the hopes of "arriving" on earth or in heaven. Like the Bible says, what good is all that because we will still be forfeiting our soul? There is much that is incomprehensable and mysterious about God's ways and how He works. But this, salvation, is fairly simple. Thomas was one of Jesus' disciples and he struggled with doubt and believing in the unseen promises the Lord was always speaking of.

John 14:5-6

"Thomas said to him, "Lord, we don't know where you are going, so how can we know the way?" Jesus answered, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."

The world will tell you you're crazy. Trust goes beyond logic. Intellect does not necessarily help us have faith.

Mark 10:14

"...He said to them, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." And He took the children in His arms, put His hands on them and blessed them."

It's holding out our hands, receiving the gift, remembering to say thank you and showing Him we are a changed person after the exchange takes place. He's always pursuing us. I love the story of Zacchaeus. If you grew up in church, you probably remember singing "Zacchaeus was a Wee Little Man". Zacchaeus was a tax collector and had obviously swindled some money from the innocent. Jesus came through the town of Jericho and Zacchaeus wanted to catch a glimpse of him. Being short and resourceful, he climbed into the nearest tree. Jesus saw him and asked him to come down and could He, the purest One, stay at Zacchaeus' house. The righteous were aghast that Jesus would sit with a sinner. He knew Zacchaeus' name and be sure, He knew his history. Zacchaeus knew he needed some saving. Zacchaeus immediately gave half of all he had to the poor and those he cheated he paid back four times the amount he stole from them. Zacchaeus was a descendant of Abraham but knew not by his ethnic or spiritual background or even his good deeds he would be saved. His salvation came when Jesus said, "Come down" and Zacchaeus accepted the gift of forgiveness. I love the last line of this story:

Luke 19:10

"For the Son of Man came to seek and save what was lost."

Focus on the Family's website has some wonderful information about adopting a child. One statement stuck out in my head. Basically it said that the beautiful truth of adoption, both in the earthly adoption of a child or the heavenly adoption of all us, is that it is rich with healing, salvation and redemption.

I have seen God actively at work blending, mixing and kneading the people that live in this new Ravella home into an entirely lovely masterpiece. Not that it has been smooth or always easy.

He also does that same type of kneading in all of our hearts, souls and minds when we let Him. We are all mixed into His family. He desires to keep His family together. In this life and in eternity.

Regular conversations in our home include speaking of the day we will be reunited with Troy and with Andrea. And most of all with Jesus. Face to face. A real chance to see His nail-scarred hands. A meeting with the One who breathed life into our nostrils. A chance to say thank you in person for His hand that reached down and saved us. He signed all those adoption papers a long time ago. We don't have to jump through hoops to take His name.

About four days after Troy died I received some gifts in the mail. Gifts addressed to me from my husband. That's right. From Troy. He mailed them from Iraq the week before his crash. One contained a beautiful Persian carpet he had gotten a good deal on. He loved to "talk rugs" with the locals. I think I have mentioned this before. My memories of that moment are more vivid than most that took place that horrible week. I remember opening it, unrolling it on the floor of our sadly empty bedroom, laying on it and crying until there were no tears left. I could almost feel his hands running over the plush pile. One was full of little Christmas gifts for the kids. He gave Bella and the twins small jewelry boxes and the boys some stickers and trinkets. But the last was the most precious. A tape he made of himself showing us around the base in Balad; the runways, the planes, the busy activity of a base fully operational during war. He prayed with us. He read stories to the kids. One he read while sitting on a building's flat rooftop with a gun strapped to his back because that was how that things had to be if you stepped outside of your office or room. If you have never read, "Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus", you should. And then picture sweet Troy reading it to his kids in the middle of a warzone on top of that roof.

I held onto this tape for over a year, paralyzed with the crippling fear of what kind of grief would engulf me when I saw him walking and talking for the first time. I chose to watch it last year on his birthday. I won't lie, it was crushing. It was magnificent but it was crushing. I decided I would watch it every year on his birthday as a tribute to him. In the first scenes he is behind the camera, walking, talking, laughing and "showing" us around. Then the camera goes perfectly still. He has set it on a stand. He steps in front of it with the sun setting low low in the sky behind him. His image is very dark in contrast to the brightness of the glowing orange and pink sinking sun on the horizon. It's only for a moment. Then he checks what he has filmed and discovers he is too dark so he swings the camera around to the opposite sky where we can get a better look at him. I was so overwhelmed last year when I watched it for the first time that I scarcely remembered the beauty of that first shot. Him against that fabulously colored sunset. I noticed the heavens first. I couldn't help it. And then there he was standing in the shadows in front of it. I don't believe everything out there is a sign from God. But that picture almost shouts, "Ginger, he's with Me and this is just a glimpse of what it looks like."

The children have not watched this video. I am still deciding when the right time will come for them. Last week I found myself viewing it again on his birthday, then the twins suddenly came into the room. They stopped and watched Troy talking on the screen of my laptop. For a moment they were quiet. I asked them, "do you know who that is?" They each replied, "I don't know." I said, "that's your daddy in heaven." We have briefly talked about this with them but they are too young to grasp the concept of it yet. But Aspen replied, "we have a daddy in heaven and a daddy on 'earf" (earth-she can't say her th's). I said, "yes, you do. You have two daddies." And Annalise chimed in, "and a daddy at work!" I laughed. I needed a little laughter at that moment.

Yes, everyone was right. We do have a Daddy in heaven and on earth. And that Daddy, our Heavenly Father, is always at work! He is working for us.

Romans 8:31

"What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us?"

Ephesians 1:4-6

"For He chose us in Him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in His sight. In love, He predestined us to be adopted as His sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with His pleasure and will to the praise of His glorious grace, which He has freely given us in the One He loves."

Race for the Cure

It is time for the Susan B Komen Race for the Cure here is San Antonio. I ran this race last year. I will never forget running that day. It is a festive atmosphere with the survivors, the crowds and the fan fare. I think there was a record 20,000 people yet I was never so alone in my entire life as standing in that crowd. I cried most of the morning but I made it and I did it while listening to Andrea and her dad singing, "Move that Mountain" and "Have a Nice Day with Jesus." I think both tracks are posted on an earlier blog. They were recorded when Andrea was a teenager and thankfully her dad had a cassette copy stowed away which I transferred to my computer and then to my Ipod. I missed her that day. I wish she could have been there to be honored as a survivor but it was not meant to be. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in there lifetime and around 20,000 die each year. As my good friend Robert said when Andrea was first diagnosed, "It is a very bad player." I hope some of you reading this will personally benefit or know someone who will benefit from the funds raised by this foundation. Research advances every year with treatments that are less difficult on the patient and more effective against the cancer.

This year I will run the race again but not alone. On April 4th Ginger and I will run the race in honor of Andrea. If you would like to donate you can click on either of these links.

Jim's Link

http://race.sakomen.org/site/TR/Events/General?px=1309643&pg=personal&fr_id=1060

Ginger's Link

http://race.sakomen.org/site/TR/Events/General?px=1365808&pg=personal&fr_id=1060

Food For My Soul

This is a blog I wrote last year and for some reason I never posted it. I'm not sure why, but I just found it and thought I would finally get it posted.

Philippians 4: 6-7

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

An entry from Andrea journal written on 19 Jan 2007

Lord, as I believe we are approaching the end of this cancer invasion, I thank you for all we have learned and for our growth spiritually. Sometimes I was anxious but through prayer we overcame our fears, and I learned to trust in and to lean on you. We poured our hearts out to you and made our desire and request for healing known to you. You gave us peace which we still cannot understand. A complete peace. You guarded our hearts and our minds from attacks of fear and desperation. Our faith in you has grown and we are learning how to never be anxious. I love you Father and thank you for your healing of the cancer in my body. You renew me.

As I read this entry from Andrea I think it is a good summary of her faith. It would make a good last entry into this blog don't you think? Not that this is my last entry, just that it would make a good last entry. It is about faith, about our humanness, and God's provision. Its about hope trust and faith. And that pretty much sums up life.

If you have ever faced a trial or difficulty in your life I'm sure you have read Philippians 4:6-7. It is one of those verses that you cling to in times of trouble. Andrea and I said it many times to each other. Unlike other times in my life verses like this one changed from mere words on a page to food for my soul. As if I could taste the words as I read them. They fed a need in me as a glass of cold water meets your thirst on a hot summer day. The Bible became for me a source of strength. Its words were no longer just a formation of letters but nourishment to my soul. As my body needs nutrients to functions so was the word to my soul. It was amazing to feel the words as if I could chew on them when I read. I savored them as my lips formed the words. I was torn as I wanted them to linger in my mouth but I yearned to taste the next word. Never as the Bible been so real to me, so much more then words. I know I'm repeating myself but I can't find the the right way to express how this felt. The Bible became satisfying to me. It met a need. Like being full from a good meal it put a smile on my face yet left me waiting to be hungry again.

There is such power in the Word, I hope you have experienced this in your life. Though you may have read the Bible a 100 times, it still has the power to feed your soul. It's message is so powerful the same verses can speak to you differently depending on where you are in life. Be it a time of blessing or a time of trial a time of silence or a time of closeness the Bible holds what you need. I will admit there are more times then I care to remember that I was too tired to pick it up and read, many times I just wanted to do nothing not even read the Word. I wish I could say I had a hunger as Andrea did but I do not. I will say there has never been a time that I regretted spending time in the Word. Andrea taught me that. She showed me why I needed God in my everyday life. I loved that about her, she was so practical in her faith. Nothing flashy just daily living in faith. And isn't that what we all want? We wonder what do we do with Jesus or God after the big moment when we are saved. We soon find ourselves caught up in the daily grind of life and wonder where is God in all this. That was just another thing Andrea taught me, what to do with God on a Monday afternoon. When life is just life. Andrea's had a relationship with God was part of her routine life. She prayed about everything, not that she could not make a decision, she just wanted God involved in everything about her life. Weather it be praying for a haircut or for healing Andrea's relationship with God was always important. And it was the prayers for a haircut that touched me the most. Because it to Andrea God was not someone to call in when life was hard. To her God not only cared about the largest struggle, but the smallest detail of her life.

Social Security

There, I just recited it silently in my head and got it right this time - Jim's social security number. If you are a military spouse you understand the vast importance of having these nine little numbers memorized. They are the proverbial magical key to unlock every single door you walk through in the armed forces. It's how you are identified as the serviceman or his family so you'd better lock this one in your memory early on. When Troy and I first married and he joined the AF, I rebelled against the system on needing i.d. cards and his social security number to access everything but quickly I gave in realizing that was just the way things were! For 13 years I knew Troy's social better than my own phone number. Now suddenly it has become Jim's I must memorize. I admit it has taken me months to do so. Teaching this old dog new tricks takes longer now. The AF is so accustomed to spouses easily stating their sponsor's socials that they look at me like I must have the IQ of a 4 year-old when I start digging around in my wallet looking for my ID just to make sure I am giving them the right one. This all got me to thinking about the term "social security". Beyond the government's numerical identification system. More along the lines of our own personal identification system. Are we as hyumans secure because we are socially connected to other humans? As for me personally, I do find much security in having a husband, parents, kids and good friends. When I lost Troy, the first on that list, I grew very insecure. Who was I now? What was my identity? Where would my security lie now?

Troy was always a provider. I knew we would never go hungry or without a decent roof over our heads because he was a hard worker and totally committed to taking care of me and our kids. I knew I would never quesitons his devotion or faithfulness to me because he loved me more than himself. He would never leave me for someone else. What I never considered was the possibility of him leaving me for Jesus.

When Troy died the social security "benefits" (they always use the term death benefits as if you are actually benefitting in some way from total devastation) checks started coming in. I thought the first time I would see these would be after retirement.

Fear gripped my soul. That fear had a name - insecurity. I just couldn't fathom that an unseen God could replace Troy's warm embrace and protective covering over our family. Shortly after he died my friend hung a placque in my home that said "Christ is the head of this home. The unseen guest at every meal." It served as a constant and much-needed reminder to me that just because I lost Troy I did not lose my God too. I continued to have His covering over me and our household. I believe, whether all women will admit it or not, we have an innate need for the security a man in the home offers. Equally as much as men need us as helpmates and companions.

Genesis 2:18

The Lord God said, "It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him."

I now know so many women who have lost their husbands and must dig deep to see themselves and God in an accurate light. I continue to be one of those women. In fact, all of us who have lost someone or something precious to us. Someone or something that made us who we are. Or, in the case of my many girlfriends who have suffered infertility, who we so desperately want to be? Once that bubble is burst our souls are just laid right out there in the open for some major self-evaluation. Is our security purely social, purely dependent on our title as wife, mom, daughter, friend or is it eternal?

I have recently joined the Facebook phenomenon. I can pretty much guarantee all that I will not devote much of my scarce spare time to logging into it. But is has proven quiet fascinating to me to observe the desire we all have to feel connected to others. Facebook proves more than anything I have ever seen, that we have a desire to be surrounded by some type of social security. Okay maybe it is a little bit of that nosy voyeursim thing too! :)

I believe God created us with the undeniable need for relationship. With Him first. Then others second. We just often reverse the order. He knew Adam needed Eve. He knew Abraham needed Sarah and Isaac needed Rebekkah. He knew Naomi needed Ruth. He knew Mary needed Joseph. He knew Jesus needed John. He knew we needed a Savior.

My question is when the human connection is broken, especially in death, what do we do then? Even if that person was just as I described Troy: devoted, hard-working, committed, faithful and loving, they will still eventually leave us or us them. Who is the one we can depend upon?

Psa 61:3-5

"From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I. For you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the foe. I long to dwell in your tent forever and take refuge in the shelter of your wings."

I recently found two journals. Both dated back to November 1996. One written by Troy and one by me. We were stationed in England at the time and went to a "Marriage Encounter" weekend. These are popular in the States because I think as a whole we are a touchy-feely, communication-driven culture of people who thrive on introspective thinking and digging deep within ourselves. We like Dr. Phil. We buy self-help and relationship books by the hundreds of thousands every year. We like to express our feelings. I think this might be one of the reasons why we are so annoying to other cultures. Anyway, the Brits (generally speaking) tend to be a bit more proper or stoic with showing their emotions and deeply personal sides. Troy and I were the only Americans in the place. We giggled at how uncomfortable many of the other couples seemed to be with this very-American-based approach to marriage enrichment. Lots of talking. Lots of hugging. Lots of writing. Today, I couldn't be more thankful for that weekend of writing. While Jim has lots of Andrea's journals full of her her most-treasured thoughts and expressions penned in her own hand, I have very little from Troy. He liked to write me cards but didn't journal his feelings often. That weekend in the English countryside he did. I will cherish that little blue notebook. I was also interested to see what I wrote. I didn't do much of that kind of thing either at the time.

As I read over the words I had written I found answers to an interesting couple of questions the leader had asked us to write to our spouse about. The first was to list the reasons we wanted to go on living and the second was to list the reasons we wanted to go living together as a couple. Seemed a strange question to have asked as I never thought I would not want to go on living at any point in my life. However I did write on the subject at length and in the last paragraph. I think I almost touched on the one thing that would make me lose that desire for life. My words to Troy were:

"In conclusion, I want to go on living with you is because I belong with you. I envision we are like a little chain of paperdolls. We were being cut out so that when we were opened we were connected. To cut those paperdolls in half we would not be complete - something from one of us would be missing. That's how I would feel without you connected to me, like some part of me was missing."

Those words, ironically, rang painfully true. My fears of loss then were validated exactly 10 years and 10 days later. Now I face them daily. I need Jim just as much as I ever needed Troy. He completes me now in the same way Troy completed then. The question is what do I do with the fear? In whom shall I place my trust?

Psalm 27:1

The LORD [is] my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the LORD [is] the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?

Psalm 112:7

He will have no fear of bad news; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord.

Psalm 118:8

It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man. (our spouses)

Psalm 118:9

It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in princes. (our president and world leaders)

Jer 17:7-8

"But blessed are those who trust in the LORD and have made the LORD their hope and confidence. They are like trees planted along a riverbank, with roots that reach deep into the water. Such trees are not bothered by the heat or worried by long months of drought. Their leaves stay green, and they go right on producing delicious fruit."

Therein lies the challenge and why we all need the Lord so desperately in times of suffering: how are we to go right on producing delicious fruit (living with purpose) after losing the will to do so? Only by His might, His strength, His stamina, His gifts, His mercy, His purpose, His grace, His unfailing and unending love. As Jim always says, "Christ willingly laid down on the cross. Sometimes, without explanation, He asks us to do the same." I had never thought before that Christ had to first lay down on that rough and splintered wooden cross before they nailed His hands and feet. What an act of submission to God! Though He was part God, He was part human so you know that was the last thing in the world He wanted to do. Christ asked me to lay down my identity and my security in being Troy's wife. As a woman married all her life, I would say, there is almost nothing more difficult to be asked of her than that.

While in the middle of writing this blog, Jim and I went back to Phoenix for the weekend to visit my adopted parents, Faye and Lin. They are the most endearing and lovely black (Faye says I can say that instead of African-American and she's the expert on everything! Aren't you Faye?:)) couple from our church out there. There will be a future blog about them. There is just too much to say about these two precious people. In short, Faye is very sick. She has cancer, MS, connective tissue disease, sick cell anemia and a host of other illnesses. Faye is the single most remarkable person I have ever known. Lin is kind and patient and handsome and has lovingly stood by her side for 40 years. Faye has never had riches, power or fame but she has the grand stature of a queen because she is confident of who she is Christ. Not who she is as Lin's wife. Not who she is as a healthy woman who should be in the prime years of her life enjoying retirement, travel, good food and the comforts of life. At the moment she is unable to chew anything that is not finely mashed and rarely leaves her home except for the endless trips to the doctor. She has been confined to her home these last 6 weeks because the doctors fear she is too weak and cannot catch any type of cold or flu. Faye is a social butterfly. Her illnesses have clipped her wings so often. Yet she can still find the humor in many situations and always makes others feel as if they matter more than anyone. She is on a campaign right now to help the nurse that draws her blood each week. She wants to go on a mission trip so Faye agreed, from the recent confines of her home, to help her get support. She and Lin live in a tiny house in a neighborhood that has seen much decline and crime in the last 20 years. Yet I would have rather been standing in her kitchen drinking smoothies with her, like I did this past Saturday, than at the finest banquet in the world. I want a bit of her to rub off on me. Just so I can, too, stand in great stature and be known as a woman who still praised God when she had every reason to curse Him, just like Faye.

I found myself feeling wrapped in the secure blanket of a loving friendship by just being with Faye and Lin this weekend. As I held her crippled hand to pray at dinner, my mind could not help but wander to what would I possibly do if I lost Faye? Was the security I have in her friendship meaning I wasn't depending on God enough? Was the security I had in Troy and now have in Jim standing in the way of my confidence in knowing I am God's child first? I think the answer is possibly no but probably yes. This embodies the mind-blowing concept that this life is but a teeny tiny snippet on the timeline. It's our two-world view struggle. We must keep our lives and our eyes fixated on Him. On the eternal not the temporal. And then be utterly thankful and rejoice when He sends a bit of Himself (the Troys and Andreas and Fayes in our lives) to keep us company while we wait for our entrance into eternity. I do believe God loves us enough to understand we need to have people on this earth with whose hearts we can intertwine. We just still have to remember when those hearts are no longer with us, He still is.

