I’ve been married to a soldier almost 14 years now and I think I’ve spent the whole time waiting. I’ve waited for orders, for our children (infertility then the process of adoption – twice), for deployments to start, for deployments to end. By now I should have the patience of Job. But I don’t. Waiting is really tough stuff.

I’ve been married to a soldier almost 14 years now and I think I’ve spent the whole time waiting. I’ve waited for orders, for our children (infertility then the process of adoption – twice), for deployments to start, for deployments to end. By now I should have the patience of Job. But I don’t. Waiting is really tough stuff.

I just want to say it, “Deployments stink.” Whether they’re one month or fifteen months, they’re just awful. Ask my husband the Army fanatic – he loves wearing muted brown uniforms and shining boots and the smelling like fuel and weapons – even he will admit that living in a tent and looking at sand for any period of time is lousy. But he’d do it again tomorrow if you needed him to. I am not that dedicated. The “inner me” fights against the unknowns of war, the weariness of single-mothering, the feeling I’ve given away another year of my life. You can see where moping can take me. My inner side (yep, the flesh) is not real pretty—which is why God doesn’t want me dwelling there!

I’ve been married to a soldier almost 14 years now and I think I’ve spent the whole time waiting. I’ve waited for orders, for our children (infertility then the process of adoption – twice), for deployments to start, for deployments to end. By now I should have the patience of Job. But I don’t. Waiting is really tough stuff.