Nothing But a Breath

“Man is like a breath; his days are like a fleeting shadow.” —Psalm 144:4

It was September 7th. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that date because it was the day before my husband was to be deployed to the Middle East. At the time, I had a 2-year-old daughter and a 3-month-old son who were really going to miss their daddy. And I already felt lost thinking about the impending separation from my one true companion in life.

It was both the best and worst of days. A friend was keeping the children overnight so we could have one last romantic night together. What a treat! We went down to a small beach town to stay at a bed and breakfast. That evening, we shared a lovely dinner together and went for a long walk. It was a perfect night, but for the sinking feeling in my stomach of what the next day held.

We happened upon an old Episcopal Church, and turned in to walk through the attached cemetery. As the stars twinkled overhead in the clear night sky and the sea breeze gently kissed our cheeks, we read tombstone after tombstone. “Beloved Wife and Mother.” “Pilot – 1859.” As I thought about all the lives they represented in just one specific location, I was suddenly struck by the brevity of life and the real importance of how I’d choose to live it – especially during unpleasant circumstances. As King David wrote in the Psalms, “Man is like a breath; his days are like a fleeting shadow” (144:4). So what am I to do with my short time here, and how do I respond to trials – like seeing my husband and children’s father go off to war?

My thoughts wandered back to a conversation I recently had with my mentor, Caroline, when I called her in tears to talk to her about the deployment. She talked with me, cried with me, and prayed with me. “Well,” she said in closing, “you can choose to live to survive … or you can survive – so you can really live.” I thought about what that really meant. Am I just here on this earth to “make it through”? Am I here to enjoy whatever pleasures can be found in a mere mortal life? Certainly not according to Solomon: “When I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun” (Ecclesiastes 2:11). Well, if all these things are meaningless, what does it mean to “really live” as Caroline said? And how do I truly “live” when part of my life and heart is missing?

I recorded some of the answers that God spoke to my heart later in my journal. “In reality, mine is just one lowly life that will soon fade into history and be quickly forgotten here on earth. So for what and whom do I toil and strive though the difficulties of life? Certainly not so I will be praised when I am long gone. Definitely not to have my name etched on a tombstone. No – I strive in this world because I am created for the next – when my true identity and meaning will be fulfilled. And not just for a “breath,” but for all eternity.”

Reflecting on these truths, I was brought back to the reality that even though my dear, wonderful husband is a gift from the Lord, my life is not only about him. My life with him here on this earth is merely a transitional period to reach my true home. “But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables Him to bring everything under His control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like His glorious body” (Philippians 3:20-21).

Like many others, my life is filled with ups and downs, mountaintops and valleys, joys and sorrows. They come from unique struggles faced by a military wife, but no less or more significant than those faced by anyone else. Instead of wallowing in despair, I would use this particular opportunity to become more like Christ and be prepared for an eternal future with Him in heaven. When the days of deployment seem long, I think on a day when there will be no more mourning, crying or pain (Revelation 21:4). When the struggles of rearing two young children alone seem overwhelming and meaningless, I offer my work up unto the Lord, remembering that I will “receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward” (Colossians 3:23). And when I feel alone and forgotten, I close my eyes and picture myself surrounded in glory – never more loved, at home, and at peace in a place where I was meant to be all along.

Questions to Share:

1. What is keeping me from having an attitude and perspective that is God-honoring during this deployment?

2. What can I do to encourage my own spiritual growth (and the spiritual growth of my children) during this deployment?