Plans

We all scurry around like ants making plans, don't we? I find myself becoming a planner now more than ever. Which sometimes I think is all for naught because I KNOW plans change. None the less, in an effort to try to become more organzied and a better time mananger I am beginning 2009 with a plan. (Ginger here-now those of you that know Jim know he would not be making that statement as he got an "A" in time manangement. But I got an "A" in spelling and color coordination so we pool our talents.) Of course it started with a cheerleading session from Jim. Then my dear friend, Tami, came last week. She is naturally a cheerleader-type person but the problem is we root for the same team; The University of Mayhem and Sticky Notes. I used to get tickled at her in church for using the bulletin to make her to-do lists. She should be allowed, however, because she was our pastor's wife and had to (oops! got to) sit through two identical services. So by the second one she was moving onto her mental lists. Anyway, Tami is also working on this character flaw. Okay, honestly, I don't always see it as a flaw in either of us. I have prided myself in my abilities to be flexible, go with the ever-changing flow and put people over projects. But I am finding more and more now that with six children and a busy life I am in dire need of some organization and direction to my ever-changing flow. I spend much time just looking for all those darn little pieces of paper that I write things down on. I double-book appointments or don't allow enough travel time, etc.. I juggle so many different balls that occasionally an important ball may drop because I simply have only so much memory space left. At home, I have piles upon piles that need to be sorted through and since I don't keep up with it daily, it has now become a mini-mountain of misery for me. Anyway, Tami told me about this new planner that is supposed to revolutionize a busy mom's hectic schedule. I ordered it so we will see...It seems to incorporate all the right working parts needed but I don't deny I must be the master of that kingdom as it won't fill in the blanks by itself. Well, those are my first steps so I will keep you posted in my posts!

I am extending some mercy and grace to myself, as is Jim, because we have tackled more in the last year than most folks do in ten. We bought a house, planned two weddings, moved and cleaned out TWO full households, traveled, did additional construction on the house, got to know each other and seven children better, started new schools, new churches, new friends and threw in some grieving, suffering and massive amounts of adjusting just for fun! Hopefully this year will be less about bringing new things on board and more about refining our life and growing our gifts.

As I wrote the first line of this paragraph and metioned mercy and grace, I was just then reminded of a funny story. Troy and I first took and then taught the popular Christian parenting classes, "Growing Kids God's Way". One of the overlying goals is to encourage parents towards Biblical parenting. Reproducing God's Word and His behavior towards us in the way we raise our children. As Troy and I grew in our relationship with the Lord we became more and more aware of His gift of grace and mercy when we truly deserved punishment or consequences from our sin. So we achieved to pass that same principle along to disciplining our kids. There would be times we would tell them we would extend grace and mercy to them and they would not receive the spanking, etc.. One day when Boston was maybe 2 or 3 I went in to spank him for something or another and he pleaded with me to "put the praise and glory on him". I had no idea what he was talking about. Then I realized he exchanged praise and glory for grace and mercy! Of course I couldn't stop giggling and at that point just couldn't spank the poor kid.

Psalm 103: 8-14

"The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love. He will not always accuse, nor will He harbor His anger forever; He does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is His love for those who fear Him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us. As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him; for he knows how we are formed, He remembers that we are dust."

As I embark on my journey of organizational adventure (I have to at least title it something fun!) and fill my existing kitchen wall calendar with appointments and events I remember the day I found my wall calendar from 2006. I always save my prior year's calendar for awhile so I can transfer birthdays, phone numbers, etc... The fall of 2006 found me a very busy mom with Troy deployed in Iraq and I worked hard at keeping life straight on my calendar. I also just wanted to stay busy hoping that would make the time fly until his expected return after the holidays. Months and months after his crash I found this calendar. I looked at all the plans I had made for that week. I was active in Bible Study, preparing for the holidays and was to embark on a large interior design job. I sat there and just stared at the little numbered squares filled with my plans. That sunny Monday morning at 9:30 am all my plans can to a screeching halt. The calendar wiped clean in an instant. Of course I didn't record anything further but if I had I would have written things like news press conference thanking the public for their support, making memorial arrangements, picking out a dress for Troy's funeral, weeping until my soul spilled out of my eyes, etc... Our plans changed. Plans still change. They only change to us, however. They never change to God. It isn't like He has this big dry erase calendar and He constantly wipes off His plan and starts over. Before Genensis 1:1 was executed, His dry erase calendar was set in stone.

Psalm 33: 9-11

"For He spoke, and it came to be; He commanded, and it stood firm. The Lord foils the plans of the nations; He thwarts the purposes of the peoples. But the plans of the Lord stand firm forever, the purposes of His heart through all generations."

Jim and I were sitting on the sofa in our master bedroom the other night talking about life. Our life, in particular. We are always discussing plans for our future. We are so thankful to have some happy plans on calendars instead of the blank sheets that we saw ahead of us after Troy and Andrea died. But the Lord made it clear to us that even though we only saw blank pages of a calendar, His was still right on track and full of richness.

I believe only a fellow soujouner in loss can truly understand this word picture. After Troy died, I felt like I opened my planner and everything EVERYTHING was erased. Everything from my plans for the holidays that year to my plans of Troy's big return from the desert to who would now walk Bella down the aisle at her wedding someday vanished. I had already begun mentally planning Troy's welcome home from Iraq reception at the airport full of family and friends. The kids would be holding a "Welcome Home Daddy" sign covered with their little handprints. I had all but bought the craft paint. We had just finished cabin plans for our land in Ruidoso, NM. Blank now. We were moving to Kansas that summer and I was already finding us a house on base and looking forward to some much-needed family time and exploring St. Louis and Kansas City. I was planning my after-holidays starvation diet so that I would have three weeks to get skinny and sexy for Troy's return. I was going to show him I had lost some of that baby fat I had before he left. He was going to be really glad to see the new me! Now the new me was a drooping widow looking down at my life's empty calendar, into my children's sorrowful faces and up at my God who had just erased it all. If I could paint a portrait it would be of this picture. But instead of God holding an eraser He would be holding His plans for me in one hand and reaching out to me with the other, sun rays beaming from behind Him. There would be a few rays peeking down through the thick dark clouds over my head. The scripture below the painting would read;

Jeremiah 29:11

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you," declares the Lord, "and will bring you back from captivity."

Maybe I will find someone to paint that for me someday.

How did the Lord make it clear to us the other night that, indeed, His plans for us were never scribbled over, crossed out and haphazard (like my own planner is)? Like I said we were sitting on the sofa in our bedroom. It's not particularly common to have a sofa in your bedroom so let me explain. When Jim and I were looking a buying a house together last year, our primary need was LARGE! Good lands we have an entire basketball team living here most of the time! We also had unique needs with the variety of our kids ages, etc... We walked into our home, which at the time was the model home for this neighborhood, and began talking to the builder's salesperson about the options in the neighborhood. They were frankly all just too small for us. She quizically asked, "just how many people will be living here?!" We laughed and explained our unique situation. That was when her eyes lit up and she told us she just had gotten permission to sell this model home and it was plenty big. She showed us the floor plan. We looked around, loved it, got a really nice deal and the rest is history. The master bedroom was especially inviting. It was painted a cool greenish/blue and was accented with a warm chocolate brown. It had lots of big windows, tall ceilings and pretty crown molding everywhere. We carried the floorplan with us as we went room to room. And I remember walking into the master bedroom and being surprised to find there was this added gorgeous sitting area complete with a granite-surround fireplace and tv area. Wow. This wasn't on the original plan. What a nice surprise in addition to an already nice-sized bedroom. In most of my former bedrooms I barely had room for my two big dressers so this was a bonus! Jim and I thought it was nice but a little unneccessary. Oh well, we'll take it anyway!

I cannot tell you how much time Jim and I spend in our cozy sitting area by the fire, watching tv and talking. Talking uniterrupted and unheard by the mass chaos of the kid kingdom lurking on the other side of the wall. We write in here. We cry in here. We can escape for a minute and just BE in here. It is perfect. Perfectly unplanned. Perfectly NOT on the floor plans or even our own plans for what we thought we needed in a bedroom. Someone building this house just threw it in at the last minute to show off the house better. But never underestimate the Lord's compassion or involvement in our lives.

He knew mine and Jim's needs and He cared enough about us to put us together and not allow years upon years of loneliness to mark our lives. He not only cared enough to make us a couple quickly but He cared enough to place us in a home that would include a refuge for us to have solitude and privacy to get to know one another faster and deeper. He cared enough to not just give us the space to know one another but to appeal to my love of beautiful surroundings and gave us this perfectly peaceful lovely nook in our corner of the crazy, loud messiness of this house.

His unseen hand works day and night to give us not only what we need but at times to give us things we want. Things we want in the very midst of THE thing we didn't want most. I have recently begun talking to another widow who lost her husband in a plane crash only 6 months ago. I have worked to encourage her but often find she encourages me. I hestitated to tell her about Jim in my life as I didn't want her to think I did not fully understand her grief and pain because of the blessing of him in my life now. I wanted her to know I, too, lost the love of my life and hit rock bottom before God buoyed me with healing and then a new love of my life. She was so kind about it. She sent me this quote and devotional reading yesterday because she said it reminded her of Jim and I:

"It is the nature of grace always to fill spaces that have been empty." Goethe

Not that we can't tell the difference. Not that we are being disloyal. But if life gives us something else to do with all those impulses toward the one no longer with us, how can we not be grateful? It's like an extra inheritance - a blessing, even - from the one we have lost, going to someone else who needs what we have to give. So we are refreshed by the memory of the loved one, and at the same time offering a gift, creating a new relationship.

It is the nature of GOD'S grace to fill the spaces. As I sat in church this weekend with both my precious friends, Tami and Amy who were in town, I remembered God's grace upon me even before I met Jim. These two women were the most actively, daily involved in caring for me and the kids after Troy died. They were not Troy nor are they Jim. They did not replace a husband or a father but they were pure goodness, pure love to us. Unequivacably the merciful hand of God making His very real presence known to me in those months while still preparing His next plan of putting Jim in my life. He's a busy God. He does this for everyone! He is behind the scenes working working for His glory and our benefit. I was angry with Him for a long time. Thinking Him cruel. Thinking Him neglectful and uncaring and uninvolved. Then I read a book that made a powerful impact on my thinking at that time. The book is titled "Second Guessing God" by Brian Jones. One particular chapter gave me more hope than all the books I had read prior. Here is the jest of it and I do paraphrase his words:

God freed the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. After Moses led them to freedom, God instructed them to travel to land promised to Abraham, a place of abundance. But they had to cross over the Jordan River to get there. Not just the Jordan River but the Jordan River at flood stage during harvest. The Jordan begins in the Sea of Galilee and travels south where it dumps into the Dead Sea. Most of the year it is tranquil but during harvest it becomes a swollen torrent. Imagine millions of people holding the hands of their tiny children and fearing drowning would be their death. But God told them to cross it and the second the priests' feet touched the water it stopped flowing (see Joshua 3)! The Bible says the water stopped flowing upstream though. Not right in front of them. They stepped out when it was full throttle flowing. They never saw Him dam it up. It was a miracle but it was a miracle the people didn't witness with their own eyes. God performed the miracle upstream, out of their sight. The same situation still occurs in our lives today: God is always at work upstream in our lives. The only thing the Israelites could see was the problem right in front of them. They could have concluded that since that raging river was there, God wasn't acitively involved in their situation, but they would have been wrong. He was there; they just couldn't see Him at work. Theologians have a term for God working upstream. They call it the providence of god. Biblical scholar Bromiley defines providence as "the divine governance whereby all possible events are woven into a cohereent pattern and all possible develoments are shaped to accomplish the divinely instituted goal." My friend, Lee Ann, lost her precious husband, Dustin, just days after he preached a sermon on God's divine providence. He spoke words to her that she had no idea would echo in her heart forever as a promise directly from God.

Psalm 77:19

"Your path led through the sea, Your way through the mighty waters, though your footprints were not seen."

Romans 8:28

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose."

We all either know someone or are ourselves standing at the edge of some unknown tumoltuous waters trying to get to the other side. The other side of physical healing. The other side of emotional healing. The other side of peace. The other side of fulfillment. But we have to step out. We have to get out of bed. We have to show the Lord we are trusting Him in whatever way He asks us to. That's our part. He will do the rest. If I can encourage anyone with anything I have said in this blog it would be this truth; God loves you and even when you can't see or feel Him, God is continuously working out good in your life.

Like the story of Boston reminded me of; I want to trade His grace and mercy for my praise and glory to Him. For the sacrificial gift of Jesus. For Jesus's sacrificial death on the cross. For His faithfulness to show me tender love through friends and family during unspeakable nightmares. For a new husband who loves me unconditionally. For a new father who loves the kids tenderly.

For the beautiful sitting room with the misty green walls I type this blog in. For it all and so much more, I owe Him my praise and glory.

Cats in the Cradle

Tonight Ginger has one of her closest friends in town visiting. They are sitting in the living room talking about another dear friend who is sick. I was going to sit there and enjoy their company but to tell you the truth I found the conversation about hospitals, scans, doctors and sickness just hit a little too close to home. So I came back to our bedroom, my favorite room in the house, (not what you are thinking!). I love it because it has a sitting area with a fireplace and it is the most relaxing place to be. I lit about 15 candles, turned on the fire place and put on some classical music and decided to write a blog. It has been a while since I have written but life has been busy which leads me to what I wanted to write about.

This past Sunday Aspen and Annalise were sick and one of us had to stay. So I (Jim) decided to take the boys to try a new church. We had been wanting to try a new church in New Braunfels but after a summer of trying churches it gets hard to load up six kids and get them checked into Sunday school just to find out the church was not what you were looking for. So this Sunday seemed like the perfect time to try a new church. Perfect to me but maybe not so perfect to Aspen and Annalise. I relearned a lesson on the way to church and gained a funny memory for me and the boys. First the lesson.

I pretty much know one of my main weaknesses; I'm a Martha. Okay that looks funny when I see it in print and could be taken the wrong way after I said I decided to sit in my room with candles and classical music on...not that there is anything wrong with that. (a little Seinfeld humor for you) Did I mention I love football, Go Steelers!

I will tell you one thing about getting married for a second time. You may tend to think you have it all together and life is pretty much figured out, until you live with someone new. It turns out your not has normal as you thought! You were just used to yourself that's all. So Ginger probably could add a few more things to my list of weaknesses but I will leave that alone for now.

Luke 10: 38-42

As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!"

"Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "You are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her."

Anyway, Martha was caught up with the busyness of life and doing things. Which on the surface is not a bad thing but she was doing things instead of sitting at the feet of Jesus. Of course we cannot literally sit at Jesus' feet but we are called into a personal relationship which implies spending time with Him and in His word. For me, like Martha it is easy to put off that relationship for busy work. I first started to learn this about myself when I was a Wing Commanders exec, and I could not leave work until my inbox was empty. Now it is my email inbox but it is the same, I just want it all taken care of, things in their place and loose ends closed before I can relax and focus on other things like family and faith. But it seems there is always more to do, especially with six kids. I could pick up toys from when I get home until bed time and still have more to do. If I'm not doing that i find myself turning into my dad and hollering at kids to turn off a light or pick up their school back packs. If it is not that then it is helping Ginger with Dinner or doing dishes afterwards. All in all there is plenty of work in this house, and thus it is a Martha's dream and nightmare all at the same time. A dream because there is always something to pick up and always a visual reward of a job well done. But it is a nightmare at the same time because there is just no way to do it all and when you try you only frustrate yourself. There was a time when I loved Saturday mornings. I looked forward to sleeping in with no alarm set. But recently I find myself waking up around 7am and once I think it was 5:30am. But I awake with a to do list playing in my mind and off I go starting chores before Ginger and I even had a chance to talk.

Andrea noticed this trait in me as well soon after we were married and had Nic. In one of the many ways she taught me and encouraged me to be a better father. Whenever I started to spend a little too much time studying as a student pilot, or maybe working a little too long as an Instructor Pilot and even spending a little too much time on the golf course she would start to sing the song, "Cats in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin as a reminder that life is short. Andrea never nagged nor did she forbid me from playing golf it was just when she saw that I was misplacing my priorities as a father. It became Andrea's way of reminding me what was really important. Like they say no one ever died wishing they had spent more time at work. Andrea was a wise person, blessed with discernment and wisdom.

God blessed me again with Ginger who has many of the same qualities and Ginger noticed this same tendency in my personality and has mentioned it to me. Most recently was this past Saturday when I jumped out of bed already behind on my to do list. So I was aware that I was starting to let the Martha in me take over and was misplacing my time in the busyness of life. Andrea and Ginger gave me gentle reminders, as Jesus did to Martha,

"Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her."

So back to Sunday. As I was driving the boys to church listening to my iPod I hear, "Cats in the Cradle." Like being slapped in the face I instantly realize what I have done. I look over at Boston and Greyson and know they could care less how clean the house is or how organized the DVDs are. What they want and need is just time, time to shoot some hoops or kick a soccer ball. I'm not saying I have not been spending any time with the kids it is just that I knew I had allowed my priorities to shift a little too far to getting things done vice just being with them. I had to look out my window as I drove to hide the tears in my eyes a little ashamed knowing they could understand the words to the song as I wondered if they thought I was the dad in that song:

When you comin' home dad? I don't know when, but we'll get together then son

You know we'll have a good time then

That was my lesson, sadly a lesson I fight to remember every day as I balance managing a house and being a dad. I'm not the best at this and the same trait that makes me successful at work makes me a poor father. The same thing Andrea and Ginger noticed in me and each helped me with. Losing Andrea reminded me of the wisdom of Andrea singing this song to me. So I try to remember this when I get caught up in cleaning assuming I will spend time with the kids or Ginger counting on "We'll get together then." Sadly Ginger and I learned that life does not guarantee us a "then."

Now the funny memory.

The church Ginger and I had been wanting to try was New Braunfels Bible Church and I had Googled it the night before to get the directions and times of the service. It was right off Hwy 46 and it began at 1030. So off we went, Boston, Greyson and me. I turned onto Hwy 46 and told the boys to keep an eye out the church should be close by. No sooner did I say that when Greyson said, "Is that it?" I looked to my right and there was New Braunfels Christian Church. I said nice job Greyson you found it. So in we went but as we sat down I thought this is not what I expected. And I leaned over to the boys and said I think we are in the wrong church. The boys looked at me like not wanting to be rude but also wondering what had their new dad drug them into. I think the average age in the church was about 65 so we stood out like sore thumbs. There was no doubt we were visitors and there was no way we could get up and leave now. When the music began it was songs out of the Hymnal. Greyson of course took one out, found the song number and started singing along. (he is our artist in the family) But I noticed Boston looking at this strange book Greyson had as if he was looking at some artifact from times long ago. I leaned over and said have you never seen a hymnal? And he said, No." So I decided to take advantage of the situation and teach Boston how to read and sing from a Hymnal. We listened to the sermon which turned out to be pretty good, meanwhile the boys we making some impressive paper airplanes out of the visitor information cards from the pew in front of us.

