On September 11, 2001, Navy wife Deshua Joyce tried to think positively when she heard the news that a plane had crashed into the Pentagon, where her husband worked. She thought, “What are the chances that his office was hit?” Still, her heart was heavy with concern for her husband Tom and all others at the Pentagon.

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.

When I was in Afghanistan I took a couple of long drives to other camps and was always wary of what could happen on those drives. We did a lot of preparation to make sure the risks were reduced to a minimum. One time I had a forward air controller with me, someone who could call for help from the Air Force if we needed it. It was amazing how much more relaxed I was knowing that if someone did give us trouble, some serious firepower would turn up quickly in order to help us out. That is why I like Psalm 93 so much — it reminds me that we have some serious firepower backing us up all the time.

We gathered for Bible study, but our friend's face was downcast . . . a sure sign that his soul was, too. We knew he was dealing with marital problems, but there was also the pressure of an impending deployment. All of this weighing on his heart, his future—his now. It’s hard to know what to say sometimes—most of the time, really. So I said something scriptural that I don’t even remember, then added something like “God knows what you are going through and He is with you”. I followed the simple truth with a smile, and then closed with “but you already know that.” I guess I expected my smile to be returned with his smile—an understanding between us that I was just trying to do my best to help, but failing. But that’s not what happened. Instead he said with emphasis, “I do already know that. But I need to be reminded. Thank you.” I got the distinct impression that he really meant it.

What if, in the midst of whatever size storm you are in, God is calling you to pause, be still and know He is God? In my prayer time back in 2004, just after I learned of my husband’s adultery, there were so many opportunities to make rash decisions. In many of our conversations, it seemed the easy and culturally acceptable course of action would be to say “I’m done” and file for divorce. I thank God for the women in my life who encouraged me with Psalm 46:10. Be still and know that I am God… -Psalm 46:10