Have you ever been angry with the Army (insert your own service here) at some point? Is it because of back-to-back deployments, a tough duty station, dealing with PTSD, combat operational stress, an injured husband/wife, the death of a spouse or a friend’s spouse, children or dogs who act up because Daddy/Mommy has been away too long? If angry, are you perhaps serving in the wrong Army? The Lord wants us in His Army, not just in the U.S. Army.

Have you ever been angry with the Army (insert your own service here) at some point? Is it because of back-to-back deployments, a tough duty station, dealing with PTSD, combat operational stress, an injured husband/wife, the death of a spouse or a friend’s spouse, children or dogs who act up because Daddy/Mommy has been away too long? If angry, are you perhaps serving in the wrong Army? The Lord wants us in His Army, not just in the U.S. Army.

During the debate over the pros and cons of marriage vs. living together I would often read that one party would say, “Why get married? It’s just a piece of paper. We already FEEL married.” In the military, that twisted logic just doesn’t hold up. A military marriage begins with one piece of paper—the marriage certificate. If you are not married “on paper," your relationship doesn’t count. Shortly after the official marital documentation follows the military ID card, another important piece of paper. Without that important document, there are no privileges that come with being a military dependent.

Do you know what “waiting on the Lord” looks like to me? For our first family trip since my husband returned from his second deployment to Iraq, we decided to visit a friend in Colorado Springs. This was to be an important visit—a tender one—as this friend’s husband had been killed during that first deployment. But it is a long drive from central Texas to Colorado Springs, and attitude means everything.

My husband and I saw the movie “Marley and Me” the other day. It’s the story of a family, centered around their dog. So you can guess the beginning of the story—they get the dog. And no doubt you can guess the end of the story. What counted was everything in the middle. Anyway, I couldn’t quit crying. It wasn’t the hard boo-hoo sobs that wrack your body, but the tears that start rolling down your face and just won’t quit—no matter what you tell yourself in the darkness of the movie theater. It’s been two years since my husband returned from his second deployment. Or as we say—eighteen months since he mentally got back. Fifteen of those months were spent with many personnel pressures compounded by under-manning due to ongoing deployments. It was tough (understatement). So, what did all that have to do with the movie? It dawned on me that so often in the military we don’t take the necessary time to grieve. We live intensely; we adapt quickly; we check off the blocks. Move to Ft. Riley, know anyone there? Know the housing. How about schools? Paint inside or not? Send husband to war. Pray he comes home. Cry with friend whose husband didn’t. Help her move. Get orders. Move again.

During the debate over the pros and cons of marriage vs. living together I would often read that one party would say, “Why get married? It’s just a piece of paper. We already FEEL married.” In the military, that twisted logic just doesn’t hold up. A military marriage begins with one piece of paper—the marriage certificate. If you are not married “on paper," your relationship doesn’t count. Shortly after the official marital documentation follows the military ID card, another important piece of paper. Without that important document, there are no privileges that come with being a military dependent.

During the debate over the pros and cons of marriage vs. living together I would often read that one party would say, “Why get married? It’s just a piece of paper. We already FEEL married.” In the military, that twisted logic just doesn’t hold up. A military marriage begins with one piece of paper—the marriage certificate. If you are not married “on paper," your relationship doesn’t count. Shortly after the official marital documentation follows the military ID card, another important piece of paper. Without that important document, there are no privileges that come with being a military dependent.

My husband and I saw the movie “Marley and Me” the other day. It’s the story of a family, centered around their dog. So you can guess the beginning of the story—they get the dog. And no doubt you can guess the end of the story. What counted was everything in the middle. Anyway, I couldn’t quit crying. It wasn’t the hard boo-hoo sobs that wrack your body, but the tears that start rolling down your face and just won’t quit—no matter what you tell yourself in the darkness of the movie theater. It’s been two years since my husband returned from his second deployment. Or as we say—eighteen months since he mentally got back. Fifteen of those months were spent with many personnel pressures compounded by under-manning due to ongoing deployments. It was tough (understatement). So, what did all that have to do with the movie? It dawned on me that so often in the military we don’t take the necessary time to grieve. We live intensely; we adapt quickly; we check off the blocks. Move to Ft. Riley, know anyone there? Know the housing. How about schools? Paint inside or not? Send husband to war. Pray he comes home. Cry with friend whose husband didn’t. Help her move. Get orders. Move again.