When the service ended we got in the car and had a good laugh. I immediately called Ginger to find out how I had gotten mixed up. It was then I realized I was looking for New Braunfels Bible not New Braunfels Christian Church. When I said that Greyson said, "Did you say New Braunfels Bible? There it is." Turns out it was one block from the church we had tried! We laughed even harder, so close but so far!

So back we well go this Sunday with all six kids in tow trying to find new classrooms, new procedures for getting them checked in, calming their uneasiness as we leave the twins and Bella with a group of kids they never met. But one thing for sure, I know how to get there. The hard part will be remembering how to keep my life balanced, and every so often leaving the dishes in the sink and color with the girls or watch soccer with the boys. Or if we are lucky get the kids tucked in bed and spend some time with Ginger. Unlike most couples who have six kids, I have to remember that we need time to get to know each other as well.

Movies

Jim and I just got home from the movies. It is, surprisingly, our second one in the last two weeks. Siskel and Ebert we are not and we chuckle that our movie reviews don't always coincide with everyone elses. I try not to dip into pop culture too often on the blog but here goes! We took the boys to see "Marley and Me" after Christmas. We had heard how great it was. How touching and meaningful. Now we may not be dog LOVERS but we are most definitely not dog HATERS. However at one point I looked over and Jim was checking emails on his phone and I was mentally making my grocery list. ha. We left surrounded by people with tear-streaked faces. We tried to respect their emotional states but honestly wondered what could possibly have moved people to tears over a bad, misbehaving dog dying after living a long full life with owners who exhibited more patience than Job himself? Now y'all are thinking we are being hard-hearted but really these people must never have lost a spouse or there would have been a little more perspective, don't you think? (Oh, I'm going to get some comments from writing these things!)

Now, tonight, we just returned from "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" and cried all the way home. Admittedly this movie was too long. They dragged out the plotline an extra 30 minutes at least. It was definitely a far-fetched story. And I did find myself constantly waiting for Brad Pitt to grow into his present handsome self. But overall it was a touching moving about the fragility of life, death, love and the ever-moving hands of time. Four subjects Jim and I find ourselves talking about often. We got into the car and with tears in our eyes, looked at each other and asked the question "how did we get here?". And the looming always-unanswerable "why are we here?". I think movies like this are good to make people pause and ask themselves those same questions. Jim's time with Andrea and my time with Troy was cut so short. Abruptly. Mid-stream. Even though Andrea was sick for a long time, both deaths were unexpected. I remember when I couldn't type the word death in conjunction with Troy's name. There just didn't seem to be a way to connect the two without alot of pain in the middle. Early in the movie, a clockmaker, who has lost his son in the war, makes a clock whose hands go backwards instead of forward. He hopes this will help reverse the unfair hands of time. I am still not really sure how this linked to the movie but it did strike a cord with me. After I found out Troy's plane had gone down I distinctly remember thinking, "Can't we just go back to yesterday? Yesterday I was just a stressed out mom who was plugging along with the mundane irritations of being the spouse of a soldier deployed and the mom while the dad is away. I thought that was hard but TODAY today I would give anything to go back to yesterday, the day before the last day." For many many mornings after the news I would wake up after minimal sleeping (maybe for only an hour or so) and there would be this split second between subconsciousness and awakening when I wouldn't remember my new reality. It was the only 15 second reprieve of the day. Then I would fully wake up and the magnitude of the painful truth would crush me all over again. If I could have only gone back to that Sunday and stayed there everything would have been okay, I thought.

A tragic accident also happens in the movie and they walk back through the minutes prior to it and all the events that had to take place in an exact order and with exact timing to have contributed to the accident happening. This also resonated with me. Wanting to go back and reverse time or make different decisions is an inevitabality when you lose your loved one. I contemplated many things after Troy died that I could have done to have gotten him home early and thus avoided November 27th. (Read the blog "God's Eyes" for more on the truths I came to regarding this topic). I remember thinking I should have just emailed Troy at some point and told him I was going insane, couldn't function, couldn't take of the kids, something, anything... anything to have gotten him home first. This was not necessarily thinking in line with the truth of God's sovereignty but there was no way for the thoughts to have not entered my mind.

God orchestrated the time, the events, the cancer, the crash and thus Jim and I sitting in the car tonight holding each other and praying for a chance to grow old together without anymore tragedies or loss.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-14

" There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven. A time to give birth and a time to die; A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted. A time to kill and a time to heal; A time to tear down and a time to build up. A time to weep and a time to laugh; A time to mourn and a time to dance. A time to throw stones and a time to gather stones; A time to embrace and a time to shun embracing. A time to search and a time to give up as lost; A time to keep and a time to throw away. A time to tear apart and a time to sew together; A time to be silent and a time to speak. A time to love and a time to hate; A time for war and a time for peace. What profit is there to the worker from that in which he toils? I have seen the task which God has given the sons of men with which to occupy themselves. He has made everything appropriate in its time. He has also set eternity in their heart, yet so that man will not find out the work which God has done from the beginning even to the end. I know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and to do good in one's lifetime; moreover, that every man who eats and drinks sees good in all his labor--it is the gift of God. I know that everything God does will remain forever; there is nothing to add to it and there is nothing to take from it, for God has {so} worked that men should fear Him."

We both recognize our time could be long or could be short. We both struggle with the fear of the latter. Do we stop loving because we are too afraid to lose? Believe me I have wondered that. But the answer always comes back a resounding no. Do I want Jim to fly again? No. To wear sunscreen? Drive the speed limit? Eat healthy? Yes. Yes, the Word says we must honor God with how we take care of ourselves and each other.

I Corinthians 6:19-20

"Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God. You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body."

Here are my favorite quotes from "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button": (I have none from "Marley and Me").

"We were meant to lose people. How else would we know how important they are?"

“Life can only be understood looking backward. It must be lived forward.”

As Jim and I discuss the normal things couples and busy parents face like balancing our time together vice time with the kids, the best way to organize and run a hectic household, disciplining children, school issues, vacation schedules, etc... our pasts remind us we are not guaranteed our futures. So how we love, honor and cherish one another counts all the more. In the movie, the couple have a window of time (I am not giving anything away, the previews did that) to do those things. We aren't aging backwards but we all have our own windows. We should make the most of them.

God's Eyes

Greyson brought home a school craft project that evoked memories of mine (Ginger) from way back when I was his age; a God's eye. Jim didn't seem quite as familiar with it. I guess because he didn't grow up in New Mexico like I did. Making God's eyes to hang on the Christmas tree was a big deal for me. If you don't know what in the world I am talking about I will describe them to you. First you take two popsicle sticks and glue the center of them together so they make a cross. Then you take several different colors of yarn and intermittently wrap the colors starting from the inside of the cross out in diamond-shaped patterns until you reach the edge of the popsicle sticks. The joke is that I was always the one who decorated our Christmas tree and wrapped all the presents growing up. My mom was good at so many things but she wasn't exactly Miss Home Economics. So I remember being in charge of that stuff alot. And I definitely remember covering the tree in God's eyes one specific year. It was probably in one of my mom's "Proud to be a part of New Mexican tradition phases" or something like that. I do remember spacing them nicely apart so all the colors complimented each other and they hung facing out.

I read a little about them this year since Greyson sparked my interest in them again. They were actually an Indian craft tradition called "Ojo de Dios" or the "Eye of God". They were originally made to be placed on an altar so that their gods could watch over the praying people and protect them. Now, more often in our Christian culture, they are made to remind us that God looks with love on people everywhere. That is a nice thought, but is it true? I have often asked myself that question since Troy's death.

I find scripture mercifully addresses those type of questions with words such as these:

Hebrews 4:13

"Nothing in all creation is hidden from God's sight. Everything is hidden and uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of Him to whom we must give account."

Okay so I understand that He watches over everything but does He do it with love? I know I watch my kids play, eat, work, live but do I always do it with love? Most times yes but sometimes I am distracted, not really paying attention, irritated with their behavior or simply wishing I could be doing the zillion other things I need to be doing or the selfish things I would rather be doing. And sometimes, as often happens with toddlers, I take my eyes off of them and in a split second someone is crying, fighting, has a scraped knee or wounded feelings. And I wonder how that happens because I just took my eyes off them for a second? If parenting is supposed to be a similiar representation (which I am not convinced it really is because God is SO perfect and we are SO flawed) to the relationship between us and our Heavenly Father then does God do that too? I never questioned that once until He allowed Troy's plane to crash that day.

I grappled for a long time with the question of "Did God look away because He was busy doing something else and that was the second that Troy died?" Then when I would resolve the answer was no because His eyes are always upon us like the scripture said. Then I would begin the string of questions that always led to the even longer string of "Why's?". I praise the Lord for Pastor Steve's wisdom and vast knowledge of the scripture and who God is to continue to point me in the right direction. Even as a Believer it is so easy to fall prey to wrong doctrine when you are hurting.

Truth was, hard as it was to swallow, God Almighty does love us infintely AND allows devastion into the lives of His beloved. It is the very difficult concept that keeps people from seeking relationship with the Lord. Jim and I have one person very close to us who struggles with that everyday of his life. But our challenge to him and to others is seek Him and you will find Him.

II Chronicles 28:9

"As for you, my son Solomon, know the God of your father (David) and serve Him with a whole heart and a willing mind; for the Lord searches all hearts and understands every intent of the thoughts. If you seek Him, He will let you find Him; but if you forsake Him, He will reject you forever."

Therein lay the motivation for me, I had to seek Him and even more I had to find Him in the depths of the darkness. I had found Him, so to speak, when I accepted His gift of Jesus and became a Christian when I was nine years old. But I had to find Him, on an entirely different level when He let me down, took away the love of my life and left me with more brokeness and responsibility than I could handle.

After all the blame I placed on man, ie: the Air Force all way down to anyone who had anything to do with Troy flying that day. And then all the blame I placed on God. After all that I came to the place where acceptance and peace lived. The place where I knew God never stopped loving me or watching over me.

Psalm 121: 3-8

"He will not let your foot slip, He who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, He who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord watches over you, the Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all harm, He will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore."

This scripture then made me question what is the definition of harm? Harm to me meant Troy crashing in a plane or disease in my children. This is when my study Bible and sought wisdom from others helped me to understand that when the Bible speaks of safety it is not always guaranteed in the physical sense but always guaranteed in the spiritual sense. Christ himself and many of his disciples would experience physical suffering and death. And who could God love more than His own Son or those few faithful left behind to spread His news throughout the world? Throughout history, many righteous people have tragically lost their lives and weren't rescued. Troy and Andrea immediately come to mind. The wicked do thrive and the faithful do suffer. But God does not abandon His people.

Lately I have found myself re-asking some of the same questions I settled a year ago in my mind. Two days ago, I met with Troy's wingman the day he crashed. He lives here in San Antonio but, despite his willingness, I just wasn't ready to talk to him. The time had come for us to talk. I knew it was something I needed and possibly something he needed more. He is a good man. It was a painful conversation that took me back to that utterly devasting day. Despite the answers to some questions I have had, the conversation raised even more questions in my mind. I know he was uncertain with what my reactions would be. He questioned himself and all those involved. I honestly told him I had done the same thing for many months and would have been unable to handle our exchange until now. Yes, I felt Satan circling and wanting (wants) me to place blame on this person or that. But as he and I cried, I grasped his hand and told him that though I wish the people and events surrounding all the circumstances before, during and after Troy's plane went down could and should have been vastly different, I still know that my God wanted Troy home with Him that day and He was going to take him despite the conditions of the moment. Beyond my heart and mind's comprehension, He was also going to allow his body to be taken from the crash site by the most evil of mankind. I still struggle with the hate I so easily can feel for them. I still pray and wait for Troy's body to return to U.S. soil. Jim saw many who beat cancer and who walked out of the hospital disease-free. Some faithless and godless women. I know there are soldiers who are wife-cheaters or tax-evaders or dead-beat dads coming home daily. By the world's standards they don't deserve the blessing. I cannot focus on these injustices. Jim helps me with that.His faith remains unshakeen and his heart is not bitter, either. He has always encouraged me with the enormous importance of this choice.

I turn to the book of Psalm 73:

vs 1-7: "Surely God is good to Israel, to those who are pure in heart. But as for me, my feet had almost slipped; I had nearly lost my foothold. For I envied the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked. They have no struggles; their bodies are healthy and strong. They are free from the burdens common to man; they are not plagued by human ills. Therefore pride is their necklace; they clothe themselves with violence. From their callous hearts comes iniquity, the evil conceits of their minds know no limits..."

vs 13-28 "Surely in vain have I kept my heart pure; in vain have I washed my hands in innocence. All day long I have been plagued; I have been punished every morning. If I had said "I will speak thus" I would have betrayed your children. When I tried to understand all this, it was oppressive to me till I entered the sancturary of God; then I understood their final destiny. Surely you place them on slippery ground; you cast them down to ruin. How suddenly are they destroyed completely swept away by terrors! As a dream when one awakes, so when you arisee, O Lord, you will despise them as fantasies. When my heart was grieved and my spirit embittered, I was senseless and ignorant. I was a brute beast before you. Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel and afterward yo will take me into glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. Those who are far from you will perish; you destory all who are unfaithful to you. But as for me, it is good to be near God. I have made the Sovereign Lord my refuge; I will tell of all your deeds."

His wingman told me he and Troy had breakfast in the chowhall at 5 a.m. that morning. That Troy prayed before they ate that God would grant them safety and would help us, their wives and children, with the challenges of them being deployed. Of all the things he told me about that day, this one meant the most to me. Troy sought the Lord's help that day just like all the others. I know he must have prayed in that jet as things became chaotic. Maybe a simple, "Lord, help me." like I have prayed so many times since. There was no doubt that Troy's faith and who he was greatly impacted his wingman that day. Just as Andrea's walk impacted the nurse that accepted Christ while taking care of her in the hospital. Powerful witnesses those two were. Will Jim and I be the same? I hope so. I pray so. Life is unfair. Will that unfairness make us stumble, lose our way or unforgive all the wrongs that occurred on that day in Iraq for Troy or those days in and out the hospital for Andrea?

My Bible has a powerful commentary on the above scripture I just quoted in Psalm. Here is an exerpt:

"Why does life seem unfair? Because we see only one part of the picture. It appears to us that success often has nothing to do with godliness: Those who ignore or even hate God may have more wealth and power than those who love him. Many Christians suffer while non-Christians seem relatively unaffected by life's difficulties. The writer of this psalm sturggled with such feelings. He saw arrogant, violent individuals who lived in ease and prosperity. What he saw even caused him to question the validity of his won faith. He felt cheated. Wy try to live right? It never seemed to pay off in tangible ways? But when he finally sat down to write, he wrote about how his attitude had changed. What had happened? He had begun to look at life from a spiritual point of view rather than from a worldly one. Life will always seem unfair when we measure it bey the earthly standards of health, wealth and power. But when we encounter God in a personal, intimate way-as the psalmist did in the sanctuary-we can gain a heavenly perspective. We'll begin to see the other part of the picture-that the rewards of this life are temporary and, as a matter of fact, can even hinder us from discovering what is really important."

It is a constant daily choice I must make to look at things from the spiritual perspective. From God's eyes. Not the popsicle and yarn version. God's eyes. The compassionate, loving, just eyes of a parent without imperfection or distraction or selfish motives.

I finally looked over the 5-inch-thick accident report that was handed to me almost two years ago. Like the decision to talk to Troy's wingman, it was time I opened it. Jim helped me understand the many flying technical issues it discussed. I looked at the pictures taken of the crash site. Many of which, I had disconsertedly seen for the first time on the evening news the week of the crash. Some of these photos I hadn't seen before. Ones taken from high in the sky that day overlooking the ugly brown sand fields and farms where Troy's plane went down. The black smoke billowing into the blue sky. Though I can't imagine birds would want to fly in that grotesquely forsaken war-torn landscape, I imagined this is what they would have looked down and seen. This is what God saw. Yet He is everywhere so He looked from above and was coinsidily in the cockpit with Troy. He loved and cared for Him til the moment He welcomed him Home. Not skipping a milisecond between or the hate-filled acts that followed in the aftermath.

Growing up Southern Baptist I still recall old hymns we used to sing. I rarely sing or listen to them now. But I am warmed when the lyrics will come back to mind. After viewing these photos for the first time and meeting the man that last heard Troy's voice that day, this one came immediately to mind. I couldn't remember all the words so I googled them. The internet is good for something! I will close this blog with the background of this hymn and the precious words it says. I am also reminded in Scripture, we are worth much more than sparrows.

"Early in the spring of 1905, my hus­band and I were so­journ­ing in El­mi­ra, New York. We con­tract­ed a deep friend­ship for a cou­ple by the name of Mr. and Mrs. Doo­lit­tle—true saints of God. Mrs. Doo­lit­tle had been bed­rid­den for nigh twen­ty years. Her hus­band was an in­cur­a­ble crip­ple who had to pro­pel him­self to and from his bus­i­ness in a wheel chair. De­spite their af­flict­ions, they lived hap­py Christ­ian lives, bring­ing in­spir­a­tion and com­fort to all who knew them. One day while we were vi­sit­ing with the Doo­lit­tles, my hus­band com­ment­ed on their bright hope­ful­ness and asked them for the se­cret of it. Mrs. Doo­lit­tle’s re­ply was sim­ple: “His eye is on the spar­row, and I know He watch­es me.” The beau­ty of this sim­ple ex­press­ion of bound­less faith gripped the hearts and fired the imag­in­a­tion of Dr. Mar­tin and me. The hymn “His Eye Is on the Spar­row” was the out­come of that ex­per­i­ence."

by Civilla Martin

The next day she mailed the po­em to Charles Gab­ri­el, who sup­plied the mu­sic. Sing­er Ethel Wa­ters so loved this song that she used its name as the ti­tle for her au­to­bi­og­ra­phy.

