"This isn’t just a job for me. This is my calling, and I need you to share my calling." As he described his commitment to the Army, my husband’s voice was filled with emotion. It grabbed my attention. Rob and I were attending an intensive marriage retreat before the first of three deployments to Iraq. God opened my eyes that day to an essential element of both Rob’s service in the military and our marriage.
I remember sitting on the front porch of our new quarters –you know, the “townhouses” crammed side-by-side around a parking lot. Kids everywhere. I remember speaking the words, “What in the world am I doing here?” and hoping no one heard me (yea, right—neighbors were in ear-shot of everything!).
It’s unusual for a wife to speak at her husband’s military retirement ceremony. More “normal” is for him to give her a gift—maybe a bouquet of roses—and then speak about her sacrifices as a military wife. Then she usually receives a commendation—pictures are made with her—and much applause is given to her, as it should. So when I heard about this poem, recently included in the printed retirement program of a dear friend,
I opened my email one morning and read a message from a sweet military wife whose husband was in Afghanistan. She had been reading postings on Excellent or Praiseworthy, and was grateful for the encouragement. Then she closed her comment with, “I’m so thankful for America, a free country that allows me to know what true freedom is in Christ!”
In the military it's always wedding season, and with each present I wrap I enclose our favorite wedding verse. It is Colossians 3:12-15. Perhaps this is a bit of an unusual choice for scriptural instruction on marriage, but my experience has been that it gets right to the very core of the challenges of married life.
“I know it’s a red light!” I growled at my wife. My teenaged daughter groaned in the back seat, “Dad!” That moment Sunday evening was huge. My wife was anxious because of my poor driving. The beast of pride had welled up inside of me. It could easily have led to isolation—icy, short interaction for the rest of the evening, and sleeping back-to-back. There is a war going on for our souls
Growing up the daughter of a submariner, I was always fascinated by the raw beauty and power of the sea. Its proximity was partly to blame; until I went off to college, I had never lived in a land-locked place. The other reality that inspired my awe, however, was that the ocean was my father’s livelihood. Even as he knew how to navigate and operate within it, he lived constantly at its mercy.
On the wall of my father-in-law’s office hangs a small piece of paper framed as an important document, yellowed with age. On this paper are these words: "You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you. In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other Fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free world . . ."
Several years ago my husband and I closely watched two weddings—one on TV and the other through photos on Facebook. One, a royal wedding, costing millions of dollars and the other probably less than $200. Both couples deeply in love and truly committed to each other; both weddings in churches; both military couples with obligations to duty; both brides beautiful and both grooms handsome; both families excited and happy for the couples.
One of the joys of traveling and meeting with military families is hearing the stories of how they are raising their children during these tumultuous times. Many of our families are being very intentional—making sure that their Christian faith is lived out as a priority no matter the demands of military duty. It is very encouraging, and humbling, to see this current generation of service members and their spouses being so diligent to teach the ways of the Lord to their children . . .