Where it all began, part 1

Well, here I go!  This is proving to be much more difficult than I thought, for several reasons.

One, how do I fit ten years of my life into one blog post?  I decided to break it up into parts.

Two, we as humans have a tendency to judge.   I cringe at the thought of airing my husband's "dirty laundry" for the world to see.  Keep in mind that his story is one of deliverance, forgiveness, and amazing grace!  Yet I hesitate, because I have seen judgement firsthand.

Last year, he humbly bore his soul at a Veteran's dinner where he was invited to speak.  I personally sat there and watched pure judgement wash over the face of one of our acquaintances.  She has not talked to us since that day.

It's people like that - people who do not understand that we are ALL sinners saved by GRACE - that cause my hesitation.  There is NONE righteous, and if you are guilty of one, you are guilty of all.  God's desire is to heal the broken!  If you don't get that and you feel that you are in any position to judge,  then I'm sorry, but you completely missed the whole point of the entire gospel!

But I have to remember…that's exactly what satan wants… for me to fear man.  He wants me to think that man's approval actually matters, when in fact, it doesn't.  Not one bit.

I refuse to allow fear of judgment and acceptance to shadow God's message of salvation.

So here it is.  Here is our story, our testimony, of what God can do when you fight on your knees.  We prayed, God answered.

 "In the day when I cried thou answered me, and strengthened me with strength in my soul." -Psalm 138:3

September 11, 2001.
We were on our honeymoon in the Poconos, when we woke up to the news of the terrorist attacks.  "J" was not sure what this meant for him, as he would be checking in to his new unit once our honeymoon was over.  Needless to say, this news was a dark cloud hovering over our newly wedded bliss.

The following month we checked into our new post.  He was given orders to go to Afghanistan.  War was looming over us, but when exactly that was we were unsure of.   He started training.  Hard.  He was gone almost the entire year leading up to his deployment.  During this time we were blessed with our first son.

In March 2003, he deployed to Afghanistan for eight months, leaving our son and I behind.  He wrote me weekly (this was before we had internet!), and even found time to call often, usually before an op to let me know how much he loves me.
God brought him home that October.  I didn't see much change in him.  "J" was still quiet, sweet, gentle, caring.  He was strong, yet gentle.  Sensitive, and romantic.  He always had a patient spirit, and an extremely "laid back" disposition that I fell in love with.

He enjoyed his job, and felt good about fighting for our country.  He felt proud, and fulfilled.

He continued to train hard.  Home for two weeks, out six.  Home three weeks, out for another two months… his schedule was constantly changing.  We rolled with it.  Sometimes it would stink when he missed birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays, but we would always find a way to make up for it.

July 2004, we were blessed with another son.  This baby was extremely colicky, which made life with an active toddler and infant that more challenging (after months of projectile vomiting, and screaming he was finally diagnosed with food allergies).   He cried almost constantly for months straight, and "J" was gone the majority of the time.  Our first son was a light sleeper, so every time the baby cried, it woke him up as well.  It was getting exhausting on my own.

When "J" was home, I started seeing him as my "helper", rather than my husband.  I looked to him for rescue, turning a blind eye to his own needs.  After we tucked the boys into bed at night, as soon as that door shut,  I couldn't wait to finally sit down!
But "J" had other plans.  He would immediately reach for me, and I would respond by saying, "Are you serious?  Please, just let me sit down a minute".  Then I'd fall asleep.  This happened much more than I'd like to admit, but in my mind it was justified.

I was literally exhausted, and I worked hard.  Very hard.  We had continual plumbing problems, flooding, sewage back ups.  I remember cutting grass in the summer heat with one baby in my "baby sling" and a toddler on my shoulders.  We had no family in the area, and any friends we did have were at least 30 minutes away.  There was also that little bitty detail that I absolutely hated to ask for favors.  After all, I wouldn't live up to my title of being  a "tough warrior bride", as "J" so often refereed to me, if I had help.   I liked making him proud.   I was stupidly independent.

After another year of training, and traveling, in February 2005 he deployed again.  This time it was nine months to Iraq.

This deployment was a little different.  We were blessed to have my sister inlaw and her husband move to the next town during this deployment.  It was nice having family close by.  They were always willing to help, if ever I asked.
We also had internet this go-round, complete with a webcam, but it seemed every time we were able to get on there, the baby would be screaming, or the toddler would be playfully climbing all over me, begging for attention.

 So once again, my relationship with my husband was being put on hold.  Time and time again, our conversations were interrupted.   There were times I could barely even understand what he was saying through all the screaming, pulling, and dirty diapers.

I, personally, took this season like a grain of salt, assuming it was all part of "life", and we would get through it.  Never once did I consider that my husband didn't quite see it that way.  He felt neglected, and alone.  He didn't communicate those feelings, and I was too distracted to pick up on them.

That June in 2005, I got news that a helicopter carrying many of my husband's fellow comrades, as well as close friends,  was shot down in the mountains of Afghanistan.  This devastated my husband much more than we ever bargained for.

Unbeknownst to me, he was struggling with great feelings of guilt.  Guilt that only those in his shoes can ever completely understand.  He started losing sleep, being haunted by thoughts of "what if", "if only", and "why".

He wasn't due home for another 4 months.  During that time he began to drink.  Heavily.  It helped him sleep, and it helped dim the continual haunting thoughts that were racing through his mind.

He didn't want to talk to the guys he was deployed with about his struggles.  To him, that was a sign of weakness.  So during the times of drinking, he found himself in a chat room, talking to anybody who would listen.  He met a "girl" (actually, the word "whore" would be much more appropriate, for she knew he was married)  who had a very smooth way of talking, and listening.  After a couple weeks of their conversations, they started mailing each other pictures, and in the months following that, they professed their love for one another.

He broke the news to me over the web cam by telling me not to be there when he came home.  He told me he fell in love with somebody else, and that he didn't want anything to do with me, or our boys any longer.  Every phone call I received from Iraq was in a drunken rage, during all hours of the night.  He called me daily to tell me how in love he was with this *cough cough* girl,  how angry he was, and that I was to "pack up my $#!*, and leave".

For months this went on.   His tone never changed.  Nothing but pure anger.

To be continued….