Why should I feel discouraged, why should the shadows come,Why should my heart be lonely, and long for heaven and home,When Jesus is my portion? My constant friend is He:His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

Refrain

I sing because I’m happy,I sing because I’m free,For His eye is on the sparrow,And I know He watches me.
“Let not your heart be troubled,” His tender word I hear,And resting on His goodness, I lose my doubts and fears;Though by the path He leadeth, but one step I may see;His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

Refrain

Whenever I am tempted, whenever clouds arise,When songs give place to sighing, when hope within me dies,I draw the closer to Him, from care He sets me free;His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

Christmas Lists

Traffic. Decorating. Long lines. Hustle. Bustle. Lists. Lists upon lists. Gift lists. Grocery lists. Christmas card lists...The kids making their own Christmas Wish lists - Greyson has made 4 different versions, some handwritten and some on the computer. I (Ginger) have addresses scribbled everywhere. Giftwrap, tissue, ribbons all exploding in our bedroom. Endless kids' parties, musicals, yada yada. All of this is so normal. So typical of what all my friends are doing right now. Prior to 2006, this is what I did too. Without a thought, unlike now, of it being sort of unusual. How can the trimmings and trappings of the holiday season feel so out of place when EVERYONE is doing the same thing? I realized that all these activities are the same. Same as ever. But I am the thing that's different. The last two Christmases were a blur to me. The first one a nightmarish blur. I still praise God for the girls in the squadron who bought and wrapped all the kids gifts that year. Presents seemed so utterly ridiculous to me at that point that I probably would have unintentionly harmed my kids by skipping the gift exchange all together. When the ONLY thing you really want is the ONE thing you can't have it just all seems like more of a frustration than anything. I only wanted Troy back for Christmas. The girls gave me a well-known beautifully expensive robe from Nordstroms or somewhere. They were trying so hard to do something for me. I still remember one of them commenting how they had always wanted a robe like that. I knew she meant well by saying it but all I could think was, "Trade ya!" I'll take my husband like you have and you can have the plush robe." Of course I didn't say that because it was such a sweet gesture but what a great example to us all that stuff just doesn't make us happy.

Jim wrote about the beauty of our two very different trees. The real one seems to be hanging on for dear life, trying hard to not let its' droopy branches drop our precious ornaments. Under the tree, Jim put a darling working train set. He was saddened to find that the set he and Andrea always used was either stolen or lost in a move. All we found were a few train tracks left. So he scoured on Ebay and found the no-longer in production train set and it sits under our tree. I knew he and Anthony would appreicate the familiarty of it, even if it wasn't their original. We are trying to keep the girls hands off it. Sometimes I notice it is derailed and I wonder what mischief has gone on. Jim and Andrea had also started a village collection. Okay, they started it with a church and then never added another thing. I understand how it feels to have good intentions and then life just gets in the way. So I decided the kids would give Jim the whole village to complete it. Troy used to make fun of me and say, "Collection contains the word collect. Doesn't that mean it should happen over time?" I told him there was no timeframe on the definition! I admit to liking collections to happen quickly not over years. I know that probably doesn't really make them collections rather more of a purchase. But none-the-less we now have a whole little village (okay tiny metropolis). The kids set it up and we walked Jim into the room with his eyes closed. We added Andrea's original church and then shopped for a few more together. It is special and it is ours. We appreciate all of our past decorations. They are treasures that have special memories attached to them. We wouldn't want to lose them ever. But we also are really enjoying things that are ours now.

Jim is finding out I do LOVE Christmas lights. I love the twinkling and the sparkling and how they make everything so warm and pretty. I am always sad when the lights come down after the holidays because everything just seems a bit more dull. But that beauty comes at a price because those silly lights are always our nemesis aren't they? They are tangled, hard to get on, harder to take off and can work one second and go out the next. As we were struggling to put all the lights on our tall tree this year I remembered back two years prior to a gesture I will never forget. It was the night of November 26, 2006. Days earlier, Amy and I had driven from Phoenix and taken the kids to Sea World in San Diego for Thanksgiving. She was trying to help me pass the time and ease the sadness that Daddy was at war and wouldn't be home for the holidays. In fact, the last time I talked to Troy was in Oceanside, CA the day after Thanksgiving that year. We returned back to Phoenix that Saturday and Amy flew on back to Dallas not knowing she would be turning around in less than two days to come to come and hold her best friend, whom in an instant had just become a widow. Anyway, in between those two days between returning from CA and the knock on my door on Monday morning was Sunday. I go back and remember that day as the last normal day of my life. Not the last wonderful day, as I have those again, but the last normal day. I took the kids to church and Steve preached on the promises of God. The Lord knew we all were about to need a big reminder of those. I got my final email from Troy that night. He sounded better than when I had talked to him two days prior. He had gotten lots of good sleep, changed his office to a better location and was excited about flying the next day. Then that evening, my good friend, Tracy came over to help me put the lights on our Christmas tree. Tracy is one of those rare people who just sits back, listens and watches. She then instinctively moves forward to love you in the way you need. She always did that for me. The one thing I needed at the moment whether it was a hug, letters addressed, rescuing from stresses of motherhood, a meal, a cup of tea, a glass of wine, my carpets spot cleaned, arms to hold me while I wept, whatever it was Tracy sensed it and did it unselfishly and with love. Well, that night my need was help getting lights on the Christmas tree. Troy had always done that and Tracy knew I was frankly just lonely and bored and wanted the company while he was TDY. So I tucked the kids in bed and promised them that the next day, Monday, November 27th, we would decorate the tree. Tracy came over and we went to work on the lights. Now I like alot of lights so this means string upon string upon string. I don't remember what all we talked about but I am sure she was making me laugh and encouraging me that I only had 6 weeks left before Troy would be home and that I could do it. I remember we finished, plugged in the lights and poof! they all went out, simultaneously. We never could figure out what happened. But you know what Tracy did? She said, "Ok, girl, lets take them off and put more on. We are getting this tree ready for the kids to decorate when they come home from school tomorrow!" We were both so tired but she helped me see the project through. She left my house at midnight. Only 9 1/2 hours before I heard the news of Troy's plane going down. And actually only about 3 1/2 hours prior to his actual crash. When I said good-bye to her that night, I knew once again what a true blue friend she was. She stayed up late with me and I knew she had to get up early to home school her kids all day the next day. I knew she hadn't even thought of putting up her own decorations yet. But she knew that was important to me. I love her for that night alone. After the news the next morning and the police and tv crews started swarming the house, we decided to keep the kids out of the house for two days. I had the twins at home with me and the onlslaught of family and friends. But I needed a couple of days to get myself together and figure out what to tell our children. I remember they came home from school on Tuesday and I told them what had happened. I still don't remember what I actually said. I think the Lord spoke and just moved my mouth. We were surrounded by God's love and people and only with His strength did I find the words to tell them their daddy had been killed. Afterwards, as odd as it seemed, Greyson was completely fixated on decorating that Christmas tree like we had planned. He is my child with more of the OCD tendencies and he likes to stick with the plan but I think in that case, it was the only thing that seemed within his 6 year old control. The only way to somehow make something go on as planned. So we decorated that beautifully lit tree. It was like standing in the middle of your house after it was blown to bits by a tornadoe and then trying to put it all back together with Elmer's glue. It was that ridiculous to me.

Then I thought of last year's tree. I wanted to decorate it so that was a step up from the year prior. But things still didn't feel like Christmas. So I went, ummm.... let's just say "unorthodox". I decorated (with Becky, Jess and Amy Ryder) my entire tree in brown and turquoise. Instead of a topper I made this wild floral arrangement of glittery poinsettas, sticks and pheasant feathers. Most of my friends called it the "explosion on the top of the tree". Okay, it was awful but it was artsy and it was a true representation of how nontraditional I viewed not only Christmas but my life. Jim and I hung onto a few of those turquoise ornaments this year just as a reminder of the miracle that God did in our meeting only a month later.

I do wonder how many people reading this blog might be avoiding the decorating or celebrating in a rebellious way because they hurt so much inside. Jim and I talk often about the holidays highlighting either your own happiness or sadness, depending on which ever the case may be. Like a big fluorescent yellow marker drawing attention to your emotional state and the condition of your heart or life. We know what it is to listen to Christmas music either in a hospital room or an airport to a funeral. It makes you almost sick inside.

But this is where I have begun to see things different. Not just now that I have Jim but even over the last two Christmases to some degree. The importance is not shopping or decorating your house to the nines or how many parties you're invited to or what your kids get for Christmas. We all say "Jesus is the reason for the season" but do we really stop and think about what that means? I can tell you when all that other fluff gets highlighted for what it is, just that FLUFF, then you see Christ is it. He IS the bright and shining star. The rest of the holidays and even life, itself, is all extra. Even when we try to squeeze in the real meaning of Christmas with Jesus birthday parties, nativity scenes, candlelight Christmas Eve services (all wonderful - nothing wrong with any of those) we STILL are so permeated with the extra that we do not focus on the eternal.

Isaiah 64:6

"All of us have become like one who is unclean and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags.."

The other day, I was rushed, hurried, feeling the stress of getting all the kids and Jim's gifts and getting the right ones. In my head, I am sure I was planning all the meals, gifts and schedule for our upcoming week's worth of visitors. I was needing to check out of the store quickly and race to be somewhere with the kids. Then I looked behind me in line and there was a young man, with no legs, sitting in a wheelchair trying to balance the shopping basket on what little of a lap he had. His drink rolled out of the basket and towards me. As I reached down to hand it to him, I wondered what his shopping experience was like. How extremely difficult I cannot fathom. I instantly prayed that he would have love and joy and hope and peace somehow this Christmas. That somehow is only through Christ at CHRISTmas. I think there is a reason His name makes up most of the word.

When all the distractions of the holidays don't matter anymore are when you can really see them for what they are. This life is wrought with pain. It is intertwined with beauty here and there. God's grace and mercy does flow down and cover us but there is still pain. And we, as those who know the impact of Jesus choosing to follow God's plan and come to earth in the flesh to experience that pain, need to stop and breathe deeply in the powerful gift that is.

I never thought, after what I went through, I would ever get caught up again in meaningless stuff. But I do. But I hopefully have eyes wide open to see when I do it. And to stop and ask myself does this thing; the toy that everyone wants and must be hunted down or this family issue or this desire to turn my home into the cover of Southern Living, whatever it is to each of us... does it keep me from worshipping the Gift of Jesus? Is my yellow highlighter going over His name, "King of Kings, Lord of Lords"? Is that showing in my actions and my attitude?

I ordered a Christmas wreath for Troy's grave last week. Yesterday I picked out a Christmas arrangement for Andrea's grave. Through the years, I have decorated every nook and cranny of my houses and often been hired out to do other people's homes. Yet, I have never once adorned anything more treasured. Yesterday, as I sat at Andrea's grave, I found myself moving the flowers I bought this way and that. Trying to place everything at just the right angle so it would look nice. Amy Ryder went to Arlington and placed the wreath just perfect so Troy's name would still show. These things are special to us. But, in the glow of Jesus' birth, they are miniscule. I confess to feeling the anxiety of the demands, the company, the meals, the timelines, etc.... It tumbles around in my head and mixes with the lump in my throat over Troy and Andrea. But I look around. I see Jim smiling, laughing and wrestlling with giggling twins near the sagging Christmas tree. I see Christmas miracles that happened this year. And I ask myself if it really matters that I still haven't hung up that last garland.

I don't imagine there are many Christmas decorations in heaven. It's just beautiful all the time. Walls of sapphire, emerald, topaz and amethyst. Gates of pearls. Streets of gold. Christmas lights pale in comparison to the light show there.

Revelation 21:23

"The city does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light and the Lamb is its lamp."

Maybe Christmas Day is just one huge birthday party for our Lord. Troy and Andrea know. We must wait. We must remember that is what this time on earth is and that's especially what Christmas is all about; waiting to be with our Savior. Waiting to go to THE birthday party of all birthday parties.

My One Year Anniversary

Today was a significant day for me as you might guess, but in more ways than I ever thought. First let me say thank you to all of those who prayed for me and my boys on this day, it means so much to know you cared enough to pray for us and remember Andrea.

My plan for the day was to be at Andrea's grave at 1:07, the exact time she went to be with the Lord. It was the conclusion of reliving the past three weeks culminating in this day and that moment. To tell you the truth I was dreading going to the grave today. I go there about every three weeks and it was becoming easier with time but I guess the anniversary made it different. When I pulled up to section 110, grave 699 I saw flowers on Andrea's grave, and on top I found a card from Ginger. I brought my own flowers which I added to Ginger's I brought a picture of Andrea. I wanted anyone who saw her tombstone to see Andrea and not just her name. A National Cemetery in it's uniformity has it's own beauty but tends to lose the individuality.

As I watched the time tick closer and closer to 1:07 I remembered the events of Dec 17th 2007. Arriving and finding Andrea unresponsive, calling Nic and telling him to get Anthony out of school and come to the hospital. Calling family and friends while I waited for her oncologist to arrive and confirm what I knew I had to do. I remember it being just Andrea and her three boys with her, how we stood around her bed as the nurse brought in the morphine and hung it on the IV stand. I remember praying with Andrea as she slept and singing to her. And then I remember when she passed and the coolness of her lips, and then I looked at the clock, 1:07, and we were alone. It was just like you hear, in that instant her body changed to me, it was no longer her, she was gone. In that instant she was freed from her pain and suffering and she was with the Lord.

I stayed a while longer at the grave to talk to Andrea and I decided to call her Mom and Nic. I thought about my boys who lost their mom, their friend and amazing example of faith. I thought of all the others who were impacted by this day, Andrea's friends who may be hurting today but I found myself thinking a lot about her Mom, June. It is hard to imagine what it must be like to lose a child. It is as unnatural as losing your spouse at such a young age, it is just not supposed to happen. I could not imagine losing one of the kids. Then I thought about Andrea's sister and her niece having lost a sister and mentor. So many were affected by this one life that was cut way too short.

But as I looked at the photo I placed on her grave I saw Andrea with that beautiful smile and I thought that is how she is looking down today on us all, with a huge smile. She was an amazing woman to have known, and I was blessed to have been her husband. As I left I looked back and saw Andrea's picture, it felt different than any other time I left her grave, today was the end of a year of reflection, marking the first of everything without Andrea.

Afterwards I met Ginger. I had about 30 minutes before I had to be back at work so we decided to meet at a restaurant near the base. I had arrived first and sat facing the door. There was only two other people there and when I looked up I saw the door open, and in walked Ginger. At that moment I saw my wife in a new way. It is hard to describe but I saw not just my wife but my life. I saw her smile at me from across the room and I felt her love and excitement to see me. I told Ginger the other day, "Nothing about what happened to Andrea changed because of you, yet everything about my life since that day has changed because of having you in my life." I shudder to think of where I would be on this day without Ginger and her gentle and understanding support. She is my gift, and today I crossed a milestone that I don't think I totally understand. I saw Ginger and I saw my future and for the first time, I did not feel any guilt. Andrea and Troy await our arrival, and until that day comes we serve God with the life He has given us. I know Andrea and Troy are happy and this past year was nothing more than a blink in their eye. I'm happy when I think of Andrea in heaven vice me left on earth. She is where is always wanted to be. Like she wrote in her journal after a Chris Tomlin concert and hearing everyone singing together, she felt it was a little like being in heaven. She asked God can I go and God told her no, it was not time yet. It is the same for Ginger and I it is not our time and until it is our job is to serve God as Troy and Andrea demonstrated to us, with all our heart soul, and minds.

And The Fight Goes On

In a bizarre coincidence today I had an appointment at Wilford Hall Hospital, where Andrea had her chemo. I had not been there since Andrea had her last chemo, and it was just a little strange as I drove across town on this of all days, Dec 16th the day before Andrea died.

I remember hearing Andrea's first Doctor tell us she had cancer, I think I wrote about it in one of my first blogs, but then we heard that a second time in North Carolina, when cancer's seriousness was taken up a notch. I remember it very well because Dr. Atkins recorded it for us, knowing most of what he said that day would never be heard. Today I listened to that tape as I drove to Wilford Hall. I keep that tape in the cassette deck in my car, cued to the same spot in the conversation, where Andrea talks. Dr. Atkins says, "She won't remember most of what I'm saying today because I just hit he over the head with a two by four." How true. At the end he asks if Andrea has any questions. You can hear her voice, very faintly, as she tries to gather the strength to talk. Her voice is weak, and slowly she gets out her question, "Can you please not give me so much Dexamethasone?" Dexamethasone is a steroid used to limit reactions to the chemo and it's side effects were hard during Andrea's first treatment. By the time we had it adjusted she was getting 1/10 of her original dose. For those who were never blessed to know Andrea I will tell you she was pretty small, 4'11" and around 95lbs, usually most 11 yr old girls were her size. So the adult dosage was always way too much for her. Andrea's voice is cracking and I hear the dread in her voice as she begins to cry, a rare event for Andrea in the doctor's office. It strikes me that of all Andrea faced that day her concern was over that drug. She could have been worried about 1000 other things and maybe she was and it was just this that came out, it is hard to tell because in that moment your mind is racing as you try to process what the doctor just told you.

Soon I arrived at my appointment and it turned out I was early so I decided to visit a friend whose son is in treatment upstairs. I won't say his name since I have not asked them if it was okay to share but I found myself suddenly on the other side of chemo. I was not the one fighting I was the one visiting and as I stood there and made small talk I knew exactly how they must be feeling. It is strange well maybe difficult is a better word, to try to have a normal conversation when you are surrounded by such seriousness. As a patient all you want to do is not be there, for someone to walk in and say there has been a mistake your son's test was mixed up and he doesn't have cancer. So sometimes just talking about everyday things brings back a little of the normalcy of life that is lost when you are told you or someone you love has cancer. It shatters your life an as my friends said, "Normal is gone forever." So as we talked I tried to offer some escape from the reality of what was happening. I found myself praying under my breath as I tried to be a much of an encouragement to them as so many people were to Andrea and I.

After my appointment was over I decided to go to the old chemo room where Andrea had her treatment, and re walk the hallways we took. I looked on my iPhone and I had the pictures I took of Andrea during one of her last treatments. She sits smiling in her chair with her oxygen on and IV drip hooked up. I then went up to the 6th floor and said hello to her oncologist, Dr. Osswald. It was good to see him again and we had a nice talk. Having taken all I could I decided it was time to leave and as I walked out of the hospital and there walking towards me was Andrea's first ICU doctor, Dr Fry. If you read the blogs from Andrea's time in the ICU you might remember him as "Dr Doom and Gloom." Let's just say he did not have the best bed side manner.

I'm not sure what lies ahead for me tomorrow other then it will hurt. These past three weeks have been hard as I remembered Andrea's 21 days in ICU and the crazy ups and downs. But each day I read the blog I wrote that day last year and it helped me remember the emotions of those days. I was glad to have that record of what happened each day. I remember all of you who helped me through those days. Like Kathy who faithfully visited Andrea and massaged her hands and feet to help the swelling go down. Or Karl and Roger and others who decorated my house with Christmas lights to help bring a little normalcy to me and the boy's life. Or the digital picture frame they gave us, loaded with our pictures. It was the best gift ever and I will never forget holding it for Andrea and seeing her smile as we relived each moment of each picture. And there were so many others who came or called. All of you who left the comfort of your own life and stepped in to what I know was an uncomfortable situation, yet you did so and it gave us hope, and comfort that we were not alone. I will never forget that, and I hope I was able to repay that gift today for a little boy and his family.

It is one year ago tonight that I left Andrea's room a decision I regret to this day. And now as I look at the clock I realize it is past midnight. It is Dec 17th, the day has begun.

Heartstrings

I am overwhelmed. I am tying a white cloth diaper (okay you know I never used one but disposable just don't have the same ability to tie) at the end of a stick and waving it. I surrender. I am tired. I am sad. I am tired of being sad. I am thankful. I am happy. I am busy trying to remake old Christmases in new ones. Old memories, precious like glass ornaments, carefully unwrapped cause us sadness, still. Though it seems like centuries, this grief thing for Jim and I, is still so new. We hold onto our fragile memories and reach out to grab onto our new ones. I guess a lot of people do that during holidays. That's why they are so emotional.

It has been a long two weeks. The week of Thanksgiving was (I have been sitting here for 20 minutes struggling to find the right adjective - writer's block, I guess - or maybe there just isn't an adjective) well, it was atypical. Really nice but atypical sums it up. The first part of the week all the children went to Wichita Falls to be with their grandparents, Anthony with his grandparents and the rest of the kids with Troy's mom and dad. Jim had meetings in DC and I tagged along with him. As we landed at Reagan National Airport I recounted to Jim the trip from Phoenix to DC for Troy's burial. Short of a plane crash (and that would have been a welcome relief at the time) it was the single worst travel experience imaginable. We were headed to bury a beloved husband and daddy, across the nation, with 5 kids who had the stomach flu. The twins were 9 months old and were none too happy to travel almost six hours on a airplane. Only Boston truly understood the brevity of where we were headed. I remember the flight back being equally horrible. I hand carried the folded flag in the beautiful triangular wooden box and felt oddly unlike any other passenger as I stowed it away in the overhead compartment with everyone else's carry-ons. My carry-on was attached to my heart with mighty heartstrings. When your heart lives outside of your body and is intricately tied to someone else's; those are heartstrings.

The airline had messed up our seating and though ten of us were traveling together and over half of them children they didn't have our seats together and wouldn't do much to mend the situation. I remember Amy asking a man if he could move for us and he said no, he didn't want to give up his window seat. Lord help me if I ever became the kind of person who sees a forlorn, tear-streaked woman holding an Arlington National Cemetery triangular box and two crying babies and won't give up my seat with the view.

Needless to say, this trip to DC was so much better. I got to introduce Jim to more of my dear dear friends, had a nice evening with and chance to get to know Nic and Kate a little more, visited Troy's last and most well-respected mentor and family friend, General Rand and on the last day visited Troy's grave in Arlington. I realized that I have such strong connections to our nation's capital. Connections on a level and in a way I never imagined when I went there for the first time when I was junior in high school on an American history trip. Arlington National Cemetery was a tourist attraction not where people's hopes died, dreams ended and futures were buried. There are acres of heroes. Rolling green hills dotted with white. Red, white and blue flags. Horses pulling their load. Big black wheels holding up the carriages. Carriages holding the coffins of the ones we love. Cannons go off in the distance. That's the sound of someone else's world turning upside down. I am so sorry for them. I looked out over the hills and told Jim I wondered how many lives were connected to all those graves. I envisioned one of those maps of the world with yarn connecting little red pinheads. Over our nation's history I bet if you started at Arlington there would be a thread linked to almost every place on earth. Someone knows someone who knows someone.... You just pray it's never your someone. If it is, those threads become heartstrings instead.

As Jim and I walked the getting-more-familiar path to Troy's grave I was in awe, once again, of the place's vast and somber beauty. It is a dignified place but one I only planned to see as a tourist. I knelt at his grave and set the flowers down. Little red roses. Jim and I went to the store to pick out flowers early that morning. He doesn't struggle with type of flowers to put on Andrea's grave. Women adore all flowers given by the man who loves them. I feel like I should leave a hunting license or ski lift tickets. I don't know. Just something instead of flowers. But someone would think I was crazy so I bought flowers. Troy liked to send me red roses. They weren't my favorite but they were his so I thought he would think have appreciated the gesture.

As I knelt, Jim took some photos. There I was in between my two lives. No wonder I don't sleep so well at night. Sometimes it's all a little more than one mind can absorb. I walked past other graves of soldiers whose wives I have met, emailed or talked to. What an odd type of neighborhood. Praise God the grave is not the end. Though my soul was heavy, I left there with hope that I will see Troy again and he is the happiest he's ever been.

Jim and I traveled on the metro to visit the cemetery. He and Andrea were stationed at the Pentagon so he knows his way around well. It was nice to let him lead me. He carried the roses. He found me a seat. It was a freezing cold morning. The train was warm and sitting next to Jim was comfortable and safe. I never wanted to get off and face the cold wind nor the harsh realities of life as a VIP pass-carrying member of Arlington National Cemetery. But isn't that just what God wants us to do? Get off the train. Face the cold. Hold His hand. Test the strength of our faith. But we have to get off the train first. That's the scary part. You know that cold northern wind is going to sting your face and chill your bones. During our visit, I spoke at "DC Amy's" (I have so many friends named Amy their prefix has to be regional :)) Bible Study. I told the women my story and that in their lives hard times will come. God will ask us to face something painful. It is inevitable. But at least, if we trust and we believe, we do not step out alone.

We left DC after the stop at Arlington and flew to Dallas to meet up with the kids in Wichita Falls. There we were. Thanksgiving Day, Jim’s first Thanksgiving without Andrea AND the 2 year anniversary of Troy's death. All rolled into one day. I am glad that doesn't happen every year. We all shed tears. Jim, me, Troy's family, Andrea's family. All of us. (Remember Troy's parents and Andrea's parents live 10 minutes apart - another way the Lord orchestrated this whole beautiful mess). We split our time between families. Jim and I laughed that there probably weren't too many other couples in the world who were spending their Thanksgiving with their late spouse's families. As I said in my Christmas letter, there isn't a manual for most of what Jim and I do. We stumbled though the day, holding onto our memories of Thanksgivings past and creating memories of Thanksgiving future. I cut out red construction paper hearts and we all wrote notes to Troy and tied them onto balloon strings. We and Troy's family drove out to the lake, set them free and ate brownies his mom made. Brownies were Troy's favorite dessert. Even though we were all stuffed from Thanksgiving dinner, we managed to eat one for him. We watched the balloons tied with literal hearts on strings disappear into the blue sky. We told the kids we were watching to see whose would reach him first. Afterwards Jim, Anthony and the boys raced each other up a nearby somewhat steep hill. I thought that pretty well represented us; no matter what day of the year it was, we're still climbing. Greyson (who would be embarrassed if he knew I told you) didn't think he could climb it and once he reached the top cried because he was too afraid to go down. That, at times, sums us up as well. Sometimes, after working so hard to climb the mountain, it is scary looking down and knowing you have to work some more to get to your desired location. Especially knowing you can fall and get hurt or you're just plain pooped from getting there. I feel a little of that now, as I still have the hard work of being a godly wife and mother. Still need to do the Lord's work, housework (no Jim, those aren't the same thing!) and general living in a fallen world with a little less strength than you had before. Hopefully with a lot more faith but a little less strength. I have been questioning my trust in the Lord. Do I have enough faith to wade through the sleeplessness, the anxiety, the responsibility, the demands, the grief, the awful dry eyes from my PRK surgery, etc... and still have the kind of perseverance and testimony that I know He is asking me to have? I know that even when my faith shrinks at times, His faithfulness and power are still as big as always.

As we all separately walked back to the cars after the balloons, brownies and boy hike, I noticed Jim walking in the middle Troy's mom and dad. His arms were around them and theirs around him. I spoke to Troy's mom earlier that morning and told her Jim understood if they day was too painful and it would help if he stayed back with Andrea's family. She said no, she genuinely wanted him there. And as they walked arms linked together, I knew she really meant it. No man could ever take her son's place but they are thankful Jim is such a good good man with a heart to love their grandchildren and take over where their son left off. Troy's sister walked ahead, pregnant with twin boys after years upon years of infertility. The kids were all laughing and running and heading to the playground. This was all a miracle to me, no doubt about it.

I am also thankful to each of you who remembered me on that day. I think one of the most special messages was one from my friend Aimee. She sent me a text just to let me know she loved me and then she told me simply “We will NEVER forget.” Thank you Aimee. That’s something I will always be thankful for.

Perfect Imperfection

Tonight we put up our Christmas tree, the first Ravella/Gilbert tree. Actually we have two trees. One is artificial. It is perfect. It has perfectly spaced lights, on a perfectly shaped tree, it's perfectly coordinated ornaments were placed by Ginger's skillful hands. You will see this tree as you enter our house and it is as pretty a tree as you will ever see. I think it could be in a magazine but maybe that is just me.

However, just past the entry way, in the family room, opposite the fire place where nine stockings hang above the fire place you will find our other tree, the family Christmas tree. It is a real tree. It's a little too fat at the top and it does not come to a point as a Christmas tree should. The branches are irregular taking away from the tapered shape that a Christmas tree should have. There are gaps were branches should be, and it has already begun to sprinkle the floor with needles. There are places where the lights are a little too sparce in places but those are offset by the spots with excessive lights. All in all it has many flaws.

There are no color coordinated ornaments, nor is there a theme to this tree. Instead it is covered with handmade ornaments, each proudly made by a child's tiny hands. There are store bought ornaments each with a story behind them. There are ornaments that were gifts, some from Grandparents, some from good friends, some from squadrons marking periods of our lives. The ornaments span the years from 1983 to 2008; 25 years, two families, eleven lives, and countless memories. Many ornaments are missing arms, chipped or have the colors worn thin from the years. But they are all beautiful in their imperfection and for the memories that each one holds.

I'm sitting in the family room, the kids now fast asleep in their rooms and the tree stands before me. It is silent yet it seems to want to speak to me. It stands proudly before me; almost as if it is honored to have given its life to hold such special decorations from its branches. Hours ago six children dug through boxes of ornaments, excited to renew a tradition, and recount the stories of each ornament they pick up. In that moment I witnessed two families becoming one. Ginger and I exchanged glances, both realizing the significance of this moment, both feeling its sadness and the joy that were intertwined in the moment. We sneak off to hold each other, in an attempt to help with a pain that has no remedy. Sometimes it is just going to hurt and nothing can spare you from that. Strangely no joy can erase the pain, it only makes it bearable. They are the opposite emotions; one brings a smile, one a gut wrenching pain.

Tonight we hung an ornament of a mom a dad and two little boys and it represented Troy, Ginger, Boston and Greyson. We also hung pink ribbons and Angles with "Hope" written on their wings. We hung an F-16 and an F-15. We hung a red bulb, with "Andrea 2007" written on it. It was one of Andrea's last ornaments, a Christmas gift from her friends last year. One she never opened, yet it hangs tonight on the center of the tree, the shinny red bulb reflects the white lights of the tree. There is a wooden bell with a camel on it. It is not particicualy pretty but it is treasured above all of the others' belonging to Ginger. Troy mailed it to her from Iraq and she received it just days after his accident. If you took the time to look closely you would see Troy and Ginger's first Christmas ornament. You would see Willow tree angels for hope and healing. Snowman ornaments from Alaska and wooden shoes from Holland. Lots of princesses, Popsicle reindeer and paper angels poorly colored to perfection. You would see a football, a soccer ball and a basketball, a hockey player and several airplanes. You would see a British flag, a Texas A&M and a Texas Tech ornament. There are light houses from North Carolina, bells from Italy, and a shoe from Turkey. It is a hodgepodge of ornaments and it is beautiful to me.

Adding to the imperfection and to its beauty, the bottom branches are overweighted with ornaments, defining the reach of three little girls. Yes there are branches with two ornaments hanging in the same spot, and yes there are places where there are no ornaments at all, but there was never more meaning in the imperfection of a tree.

I think this tree represents us, an imperfect family brought together in the worst of circumstances. We do what we can as we all forge on through new territory. At times we do not understand why we were brought together. But at times, and sometimes in the same moment, we see the blessing of our meeting. Though totally unfamiliar to us, we make our way, surely making many mistakes along the way. We try not to hide our imperfections as if to give the impression that bringing two families together is a cake walk. And if you took the time to look closely at us, you might see the beauty of those imperfections. It lies past the courtesy "Hello" or "Doing good" response. It lies past the smile that may be hiding a tough day. I think our lives are sometimes much like our two trees in our home. When you first enter or meet someone you are presented the artificial tree, without defect, or if it has one it may be purposely chosen and revealed to divert attention from any real problems. But if you can look past or go beyond the artificial tree you will see the real tree. It will have imperfections but if you give it a little time and look close enough you will see the true beauty that lies in its imperfections. Both the victories and the tragedies; they have all formed who we are. When yielded those imperfections will reveal the true beauty and what you see will be Christ. For He takes our weakness to demonstrate His strength and uses our imperfections to show His deity. Our prayer is that you see Christ though our lives and that when you read faith or strength in our words that you know it is not us but Christ in us. Through this blog we have tried to show you our tree with its imperfections, our victories, our struggles and our defeats. In doing so we want you to know that alone we do not have the strength to win any battle nor overcome our losses. Life quickly taught both Ginger and I how easily life came overwhelm us. But it also taught us how deep, how wide, and how tall the love God has for us. Our prayer is you need not face such extreme pain to realize the God's loves you no less.

By the way if you look really really close at our tree you will see in the center, next to the trunk hangs a nail. It was given to Ginger at the Womans Bible Study this week and it is a reminder to us all that it is Christ's birth we are celebrating. It was His hands and feet that were nailed to the tree that gave us our greatest gift, eternal life with our Creator.

Merry Christmas...imperfections and all,

Jim

What's in Your Thankful Jar?

Jim reading to the boys

I took this picture because I wanted to keep this memory fresh in my mind. Jim reads to the boys most every night before bed. It is the same series of books that he read to Nic and Anthony. He saved them never knowing he would have two more sons someday to read them to.

It has been strange starting over here in San Antonio with not many folks knowing my story. I find myself almost not knowing where to start when I meet someone new. I saw a CD entitled "Trying to Fit the Ocean in a Teacup"; that about sums it up perfectly! Though it is extremely important to me, I haven't had much time to give to developing new friendships. However, last week, I was spending a little time with a new friend from church. I had previously told her a brief version of my life with Troy, losing him and my new life with Jim, as well as his life with Andrea. She began reading our blog, which does help cover alot of our history but still is only a window into who we are. She said someone had told her about my interview with Bill O'Reilly on The O'Reilly Factor and she wanted to know more about it. I still feel so honored that he gave me an opportunity to speak out about the American media's neglectful and negative reports on the war and warriors in Iraq. I smiled inside, today, as I drank coffee from my "No Spin Zone" mug. (More about that mug later).

Telling a new person about God's faithfulness jump started this holiday season for me. I realized not too long ago that the 2 year anniversary of Troy's death would fall exactly on Thanksgiving Day, November 27th, this year. We will share the day with Troy's family, which I thought was so appropriate for the very inappropriate coincidence of sadness and celebration that day. Yet when I look deeper, past the obvious pain, I see the Lord revealing His will for me, actually for all of us; to always give thanks, no matter what.

Jim had a nice idea, which was echoed by my MOPS group last week, to keep a thankful jar in your house. It contains slips of blank paper and pens for each family member to jot down something God did for them that day or week. And in reading them at a later date or when facing difficulties, one can remember God's faithfulness, answered prayers and blessings. How quickly we all forget! I also heard a neat idea to take a Sharpie pen and write on artificial fall leaves all the things you have to be thankful for and spread them out on the table before serving Thanksgiving dinner. Decorative AND Praiseworthy! I liked that idea. As we explained what our thankful jar's purpose was to the kids last week, we discussed the importance of being thankful to the Lord. We OWE it to a loving God, even when He doesn't appear to be loving. He has given us eternal life and this is the least we can do.

Hebrews 12:28

"Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful and so worship God acceptably, with reverance and awe."

We know too well that this world can be shaken. Our lives can be turned upside down in the blink of an eye. One knock on the door, one doctor's report, one phone call, one wrong move on the freeway... can change the entire course of the rest of your life.

The last time I rode a rollercoaster, I thought my teeth were going to be rattled out of my head. Every muscle in my body was tense as I gripped the handle rail through the rough twists, turns and flips. I got off the ride and wondered at what point I had gotten too old to ride rollercoasters. I didn't remember them knocking me around or shaking me up so badly when I was young. Maybe I was just too naive to know what could have gone wrong.

Once tragedy strikes your home or your heart, all naivetity is gone. You know you can be shaken so you had better hang on tight. Thankfully the Lord hangs onto us so even when our grip weakens we don't fall out of our seats.

Each day after Troy died, no matter how mad at God I was, I tried to always tell him something I was thankful for. I won't reiterate here what I wrote in my last blog, "Cocoons", but suffice to say I was always thankful for the people God put in my life throught it all. I remember on Day 5 when it was confirmed that it was Troy's DNA at the crash site and his status went from "Duty Status Whereabouts Unknown" (MIA) to "Killed in Action" I thanked the Lord. I did not thank him that Troy had died. I did not thank Him that evil and twisted terrorists had stolen his earthly body from the crash site. But I thanked Him, profusely, that I did not have wonder if he had been taken alive or was being held prisoner somewhere in that forsaken country. Insurance was able to release the money to us. We had closure. We had devastating closure but we had closure that some never get.

I dissected this below scripture in Thessalonians about thankfulness because I needed to understand what God was asking me to do, in my nightmare, with regards to thankfulness. Was He asking me to be thankful that He had taken Troy? Well, I simply couldn't do that. But was I disobeying God by not thanking Him?

I Thessalonians 5:16-18

"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."

I looked this verse up in many different translations and not one of them said I had to be thankful FOR all circumstances, just to be thankful IN all circumstances. As Jim and I were talking to the kids about our thankful jar, we talked about this scripture and encouraged them to do this so they would not grow bitter but better by life's disappointments. And so they would always attribute God as the One giving them goodness and not attribute it to themselves.

Hebrews 1:16-17

"Do not be deceived, my dear brothers. Every good and poerfect gift is from above, coming down fromt he Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows."

Philippians 1:6

"...being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."

These scriptures tell us that every good thing comes from our Father AND that He is doing good in us and for us from our birth to our death. Circumstances are misleading. Good to God is not necessarily good to us and vice versa. But if we hold onto, even when we are shaken, His truth that He is working out the good, even in the bad, then we can work through the pain and have hope. Did I do this every second of the day? No. One night when I was really questioning God's goodness to me, plans for me and was struggling to find anything to be thankful for, I received this forward of a forward email. (Thank you Terri and Jennifer!) It spoke loudly yet gently to me in my distress. It was written by a total stranger struggling in his own trials:

"I won't, by the strength of God, give up on all I believe, nor get mad because I don't understand why. God is still God no matter how these events transpire. Circumstances do not define my faith or my God. God is unchanging. His is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. Being a Christian does not mean we are given a guarantee of a trial free life or pain free life. In contrast it means we will face trials and pain. Our guarantee is He will never leave us nor forsake us. We do not face trials alone. And through our faith we glorify our Creator and our Savior who gave us another guarantee; that we will live for eternity with Him. So as we get ever closer to the edge of this furnace and as we begin to feel the heat from the fire, we know the flames do not control our destiny. And we rest under the shadow of the Almighty."

That stranger was Jim. That email was written in January 2007, when Andrea was barely hanging onto life in the ICU the first time she went in. Though their trial was entirely different than mine, I knew this couple were still being thankful and faithful to the God we all served.

Jim and I told our children that thankfulness to God will be the biggest testimony we have as a family. I hope it has already begun.

Back to the beginning of this blog when I was telling my new friend about my time on the O'Reilly Factor, I loved telling her the rest of the story. About how, when they asked me to be on the show, I had boldly asked the producer if there was anyway I could get a book or coffee mug from the show. He said yes and I was so touched when not very many weeks after I received not only a mug and an autographed book but an entire boxful of O'Reilly paraphanalia! How great of them to remember me. My friend was touched to hear the rest of the story that she didn't watch on TV. I then told her about that the night after I was on the show, someone emailed Bill O'Reilly and told him there had been a fund established for my children. He showed the email on TV and posted the fund info on The O'Reilly Factor website. I never knew what became of it but felt awfully thankful that people watched and were touched that I spoke out against the anti-war media movement though I had lost so much in the war itself. When I was moving from Phoenix, I stopped by the bank to close out the activity and was surprised to see that the account for the kids had grown by thousands specifically from that 10 minutes I was on the show. Isn't that what God does? We ask for a coffee mug and He gives us a bank account.

I cleaned out yet another straggling box the other day and it was full of cards from strangers, sticky notes and scraps of paper with phone numbers of people helping or praying and pages of scriptures that folks jotted down for encouragement. All of this and so much more gave me reasons to be thankful each and every single day when I couldn't see the sun shining.

Which brings me back to the photo of Jim and the boys reading. Troy loved his kids. He was a great father. He patiently instucted loving wisdom to our children. He loved spending time with them over anything else. And I often said I never would have considered having so many children if it hadn't been that I knew I had the guarantee of him being such a super dad. Turned out that guarantee I had just didn't last a lifetime. Losing not just a father, but the kind of father he was, made his loss that much more crushing for all of us. I knew God could return this blessing again but to be honest, I doubted I would get that twice in a lifetime. I prayed for it and I found God gave it back to me in Jim. I learned I can entrust not only myself, but my children to God's hands and God's plans. He does it all so much better than I could have. He made Jim the kind of father that the children need. He views his second chance at fatherhood, not as duty but as blessing. He loves reading to the boys as much as they love listening to him. Could I look at them and see them as boys who lost everything- their father, their best friend, their mentor, their role model? Sure. Should I instead rejoice with thankfulness and a bit of awe that the Lord gave my sons many incredible male role models through family and friends over the last two years? And that though they have been through unimaginable trauma at early ages, they are whole, healthy, loving and kind young men? Yes. Do I see the miracle that Jim CHOSE to be their father when he had no genetic obligation? Most assuredly yes. For all those things and more I choose thankfulness.

As I mentioned above that I was forwarded Jim's helpful email that night by Jim's friend, Terri, to my friend, Jennifer, and then on to me, I didn't mention that I got to finally meet Terri today! She was an instrument God used not just in my meeting Jim, but in teaching a grieving widow that her God is universally still holding us in the palm of His hand from other runners in an unexpectedly painful race, Jim and Andrea. Terri and her husband are in town from Wichita Falls for the weekend and stopped by so we could meet. Out of the blue, she mentioned the subject of thankfulness. Jim and I had heard about a military family in Wichita Falls losing their one-year old little girl when she crawled through the doggie door and drowned in their own swimming pool. Terri spoke to the little girl's 10 year old big sister at church only the day after the funeral. Terri reads the Bible stories to the elementary kids and helps them with the application. That Sunday's lesson was on the ten lepers being healed yet only one thanked God. The little girl told her that she had something to be thankful for. Terri, like all of us, could not imagine what it could be after such an awful event. The girl said her little sister loved being held and now she was being held all the time by Jesus. And for that she was thankful. I couldn't help but think that she must have heard that from her parents. They are teaching her the very important lesson of gratefulness even when we hurt. That is the best story I have heard of being thankful IN all things.

Thirty people accepted Christ as their personal Savior during Troy's memorial service. I wanted to be sitting in anyone else's seat, other than my own, that sunny morning in early December during his service. Yet, I was thankful that so many would now spend eternity with the Lord. Indeed, it is a new way of looking at life. It's easy to be thankful when all is well in our world. Much more of a challenge when the bottom falls out.

I refer to David, who was called a man after God's own heart, often because he was always seeking relationship with the Lord even when He didn't understand Him. David was just a gut-level-honest-with-God kinda guy. David had many victories and many defeats. He was the king yet, at times, he was as low as a man could be. David was often pursued by his enemies. He didn't always feel God's favor or presence. I really like what he wrote in Psalm 71. Here are some excerpts:

Psalm 71:5

"For you have been my hope, O Sovereign Lord, my confidence since my youth. From birth I have relied on you; you brought me forth from my mother's womb. I will ever praise you."

verse 10-11

"For my enemies speak against me; those who wait to kill me conspire together. They say, 'God has forsaken him; pursue him and seize him, for no one will rescue him'. "

verse 14

"But as for me, I will always have hope; I will praise you more and more."

verse 20

"Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter, you will restore my life again; from the depths of the earth you will again bring me up."

Casting Crowns sings a beautiful song titled "Who Am I?". It speaks of our humbleness compared to God's greatness.

"I am a flower quickly fading, Here today and gone tomorrow, A wave tossed in the ocean, A vapor in the wind. Still you hear me when I'm calling, Lord, you catch me when I'm falling, And you've told me who I am. I am yours. Not because of who I am, But because of what you've done. Not because of what I've done, But because of who you are."

What an awesome song that reminds me that the Lord of the Universe knows my name and listens when I call. That is always something to be thankful for.

Blessings and Family

I (Jim) started this blog last week while sitting and relaxing on Veterans Day and I'm finishing it the following week while I watch Boston play soccer. Okay it is a little cold and I forgot a jacket so I'm watching from the car, but I'm in the front row with a good view of the field.

Ginger and I have made it to the fall and every day we fall more in love and grow closer as a family. It was a crazy summer and looking back I wonder if we realized all we had done? We spent 5 months traveling back and forth between Phoenix and San Antonio, followed by the wedding in May, the drive to San Antonio, buying our home. I moved off base and Ginger moved from Phoenix. We unpacked and set up the house in 3 weeks (no small feat) then sent Boston and Greyson to camp. I took Nic and Anthony to Alaska. We planned and set up a second wedding in San Antonio, went on a honeymoon (this was the easiest part), started the kids in a new school, searched for a church home, oh and did I mention we had construction at the house from May till September? Amidst all this. life continues to become "ours" and God has done some amazing miracles right before our eyes. Some of them have come in the form of what is missing as much as what we have been given.

As Ginger and I laid in each other’s arms watching the movie, "Dan in,Real Life", about a man who lost his wife and meets someone else and remarries. (Not the comedy I thought it was going to be, but Ginger had warned me when we were dating to not watch it alone...good advice.) But it made me think of all I have been spared of. All the struggles of being a single Dad in the Air Force. Who would have been there to help with Anthony when I travelled? The nights of utter loneliness? The hopelessness? The thought of trying to "Find" someone else. Dating!! I had only dated once and that was Andrea 27 years ago. It would have been daunting and overwhelming and my life would be void of joy as I lived an isolated life in San Antonio. As I sat there seeing God's hand in my life by what did not happen I could not help but look at Ginger and see God's provision in what I did have. I held Ginger, ran my finger though her hair and she looked up at me with the loving eyes and smiled. I was home, I was complete and I realized I am a blessed man. It made me realize God had blessed me in many ways I had not usually thought about. It was only when I thought of the things that had not happened or I did not face that I began to see God's hand in the things I had been spared from.

As I continue to reflect on the events of the past year I see the obvious tragedies and the obvious blessings in our lives. But when I look a little deeper I see the absence of events as blessings too. We have become a family in a way that could only be the result of God's hand and the answer to countless prayers prayed for all of us. Prayers that may have been prayed over the last 2-4 years but are being answered now. It is as if we are reaping what so many have sowed. Thank you all who have prayed for this family. I love being the father of a big family. Don't get me wrong it is hard work and 6 kids keeps you busy, but there are times like last night that make it all worth it. Ginger and I were in out room with the twins watching "The Wizard of Oz." Ginger with Aspen in her lap and Annalise lying on the sofa with me resting her head on my arm. There was a peace in our home and I don't just mean quietness, but a spiritual peace.

It hit me as I held Annalise in my arms and felt her comforted in me. We were a family. I was telling a good friend earlier this week how humbling it is to hear the girls holler "Daddy" when I walk in the door. There is not a day or a time I hear that that I don't think of Troy; those were supposed to be his words. It was to be his joy in hearing those girls and seeing them run to him. I think of it when I look into Ginger's eyes and feel the depth of love I thought I would never experience again in my life. But all this keeps me humble knowing I am standing in for not just another man, but a great dad, father and husband. But God's plan did not stop there. Our family is far more than the 9 of us. His plan included a bigger concept of family.

Today as I drove Boston to his soccer game at 7:15 am! We talked about Troy and Andrea and the amazing people they were. But then we talked about the miracle that Troy's and Andrea's families are both from Wichita Falls. That also combined with Ginger's parents and Andrea and I all moving to Texas in the same year. What are the odds we would all be so close at that exact time? I believe the odds were 100% because it was God's plan. Because of these seemingly small events, our families are even more intertwined. It allows us to drive home for Thanksgiving and be with Troy's family on the two year anniversary of his death, (which happens to be Thanksgiving Day.) It allows Ginger's Mom and Dad to visit every month to help us with the kids. But most of all it allows grandparents to continue to be an integral part of the kids life. It allows for us all to be an even bigger family. God took what appeared to be the shattering of families and put the pieces together in an even more beautiful mosaic then any of us could have ever have imagined. Isn't it God's way to reveal Himself in what man sees as disaster? Like I told Boston today, God did not leave us even when it seemed He had. He can't leave us. It is not His nature or His character and He cannot change. He seeks us always and His words are true; He will never leave us or forsake us.

I have no idea what any of you are struggling with today, but I know we all have issues we struggle with. My lesson from this past week is first don't forget to stop and see what God is protecting us from. Sometimes it is hard to see or understand what God does for us in the events that never happen, but they can be blessings just as much as anything you receive. Then maybe, like it did for me, it will allow you to reflect on the many things God has given you. And don't forget to look in the smallest of places, like a little girl resting in your arms, a loving look from your wife, or just that moment of peace in your house in an otherwise chaotic day.

Cocoons

Here is a micro science fact for you: in the insect world eggs hatch then become larvae, then pupae, then adults. Funny to calls insects adults but that's what they are after they go through their developing stages. Many insects spin themselves into cocoons to protect them during their maturation process. (My friends are freaking out at this point and wondering what's with all this science talk and where has their friend who has coordinating earrings for every outfit gone?!) No fear. That is pretty much all I know.... Oh and it's me, Ginger, writing this one. I guess the earring comment gave that one away. Anyway, we are all most familiar though with the ugly caterpillar who, after spending time in its' cocoon, emerges as a beautiful butterfly. I think most girls hang onto this natural phenomenon in their awkward teenage years. Hoping, they too, will emerge a lovely creature after all the developing is over. That wasn't just me, right?!

In anything you read about the compostion of cocoons, they are referred to as being made of silk or silken threads. Those little guys spin the thread from their own bodies and I even read that the Monarch butterfly eats milkweed (I am not exactly sure what that is - okay this non-science girl only will go so far in her research) and the silk it spins is green and gold! I love how God doesn't make everything ordinary, don't you? The little caterpillars will first attach themselves to a branch, twig, leaf, stone or even a windowsill and then get busy spinning. Some other insects dangling by a thread to its branch but not butterflies. They want a stable environment for their protection and growth.

I can't help but see the obvious comparison to what God does for us. When we are in our most vulnerable stages of life, He often wraps us in our own cocoons. Cocoons made from precious silk The Maker spins from His own hand. Phoenix was our cocoon. It was so obvious to me the second I stepped back into my old life there just a couple of weeks ago. After Troy died and people asked me where would be moving, my answer was always that God had made us a nest for us there and I wasn't going to leave it until He told me to. I loved that nest analogy because it reminded me of the Lord God Himself being the mother bird and we, the kids and I, as His babies were being housed, protected and fed there. This is one of my very favorite scriptures in all of the Word of God:

Psalm 91:4

"He will cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you will find refuge; His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart."

Rampart means fortification. I think of the high-walled cities up on the top of those hills in the Italian countryside. God's faithfulness and steadfastness (as opposed to our flakiness) is our fortification; protection when the storms come and the enemy presses in.

Actually, that nest in Phoenix was in existence even well before Troy deployed. I remember he and I used to marvel at the amazing sense of community we felt there that we had never felt before at any assignment. Our group of friends there were not only the kind to lend you a cup of sugar but they would go to the store and buy you sugar so you would be sure and have it for next time. They would happily take a crying baby from your tired arms and not just hold for awhile but take it home with them so you could really have so peace and rest. Troy and I were bracing ourselves for what would have been our move to Kansas in the summer of '07 because we knew how hard it would be to find that again.

I think we were mistaken on that point, though, because we weren't the ones to have "found" it in the first place. God made the nest and He knew I would need it when the sky fell on that November 27th morning. Like that baby bird trying out its new wings on the branch above, when the world turned upside down, that baby bird just plopped right back down into its' nest. Many marveled at my nest in the days after Troy's death. I am not that great of person to have warranted so much love and support. It could have only been given by the hand of God.

But what was once our nest as a family there quickly evolved into a more tight-knit intimate protective covering, a cocoon, for the kids and I. I knew it was happening because I felt safe during the most insecure and uncertain time of my life. Everyday (and I mean EVERYDAY) there was someone at my house either helping us or loving on us in some way. There was not a need the kids and I had that went unmet.

A few months after Troy died, the kids and I left our house full of so many bittersweet memories, and moved a few miles down the road into a bigger house. I only got one last move with the military and did not want to use it to move that short distance away. Friends from church and the base came by everyday all day to help pack. Actually, come to think of it, they did most all of the packing because I was either busy falling apart, still trying to take care of the massive amounts of paperwork associated with and KIA death overseas and digging my way outof the months of neglecting bills, homework and to-do lists. But packing was just a part of it. On moving day I was a mess. I knew my pilot friends were coordinating the move but honestly I just wanted to stay in bed and pray that I would wake up from the nightmare so I wouldn't have to deal with what "moving on" meant or what was actually happening. Every military wife knows what goes into PCS'ing (permanent change of station - which is an oxymoron because in the military NOTHING is permanent) a large family. I did not know how to PCS on my own. Troy had always taken care of everything. And now I didn't even know whether we would be living in this different house for 3 months or 3 years. My head spun. I woke up on that Saturday morning to see TWO U-Hauls, SIX flatbed trailers and FIFTY fighter pilots loading and moving all my crap. Can I say that on a Christian blogsite?! Well, my close friends know I have alot of crap! Some of it is really nice but when you are schlepping it up and down two flights of stairs or trying to find some place to put it that is the best noun for it. I found pilots and their wives and my friends unpacking dishes, setting up kitchens and bathrooms, making beds ready for seven people to sleep in. My friend, Sally, made lunch for everyone. It was more than I could take when I saw all of those guys giving up their Saturday for a woman many of them didn't personally know. I was humbled by the brotherhood these guys showed to Troy.

Though I was rendered almost immobilized at times with grief, after the move I fell back on the thing that came naturally and was a little thearaputic: decorating my house. Gary, Lin, Greg and many other men would show up with a hammer and let me abuse them for hours hanging window treatments, artwork and building Pottery Barn kids furniture with poor directions and not enough screws! They all will never know how this ministered to my bleeding heart and wounded soul. I needed to be in control of what my environment looked like (even more than usual!) because it was the only thing I could control at the time.

The list of people and the tasks they performed for me, like Carey setting up "Team Ginger" (girls who would rotate in shifts of two during the week to help out) or the meals that poured in for 5 straight months. Sniper (he sounds scary but he's a big teddy bear), Robb and Coop taking care of everything from my sprinkler system to my finances and everything in between. The squadron that bought and wrapped all our Christmas presents so the kids would have something normal that first Christmas. Girlfriends that came over to hold crying babies or hold a crying widow at the expense of time with their own families. Aunt Faye, who no matter how her cancer or MS were affecting her that day showed up with a smile, a hug and a heart to do our laundry. The Engram Family adopted us and took us in as their own. Some of the memories I will hold closely to my heart were our every-Sunday-after-church roast and potatoes lunch at Pastor Don and Sharon's or the too-many-to-count dinners at Pastor Steve and Tami's. I often sat at their big dining tables crushed in spirit and unable to eat much but those hours spent with that family were like oxygen breathed into my tired lungs. Becky and Jess, two godly and amazing young women that chose to work for me as nannies yet made it so much more than a mere job. They invested in us and poured their lives into my five children. My thankful list would exceed the number of words this blog would hold. When I gave my testimony there at the church a couple of weeks ago, I asked everyone who had ever helped us during the last two years, whether it was a meal made or the great act of prayer on our behalf, to stand up. I am not kidding, 95% of that congregation stood up. And I think that remaining 5% must have been first-time visitors that Sunday. When I asked Boston what he thought of the tribute to his dad he commented on all the people that stood up. I hope my kids will carry that mental picture with them and if seeds of bitterness ever try to take root in their lives they will stop and remember to be thankful for those people God sent to help us. I won't even begin to mention my parents and Amy and all my other friends and family that flew in to be there for us. The hands and feet of God. Literally the Body of Christ at work. Each time something was done for us or given to us was another silken thread the Master Weaver used.

I will be honest with you. (Do I do anything but that?! ha). It had to be the Lord obviously putting Jim in my life and me knowing that was His will for us that could have made me leave my cocoon there. Though my life is exactly where it is supposed to be and we have a wholeness again with another great husband and father, Jim, it hasn't been easy living outside of the cocoon. Being back in Phoenix and with those people felt comfortable and safe. It was effortless to slip back into our old life there. The kids are so at home there and miss their friends so much. Our church home was a place we could honestly call a home. We were taught and fed and loved and grew there. I can't help but question why can't we have our miraculous life with Jim AND that blanket of external security?

But when I look at through the perspective of an actual cocoon's purpose it makes a little more sense. That time there was my time of covering and healing and growing stronger again. When Jim is at work or gone I hear the silence (okay not literal silence I do have six children!) of a home empty of close-knit friendships and the buzz of friends coming and going day and night. I am a people person and this has been a stretch for me to be so much more withdrawn from people than I ever have. Jim and I are still building the foundation of our new family and that doesn't allow for alot of extra time to make friends or entertain. I do understand this season is for that. Besides the couple of friends we already knew here we are beginning to connect. I know it does take time. And as my other widow friend, Carole, said after she got remarried and moved, "Now, Ginger, we have to go back to making friends slowly." Tragedy definitely sends friendships into hyper-growth mode. We are always so frightened for whatever horrible thing might happen but I can tell you that when it did, for us, we watched the depth of our relationships plunge even deeper to a place I didn't know existed. As I reflect back on my time in Phoenix and among that sea of loved ones, I couldn't help but think that must be a smidgen what heaven's community of Believers must be like.

Now the Lord wants me to go back to solely leaning on Him and serving my new husband and children. I had my time in the cocoon and now I am spreading my wings and allowing the Holy Spirit to carry me in the direction I should be flying. Leaving the nest so to speak.

I feel certain the Lord's main agenda for me doesn't include me always being comfortable. He does call me to be content. There is a difference. We look at Paul's words here:

Philippians 4:12

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.

He wants us to grow into adults and leave the cocoon. And though He gives us the physical help for a period of time, where we gain on strength for the journey and the stamina for the race can only come from Christ.

Jim and I and another couple just started the Bible Study, Seeking Him by Nancy Leigh DeMoss. Just today we looked at a chapter entitled "Returning to our First Love". This study's emphasis is on Christians returning whole-heartedly to God in a revival. Not the kind in the tent but the kind in the soul. This passage struck a cord with me: "God wants us to love Him first and foremost. When we find ourselves trusting in people instead of the Lord, this indicates our hearts focus has shifted from Him. Love for people- friends, family members or even ourselves- can compete with our love for Him."

Jeremiah 17:5

"Cursed is the one who trusts in man, who depends on flesh for his strength and whose heart turns away from the Lord."

Easy to read. Easy to say. Hard to do. Man will disappoint us. Man will desert us. Man will die on us. Man will not deliver us from the pit. Only God will.

Psalm 40:2

"He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand."

That's what my shaky legs needed. A firm place to stand. That place was literally in the deserts of Arizona and in the people He chose that accepted the call to help us in our time of great need. But really, if I dig a little deeper, I see that Christ was the real solid ground I stood on. If it wasn't for Him, there wouldn't have been a them. God Bless you all my Phoenix family!

Tears

I (Ginger) have been thinking on this blog for weeks now. There are so many places I want to go with it that I fear I may take you on a long ride of rabbit trails but I will try to stay focused and record my thoughts in an organized manner. If you were in my head right now you would be dizzy!

Lately I have become obsessed with tear production. Rather the lack of. Seems a huge side effect of PRK and Lasik surgery are dry eyes during the healing period. I have never experienced anything like it. Totally miserable during the first weeks of recovery and now, into my fifth week, it is less of a problem but definitely an issue. It is explained that during surgery the corneal nerves that regulate tear production are "disrupted". I have found that most scientific descriptions of post PRK surgeries sugar-coat the horrors that surround it. This "disruption" in tear production has given me not one night's good sleep in over a month, the constant feeling like I have been standing in front of a wind tunnel with my eyes propped open with toothpicks and all-around general misery. They say that in 6 months all signs of dry eye should disappear. You don't know how much I pray they are right. In the meantime, I am doing everything I can to help the situation. The doctor even plugged up a set of my drainage tear ducts (with some tweezers and a teensy wad of stuff that looked like blue silly putty!) to try to help my eyes hang onto their dimished tear supply. I also supplement my lack of natural tears with artificial ones. Did you know there are 28 different kinds of artificial tears on the market?! This is one area of the beauty aisle I didn't even know existed. Yet now, I am a frequent customer, in search of the one that more perfectly mimics my own. I haven't found one. Seems only God can do that. Naturally, our tears contain three different types that constantly all need to be produced and working in harmony. I am now thoroughly conviced that this is a very important bodily function we should never take for granted.

Jim and I had both read, in different places, that studies had been done on the varied chemical compositions of tears and that ones shed from grief have a different composition than those shed from physical pain or joy. Biochemically, tears of grief release toxins that have built up during emotional stress and release physiological, psychological and spiritual healing. It said it perfectly in one article I read; tears are God's gift to humanity to process the hurt of a painful world. So true, I agree.

When I heard the news of Troy's plane crash it was like a faucet in my eyes was turned on. It didn't shut off for months. I remember thinking one day, about 5 months afterwards, that I finally went through one whole day without crying. It scared me a little because I was so used to it. And though often I would cry so hard I felt like I would throw-up, I usually felt much better when I was finished.

Lamentations 5:17

"Our hearts are sick and weary and our eyes grow dim with tears."

I would cry so hard and for so long that first week that I recall my actual vision being blurry. At first I though it must be caused by my make-up but then I noticed it happened when I had none on. I think this is the dimness spoken of here. Lamentations literally means crying out to God. He created us and penned our stories and therefore must have known it wouldn't be long before we were crying out to Him. Thankfully, He gave me alot of shoulders here on earth to cry on, too. I cried in front of friends and strangers alike. I often made other people cry and there we would be, joined in the harmonious falling of tears. I know people who don't cry easily (Tami :)) and I don't think there is anything wrong with it unless someone feels too embarrassed, ashamed or proud to cry. I let my children see me cry. Not necessarily during the uncontrollable times, as I didn't want to scare them, but I definitely did not want to hide those healthy grief reactions from them. Boston fought the tear flow and still does. I almsot rejoiced on the rare occasions he would cry because I knew he needed to. I think he felt weak, maybe like he wasn't being the man of the house. Or maybe he knew if he cried then I would too. And a boy only wants to see his mama cry so much, you know? My friends and I often found piles of tissues in his bed so I rested in the fact that he might be crying himself to sleep. Seems strange to say I rested in that fact but I knew I felt better afterwards and I hoped for the same relief for him. I would start crying and for awhile there Bella would ask me, "mommy, why are you crying?" and my response was usually that I missed Daddy. Now everytime I cry she asks if I am missing Daddy in heaven? I actually hope my children remember their mother crying from a broken heart over losing their father. I hope they correlate the amount of tears to how much I love and miss him. There were many many nights when I, too, found myself sleeping with a pile of tissues.

Psalm 6:6

"I am worn out from sobbing all night, I flood my bed with weeping, drenching it with my tears."

David wrote this during his darker days. I can't even imagine how many more broken people between David's time and mine have done the same. One scripture that always comforted me, even when nothing comforted me, was this one:

Psalm 56:8

"You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in Your bottle. You have recorded each one in Your book."

I believe we wholeheartedly take the Bible as literal and I KNOW Jesus will show me that bottle of mine someday. I think His hands will lovingly open a beautiful journal with all the dates and times and reasons behind each tear I wept. I just believe that is the kind of God He is. He takes our grief and makes it valid and valuable. I believe Jesus, in His tender mercies, wept with me at times. I don't think He would have told us to mourn with those who mourn if He wasn't going to do it Himself.

Romans 12:15

"Rejoice with those who rejoice, mourn with those who mourn."

Music is always a surefire way to make me cry. In the last month Jim and I have been to both Third Day and Mercy Me concerts. If you have listened to any music on our playlist you will see that both groups seemed to minister to us in our grief and sorrow. Third Day's "Cry out to Jesus" is one we have mentioned before. Jim and I have openly cried on one another's shoulders since the day we met. There has been a special kind of healing that has taken place when we have been able to comfort the other or at least do what the Lord told us to do in the above Romans scripture. Simply mourn with someone who is mourning. Is it easy to do this when the one you are holding is crying over the one they powerfully loved long before you arrived in the picture? Absolutely not. But it is necessary for Jim and I to know that we don't have to always cry in solitude. Of course, we do that too.

I know men fear crying more than women. I have seen both my husbands cry and though I know they didn't necessarily like it, I am glad they were able to. I think the first time I saw my dad cry, at all, was when he and Mom put me on a plane to Lakenheath, England to join Troy for our first assignment. I am not sure I saw him cry again for the next eleven years. Then Troy died and I saw my dad weep. He teared up almost as often as my Mom did at times. He will never know how much that meant to me to see him be broken like that and hurt for me like that. In truth, I knew he hurt for himself badly, as well. My dad adored Troy and lost not only a son-in-law but a dear friend. I am thankful that I now see my dad be more emotional than I did growing up. Men will be their strongest in Christ when they surrender their pride and allow weakness to creep in a bit.

II Corinthians 12: 9-10

"But He (God) said to me (Paul), 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.'"

Kind of nontraditional for a wedding invite, we know, (we have a nontraditional marriage afterall) but we put this scripture below on our inviation:

Psalm 126:5

"For those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy!"

We sowed plenty of tears and were more than happy to reap some joy. The Lord did that for us. Planted a garden full of sadness, watered it with our tears and gave us a harvest of hope in Him, peace and purpose in our lives and the blessing of finding another spouse's arms to rest our weary souls.

Jim and I still cry over Troy and Andrea. And I know over the next couple of months as we both face our anniversaries of loss, we will, perhaps, cry even more. But I want to cling to these two scriptures so I won't cry without hope:

Isaiah 25:8

"He will swallow up death forever! The Sovereign Lord will wipe away all tears."

Revelation 21:9

"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."

Praise God it is not people passing away but death and pain passing away. We can ultimately rest in this truth and live, though grieving, with victory over the grave. I remember Pastor Steve telling me he felt like he had become more serious after his first wife, Pam's, death. Sadness will do this to a person. I see it in myself. Not the kind of devasting depression and dark pit that caused me to feel hopeless, but a thread of sadness or somberness that is continually woven into the fabric of my life. It often rears its head unexpectedly. Like tonight, for instance, as Texas Tech GLORIOUSLY defeated the University of Texas in an incredible football game tonight (I don't even like football and I was yelling at the television!), I felt that familiar "unkind companion", as Marlo refers to it, creep in. Troy and I went to school at Tech, went to football games and have many sweet memories of dating there. I recalled how in the January '07 bowl game each Tech player wore Troy's name on the back of their helmets. That is the kind of university it is. Those are the kind of memories I live with. Yet I live with them with the knowledge that this life is but a vapor. Our lives are a whisper in the wind in comparison to eternity. The pain will pass. Hopefully most of it in this lifetime but certainly He promised it will in the next.

And, yes, I cried while I wrote this blog.

The Countdown Begins

It was Friday Oct 26th and Andrea and I were at lunch. It was a beautiful Friday afternoon and we were excited for the weekend ahead. My brother Neil was getting married on Saturday and the family had begun traveling to Austin. We were all getting together for a family reunion which was going to end here in San Antonio with my pin on to Colonel on Monday afternoon. Andrea and I were busy planning the event when my brother called and told me our mom had a massive stroke and was in the hospital unresponsive. Immediately we began adjusting our plans, I cancelled my promotion ceremony and took a flight to Dallas early Saturday morning. Andrea stayed in town as some of our best friends; Mac and Lisa were in town visiting. We decided to go ahead with my brothers wedding on Saturday night, and I flew back to San Antonio just in time to change and drive Andrea to Austin for the wedding. It was as beautiful a night/wedding you could ask for under the circumstances.

Andrea and I at my brother Neil's wedding

On Monday we said goodbye to our friends and decided to drive to Dallas on Tuesday to see my mom who had been moved to hospice. We arrived around 10 and I think my mom passed away around 1. I remember the nurses telling us how it would happen and strangely it was going exactly as they predicted. I remember thinking how strange it was that they could be so precise. When she passed I felt as if I had lost my protection, our father had passed away in 1999 and suddenly all of us kids were on our own. As if we had all taken a step forward in life. Even though I was the youngest at age 46 in a different way we were the adults now. I felt a different burden of responsibility as a dad, and husband. I lost my Mom, who would I call for advice now? Who would reassure me when I doubted? She was one of the greats from the "Greatest Generation."

Andrea my brother Pete and his wife Genevieve

in Dallas after my Mom's funeral

Anthony and Andrea in Dallas

I remember seeing Andrea sitting with my Mom is the room. Hospice was our fear, the inevitable waiting to die, hospice was the end, when you are removed from those with "A chance." Like being separated from the herd to die. Andrea and I drove past the hospice in North Carolina on the way to her chemo treatments and I hated that. Most of the time I refused to even look at the sign as if I could avoid the possibility by not acknowledging its existence. So to see Andrea there, praying and holding my Mom's hand just told me again in another way what a special woman Andrea was. She showed no fear, but I'm sure it must have been difficult for her.

We returned to San Antonio on Wednesday as the family began preparing for our Mother's funeral. Andrea and I returned to Dallas on Friday for the funeral. Since I had to cancel my pin on ceremony, and I was wearing my uniform for the funeral, we decided to do it at the Church. So as the funeral home arrived with Mom, and as and I my brothers lined up to be her paw bearers, Andrea, my sister Maureen, and Anthony pinned on my Colonel rank. It was not what we had planned the Friday before. I was shocked how fast life had changed, how plans we thought assured were suddenly thrown aside. Our family reunion was not as we had planned.

My Pin on

The next two weeks were spent preparing for Thanksgiving and Nic's return from school in D.C. Also, The "Chemo Girls" came to visit Andrea. Tanya, Gina, Diane, and Karen had flown in to see Andrea. By now Andrea had begun to show signs of tiring, I think the past weeks were wearing on her. She was using a little more oxygen but still at times could get around the house without it. We enjoyed Thanksgiving as a family and Nic was preparing to head back to school on Saturday. I think it was on Friday that Andrea's two other friends, Leigh and Roz from the Chemo Girls came to visit. Andrea was definitely tired by now but when it came time to go out to dinner, she refused to just stay home. Andrea said, as she always did, "I will not let cancer dictate my life." And I guess it didn't, it did however dictate her death.

Thanksgiving Dinner, 2 days before Andrea went into ICU

Andrea and Nic Thanksgiving Weekend

Our last family photo

"The Chemo Girls"

Left to right Roz, Tanya, Karen, (a friend who I did not know) Gina and Diane

During the night and early morning on Sunday Andrea began having a lot of difficulty breathing to the point she could not get enough air to the point she asked me tom call an ambulance. Thus began Andrea' last 21 days. I will not recount the events of those days, they are already in this blog, as I wrote a day by day account of our time in the ICU. I think I will reread those blog entries each day as I recount those last days with the most amazing woman I had known. I wish I could convey to you the strength I saw in Andrea, or the courage she displayed, or the peace of God that was upon her. Those were days filled with frustration at doctors, sadness, fear, worry, and anxiety, but in the middle of it all was Andrea, smiling when she could, and always reassuring me it was okay. She gave me strength, and a peace. You could not help but be lifted up when you saw her. Even as she slept, she somehow encouraged me and those around her.

So this week begins the beginning of the end, and the last steps on Andrea's journey to healing. Each day of the next 48 days will be filled with special memories. Memories of Andrea, of friends and of God's amazing grace. Memories of kindness like Kathy visiting Andrea and massaging her hands and feet to help reduce the swelling. Memories of my office decorating our home with Christmas lights. Memories of the digital picture frame they bought and loaded with pictures from my computer. I held it up to Andrea and we watched photos of our life flash across the screen. With each picture I would remind Andrea of the moment. I can't help but think she knew this was the end, and watch her life go by. But she only smiled with each picture in her usual example of strength.

So as I enter this time of memories I can't help but remember Andrea's greatest example, her faith which never wavered. And as I think of what I have lost I think of all she has gained. She walked the walk of faith, she completed her race, and she is now rewarded for that. I have no doubt that Andrea did exactly what God asked of her. It was not what we wanted but it was a powerful lesson that God sometimes asks us to to things we may not want to do. He is after all Sovereign. Now Andrea is no longer tethered to an oxygen bottle, or a wheelchair. She is freed from the ICU bed, the hoses, IVs and medicines. She is healed, she has completed her journey to healing. One day I will see her again, and I'm sure next to her will be my Mom. Two women who made me who I am. I miss them both terribly.

Hospitality

The above plaque reads:

This Welcome Center is dedicated to the memory of Troy Gilbert, who was killed in action on November 27, 2006, while serving his country with the US Air Force in Iraq. Through his vision and perseverance this Welcome Center was established in 2005, and he was instrumental not only in its inception but also faithfully served here each Sunday morning welcoming visitors until his departure in September 2006. We are grateful for his selfless service and genuine care for others, and we will always remember Troy as a dedicated pilot, a loving husband and father and faithful follower of Jesus Christ.

"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers..." Hebrews 13:2

We just returned from our first visit back to Phoenix. As we landed I felt that familiar mix of joy and pain. That city was our home for four years. When we arrived there in the Spring of 2004 Troy and I embraced the ease of living back in the States after being overseas. We looked forward to a new assignment, meeting new friends and becoming first-time homeowners. We could have never imagined what lay ahead of us. I never considered the possibility that I would leave that Air Force assignment without my husband.

We were welcomed there this weekend with the warm and loving arms our precious Arizona "family". Our church, Desert Springs Community, celebrated its' 25th anniversary and we enjoyed being a part of it. The kids and I had the privilege of unveiling the new plaque which dedicated the church's Visitor Welcome Center after Troy. What a special honor to Troy, who poured his heart into creating that very Center. It might be our Southern roots or military moving mentality but Troy and I always felt it was extremely important for a church to be friendly. We felt God's people surely ought to exude a bit of warmth and if we didn't find it, we usually continued looking for another church. When we first stepped into the doors of Desert Springs, we instantly felt that genuine friendliness we sought. The Bible teaching was hearty and we soon joined. We wanted to contribute and become involved. We took it upon ourselves to seek out new faces, meet them, greet them and make them feel comfortable. We served this church in many areas but the mark I hope we (Troy mainly) left behind was that Welcome Center. Honestly, I wanted to just continue our initial method of smiling, hugging and handshaking with the folks at church. But Troy, liking more organization and purpose, came up with an official place people could visit to receive not only a friendly greeting but information and help. He wanted to not just tell new people where their Sunday school class was, he wanted to walk them there. I struggled with the big commitment of setting up and taking down the portable center. With so many little kids Sundays mornings were hectic already. But Troy had a vision for it and commitment to it and he promised he would help get kids ready, take them with him or do whatever needed to be done. And I am so glad he followed through with it. A woman I knew from church came up to this past Sunday after the anniversary service and told me Troy had helped her carry her child to the car and opened the door for her and how much that meant to her. I know he touched a lot of people in ways I never even realized.

Troy's gift of reaching out to others continued while he was deployed to Iraq. Ironically, he flew out of this city, San Antonio, with several doctors who were stationed here at the time. They spent days traveling to get to Iraq with many stops along the way. I think it gave them a chance to get to know each other. And it sparked a desire in Troy to go to the busy trauma hospital there in Balad and visit them. He began spending a lot of time there watching the doctors work on our wounded soldiers. And to my surprise on the enemy wounded as well. After watching his doctor friends patch up an Iraqi who had just been caught launching missiles and planting explosives, he wrote in an email to me,

"But that is the type of People, Country, Air Force and Army we are. That's what makes us different from them."

So true. Troy also volunteered there to help the doctors or just be with the patients. After he died, I received many emails from those doctors he worked with. Here are some of the things they wrote:

"Well, after that first visit, it became common to see Troy in the hospital. I never really asked him why he spent so much time at the hospital. I'm still not really sure why, but it was always nice to see him. He was so positive. Everyone liked to be around him. I was working in the ER the night the call came in that one of our pilots went down and the search and rescue teams were out. It really didn't even cross my mind that it could be Troy, but I found out the next day. I've never seen a group of doctors so depressed before. He touched so many people, myself included. Troy seemed to have a way of making everyone around him comfortable. He always seemed genuinely interested in what that person was saying at that specific moment. His faith was obvious in his conversation. Not pushy. But obvious. He was never negative, which was a true gift around the hospital. Things tend to get cynical here, but he always brought a positive vibe. He was just a good guy. A good man. I only knew him for a few months, but I guess the best way I can say it is that Troy is the man that many of us aspire to be. At Troy's memorial service I learned that he had this effect on everyone. I've never seen anything like it. Thanks for sharing him with us."

Troy showed some of the doctors around the aircraft on the flightline. Many had never seen anything like it before. They all commented on the specialness of the day Troy took them on a "field trip" to the Ops side of Balad AB. Another doctor wrote:

"Despite our very busy schedules we each spent time in each other's element and learned things that we've never seen before. Troy said that he not only enjoyed going to the hospital to visit with us but it was necessary for him to gain perspective on the war and on life in general. He was an extremely thoughtful and insightful man."

And yet another doctor wrote this to me:

"Several of the pilots, including Troy, have been volunteering at the AFTH (hospital). They're not afraid to work either. I've seen all of them holding injured babies, helping to stock, mopping floors and assisting with patient care (changing dressings, etc). They've earned my respect. "

This last one was from an email I received almost a year after Troy's death. It began:

"This is probably the 5th time I have tried to write a letter to you regarding your husband and my short but sweet friendship with him in Iraq... Another thing that impressed me was the way Troy made everyone feel significant and appreciated. As a Christian, I could tell he was living out the second greatest command of loving your neighbor, but he did it in a remarkable way. He introduced me to the guy who packed their gear, the guy who works on the plane, the guy who calls from the control tower, the guy who ran his office where all the pilots headquartered. In each instance, he relayed their importance, significance and the outstanding job they were doing. It was really amazing and in stark contrast to the way some other high ranking professionals treated others."

I remember after he died a friend of his telling me he just knew that Troy was welcoming newcomers to heaven. I am not sure of what he and the Lord are doing now but here on earth it was touching to see that beautiful bronze plaque with his photo and story on it. It will hang in the church in the permanent Welcome Center Troy never got to see.

I think my spiritual gift is hospitality too. But I am not certain that I have stretched myself as far as Troy did. Actually, I am pretty sure I haven't. I hope to, though. And I am thankful for the legacy of kindheartedness he has left behind.

Matthew 22:37-39

Jesus replied: " 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it:'Love your neighbor as yourself

Do we practice the true art of hospitality - loving our neighbor? What if that neighbor was our enemy? What if we get no response or acceptance when we reach out? One of those doctors wrote that he declined Troy's invitation to tour the flightline that day thinking there would be plenty of time to do it later and he says he wishes he hadn't. He said that was a lesson to him and now anytime he declines an invitation he really thinks about it first.

Romans 12:13

"Share with God's people who are in need. Practice hospitality

Missed Opportunity

Jim and I wanted to write this together. (Can you tell the twins have gone to spend a week with my parents? We are cranking out all the blogs we have been waiting to write!) I was telling him about this experience I had earlier in the week. I was in a store and saw a man come in. As you know my vision is still really blurry and I can't see details of people's faces from a distance. But the thought crossed my mind that maybe the man had been burned. The salesclerk told him his merchandise was in the back and that he would be receiving the military discount. As he walked to the counter and stood near me I got a better look at him. He was burned beyond recognition. I have never seen anyone with such severe burn damage. He had no hair, very tight discolored patchy skin and was missing most of the ear I could see. His physique was that of a young man. His arms and legs were also scarred badly. I stood there so saddened for him. For the man that he still very much was that was now hidden under layers of burned flesh. With the clerk"s comment about the military discount, my mind began racing that he must have been burned in the war. And my heart began beating faster knowing I should maybe ask him if his accident happened in the war and if so thank him for his service. I only had a matter of minutes and knew as he was paying my opportunity was slipping away. I feared if it wasn't from the war then maybe I would offend him. I didn't want to make him uncomfortable. Yet even as those thoughts ran through my mind, I remembered how I felt when I knew people avoided me and just didn't tell me how sorry they were that I had lost my husband. I remembered how much it meant when people told me or the kids that Troy's service to our country and ultimate sacrifice were greatly appreciated and would not be forgotten. And when I was in a crowd of strangers I thought, "Don't you see how badly I hurt? Would you just stop and hurt with me for minute so I know you care?" Yet my battle wounds were on the inside. My scars were invisible to the naked eye. And here was my chance to share God's love, possibly my own story of loss from the war or mainly just the privilege to show gratitude to one of our servicemen for the high price they pay everyday for my freedom. I KNOW all this and still let him walk out the door. I could tell the man had been in before so I asked the cashier if he knew if he was burned in the war and he said yes he was. I missed my opportunity. I got in the car and my eyes welled up with tears. I walked into that store thinking of nothing but the fire pit Jim and I wanted to put on our patio and left thinking of the fire that soldier must have been through. What he still must go through everyday, I cannot imagine. I thought of Troy and if he had come home as so many do, with physical, mental and emotional scars. That would have been so difficult as well. I prayed for that man as I drove all the way home. I prayed for him in the night when I awoke. I will continue to pray for the struggles he has. That part I won't regret like I do for not talking to him as the real hero he was. I told Jim about him the next day and he reminded me of the time he spent in Brooks Army Medical Center (BAMC) with Andrea. I will let him tell you in his own words.

When Andrea told me she needed to go to the emergency room I did not know where to take her, to BAMC which was closer or to Wilford Hall which was on the other side of San Antonio but it was where the Oncologists worked. Seeing as she could not breath I decided to take her to BAMC. As it turns out BAMC is the military burn center and treats most if not all victims from the war. During the 21 days that Andrea was in BAMC I saw many heroes and their families, mostly at the cafeteria eating lunch. My sister Maureen spent quite a few days with me at BAMC visiting Andrea and several times we would see this one solider and his wife at lunch. He was severally burned much like the man Ginger describes. His young wife was always by his side helping him eat. I will tell you it was difficult to understand what they were going through and I felt for them, even though I could not relate to task that lied before them. One day Maureen asked, "Do you think they would mind if we talked to them?" I said probably not especially since Maureen wanted to tell him thanks for his service. So we went over and sat down with them. Immediately you could see they appreciated someone talking to them and just treating them normally. I thought the man he was was still there. The young man who was so proud the day he finished basic training, or the night of his senior prom, or his wedding day. Inside he probably felt the same as the day before he was injured, the wounds hid from us his physical features but he was the same we just had to look past the scares. I think that is what they wanted, that is all Ginger wanted, it's probably what all of us want when we are hurting; to just be treated normal. I remember Andrea saying that when people would ask her how she wanted people to see her. "Just as a woman, mother and wife, not as a cancer patient." She did not want cancer to define who she was. Although once you loose your hair and put on a scarf cancer becomes your identity, much like I'm sure these men feel when they are burned. Much like we may feel when we look at ourselves in the mirror. Do we see our past failures, sins or mistakes. Failures and sins we feel cannot be forgiven? Mistakes we feel cannot be overcome? We seek someone to understand us and look beyond our sins and mistakes. That someone is Jesus, when He turns his eyes upon us he does not see our sins or who we are but who we will be in Christ. When you see someone who has physical scares or a scarf remember to take the time to look at them as the person they are inside and not the reflection of what you see on the outside. Remember we all carry around scares and most of them are internal and unseen. To others we appear "normal" or successful, maybe even happy, but inside there are deep scares. Those scares are easily hidden when our relationships are superficial, and stop at, "Hello how are you?" "Good and you?" It takes a little time and a little effort and a little empathy to look past the masks we wear and see the struggles we all have

The lesson God taught Ginger and I this week is to look at others as Christ sees us. Just as our friends did when they got past the uncomfortable feeling of approaching us and gave us support when we needed it. We need not fear saying the wrong thing or feeling foolish, just take the time to express love the way Christ command us.

Mark 12:30-32

Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.'The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment greater than these."

Layers

I (Jim) am sitting on our back porch on a rainy Monday, but it is a day off so that makes it a beautiful rainy morning. There is a slow soaking rain falling and I'm looking over our newly completed back yard. It is all Ginger and I had ever wanted in a home, we just paid a high price. I like to call it the house that Troy and Andrea built.

This weekend Ginger and I had my office over for dinner, it was our first "Event" as a couple. To most of the people there Ginger and I are all they have ever know as the "Ravellas". They are innocently unaware of who Troy or Andrea were. That was a little strange but it also felt normal, and that was nice.

I have always openly expressed myself in this blog, mostly because I want to have a record of this time in my life, but also because it helps me understand the thoughts I have and finally because I pray God will somehow use our words in a small way to help someone who may be struggling with similar issues or questions of faith. So as I begin to type what has been on my mind for a while I pray it is not misunderstood or taken in the wrong way. I say that because I have tried to understand these thoughts many times and I have yet to fully grasp what it means.

When Andrea died, that moment I stood up and looked at her body, it was immediately different, her spirit, what made her Andrea was gone. I remember looking at her body and that was all it was, just a shell. It was as if her personality was gone and I knew she was no longer there. It was a strange feeling because in an instant I did not know what to do. Minutes before I was fighting with her to live, now I was standing with my two boys wondering what do I do? As a parent you are always taking care of you kids, making decisions for them and preparing them for what happens, but in that moment I was as lost as they were. So I asked the nurse, "What do I do now?" Her name was Ronda and she is an amazing nurse, and was a blessing from God in that ICU, and she told me she would take care of Andrea. All we had to do was go to the admin offices and sign some paperwork. So it all began; my life as a single dad, my life without Andrea, layer one.

The following days for me were the same as anyone who loses a loved one, totally numb, you go through the motions and get done all that must be done. A funeral is planned, mostly by others, thank God for my brothers and sisters and my office who stepped in to take care of nearly every detail. I was left with the usual dreaded tasks of picking Andrea's clothes, and the casket. I remember sitting in the funeral office when the lady pulled out a folder with Andrea's name on it, I could not process what I was doing there, and her questions cut through me. Our last step was the coffin, which I did totally isolated from the reality of it all. I guess my mind blocked what I was actually doing, and it would not hit me till I saw that coffin in the church. I remember thinking Andrea is in there, and it became a little more real. I cried as I followed her casket out of the church. I knew the next stop was the grave, 6ft of physical separation and a wall between us that could never be torn down until I draw my last breath. It was the last moment for this to all end and wake up from the nightmare. It was layer number two.

Next came the emptiness of the house, the gut wrenching loneliness of coming home to an empty bed, cooking alone, just living was a constant reminder of my loss. The silence was deafening and I missed talking to Andrea. I wanted to hear her voice to tell me what to do. The sight of smiling pictures of Andrea only confused me as if life was still happy. I had no desire to cook, one of Andrea and my favorite things to do together so Anthony and I ordered out a lot. We never ate at the table again, only in front of the TVs merciful distraction. Work was impossible and I had no interest in it whatsoever. When I would find the strength to go into the office I would close my door and cry. I was confused, totally lost at this time, not knowing what was life was anymore what my future was, I realized all our hopes and dreams were erased and my life was undefined and my identity uncertain. It was layer number three.

Next came the packing of Andrea's clothes, the emptying of the closet, the sorting through her things and the separating into stacks all the things I wanted to give to her friends. It was Andrea's friends, Amy and Darla, who helped me through this difficult time. They bought the plastic tubs to store Andrea's clothes in; a suggestion from Ginger who knew permanently giving away or throwing away Andrea's clothes was too difficult this soon, yet a closest full of clothes was equally difficult. So the compromise to put them away for storage was perfect. All but her personal items, like her nightie from our honeymoon, which she kept and wore every anniversary. To this day putting those in the trash has been the most painful thing I have ever done in my life. I cannot describe the pain of taking those from her drawer, holding them and putting them in a trash bag. I felt I had to do this, they were things I thought should not be touched by someone else. I was discarding our intimate moments, my marriage and nothing said my wife was gone more than it did in that moment. It was layer number four and it hurt more than all the others combined.

The weeks and months afterwards were punctuated by small events that built upon the separation and emptiness of my life. Songs on the radio that brought me to a moment with Andrea were all too common. We had loved Christian music. It was one of our main sources of strength. The words and songs defined periods and moments of Andrea's struggle. Now they became painful reminders. Many of those songs are on our blog like Steven Curtis Chapman's "I Still Believe", Jeremy Camp's "Walk by Faith," Chris Tomlin's "How Great Is Our God" or Bebo Norman's "Borrow Mine". They all brought me back to specific days and events. When I would be driving I would look across to Andrea's empty seat and almost see her there, raising her hands praising God as she sang those songs, or remember a concert we went to, seeing Andrea standing hands lifted up, crying. I remember traveling for work, sitting on a flight back from DC and listening to my iPod crying uncontrollably. It was strange to hurt in public and it made me think how often had I sat next to someone who was hurting and never knew it. Either I did not notice or did not want to. Daily events like walking home for lunch, and seeing the porch where Andrea would always be waiting for me became billboard reminders of the changes in my life. Next came the inevitable reminder of returning to church, a place I needed to be as a source of strength was also a painful reminder of my loss. It was here that Andrea and I held each other and sang, where we were fed, where we gathered strength and where friends lifted us up. Church now was void of all that. All I saw was an empty chair next to me. Ginger and I both commiserated that we never felt more alone in all ours suffering than at church surrounded by believers, couples and families worshipping. However all this made us realize people are hurting all around us and gave us a more compassionate outlook when we fail to understand people's distance or rudeness.. What if they are having days like we were? I began to understand there are people going through the motions of life hurting inside and I was one of them. It was layer number five.

Amongst all of this, I met Ginger and began to fall in love. It was a very confusing time for me, to feel happiness, a bond to another woman while trying to deal with losing Andrea. To even have feelings for another woman was a betrayal to Andrea, my wife I pledged to love forever. I was still very much in love with Andrea, and at the same time falling in love with Ginger. I remember three dreams I had about Andrea during this time. In each dream Andrea had fallen in love with another man and I would come to her and ask her, "What are you doing?" Her response was, "It is nothing, don't worry I love you both." I was so hurt and angry in my dream and Andrea was so nonchalant about it all. I did not have to think hard about what those dreams meant. To be honest I still struggle with having feelings for Ginger although thankfully they are less and less. I never loved another woman other than Andrea and suddenly I was on a honeymoon loving another woman. It was layer number six.

To avoid any confusion let me use a line from my Pastor in North Carolina, "Don't hear what I'm not saying." Yes falling in love complicated my grief process in some ways, but having Ginger in my life is what gave me hope that life would return to "normal." Ginger knew what it was like to live without hope, to live with the emptiness, to ache to be held or touched by a spouse. Those are things I thankfully did not have to experience and I will leave it to Ginger to write about what that was like. So yes, for me I added some level of difficulty to my grief, but it also spared me from a lot of other grief and for that I thank God for Ginger and the absolute blessing she was and is to me. Not to mention, I knew the kids needed a family and that stability in their life has been worth any additional pain or confusion I had to go through. I knew in my heart and spirit that Ginger and I were meant to be together so if someone had to deal with a more difficult path as we brought our families together, I felt it was better for me as the adult than for 6 children. Looking back and now seeing our kids having stability and normalcy, I'm convinced I did the right thing. I think Ginger paid the biggest price as she tried to understand me as I was working out my conflicting emotions of loving her and in some way feeling I was betraying Andrea. I struggled that others would think somehow I did not love Andrea and nothing could be further from the truth than that. I loved her more than myself, at times too much.

It was Andrea's dad that gave me sage advice that I have thought of many times since. He said, "You loved my daughter, you kept your vows to her and to God. Remember it was God who broke your wedding vow to Andrea not you." Those words and knowing Andrea is exactly where she always dreamed of being, with her Savior and Lord, Jesus Christ, are what gave me comfort and allowed me to fall deeper in love with Ginger each day. It helps me as I deal with the layers of separation from Andrea and the layers of memories and foundations I build with Ginger and the kids. I'm in uncharted waters for me, a place I never in a million years thought I would be, dealing with memories of Andrea, and finding joy and happiness in another life. I know this is not over, and I wonder if at some level I will always be dealing with this. I know that each day Ginger and I become more one with each other and our life becomes more of our own. The kids and I bonding together as does Ginger with Anthony, and our identities mix in this amazing blessing that we are living out. And my prayer is that the miracle of our life together is not lost in my words here, for God has done what man could never do. I am humbled to have been loved so deeply by Andrea, and be blessed to be loved again in the same way. I do not deserve to be blessed this much in a lifetime.

As I end this blog, Isabella just came out on the porch to give me a picture she drew for me. I have my music playing and the song, "I Would Die for You" is playing. It is a song I used in Andrea's memorial. Bella just asked, "Does this music remind you of Miss Andrea?" "Yes," I said, "It does." Then she reminded me that it rained last night, too, "But," she added, "The sun will come out again Daddy!" Yes it will Bella. Yes it will. In fact I think it already has.

My Closet

I (Ginger) wait until the Lord puts something on my heart to write about. I don't have much time to sit around and conjure up ideas and besides that, the Lord always gives me better material! I have had one I have been wanting to write about all week but I still am struggling with my lack of ability to clearly focus since my eye surgery, so I have been discouraged everytime I sit down to type, email or even read. Then yesterday the Lord gave me something else to write about first. Then this morning as I sat down to start writing about it I finally got a chance to read Jim's blog about their prayer closet. I knew he had been working on it this week but that is how busy our life is that we don't even get to read each other's blogs for a few days sometimes.

Anyway, I decided to put my other two writings on hold and piggyback on Jim's beautiful and touching story about their holiest of holies, their prayer closet. I remember when I first started emailing he and Andrea and he wrote about their closet being their place to pray, I could picture them in there, though I had no idea who they were or what they looked like. I was all too familiar with the idea because I, too, had spent endless hours in my own closet after losing Troy. I loved the word picture he painted of them on their kneeling bench and the very protected and purposed times they would enter in. My time in my closet more haphazardly happened. After Troy died, I sold the only home we had evr owned and moved into a rent house with the kids. I had the biggest master bedroom and closet we had ever had. But the bedroom shared a wall with the guest room. I, thankfully, had a constant stream of people visiting and helping out so someone was pretty much always sleeping in the guest room. I had insomnia for months and months on end. I would cry, listen to music, talk on the phone or talk to God. All necessary but somewhat annoying to the person trying to sleep on the other side of our shared wall. Even in the daytime there was always commotion from the children and seldom any quiet in the house. No place for me to go and be alone in my pain.

So I would go into my closet off the master bathroom and lay on the floor to talk or cry or pray. For those of my friends that know me well, you know I often had to move over a somewhat large pile of clothes and shoes to do this. ha. But it was in that closet that I could pour my heart out to Jesus. I remember when the times of grief were so engulfing and overwhelming that I would lie on the floor and wish I could sink INTO the floor. I felt at the lowest place a human could be and the thought of being below ground level