To my Soldier Daughter, deployed in Kuwait

Dear Daughter,

When we said goodbye to you before you boarded that plane on March 15, emotion nearly engulfed me. I held it together, at least on the outside, though this would be the last time we’d see you before year’s end. That day marked the nine month countdown ’til your return to us.

Nine months.

Like an expectant mother, I chose to approach this period of time—a lot of growth, some pain, and then great joy in the end. We’re still in the first trimester.

I can already feel the stretching and the ache. But my eyes are on the prize, the goal. Like all seasons of life we have the opportunity to choose submission to the Lord’s will and plan. Why do we constantly fight this, choosing to succumb to our own emotions? We’re like toddlers demanding our way. I’m so grateful that we have a perfect Father who refuses to succumb to our tantrums.

It is my prayer for you that you will allow Christ to work in you in this season. He has plans for you, far greater than you could imagine.

The first trimester of pregnancy is always such a mix of emotion. One minute you’re overjoyed wondering about the sex of the baby. Then you’re crying uncontrollably. Sometimes they even have to attach an IV to you for an indefinite period of time. Or maybe that’s just me.

The point is, time will pass like it always does. And while the goal of your homecoming is our reward, I pray it’s not lost on us that each day in between is a tremendous gift, a blessing. So bask in the day. Find joy in the moments. Soon enough we’ll be stretched so far that we can hardly stand the wait as the days quickly approach until we see your face again.

Incidentally, last night I took a pregnancy test. Tell-tale symptoms showed up and I realized time has gotten away from me. I suppose two car wrecks in your household within two weeks can cause you to forget. Perimenopausal symptoms have been toying with me. And I realize that this is all quite possibly too much information but it is what it is.

So here I am. Almost 44 years old. You, my oldest daughter, almost 23, deployed, a mother of your own. One daughter, 20, in college. The youngest, our little tubal reversal miracle is six and a half. I stood in that check out line wondering what I’d tell Gavin. “Gavin, Nanny is going to have your little aunt or uncle sometime around the end of the year when your mommy comes home. ISN’T THAT EXCITING?”

No. No it’s not.

I’ve already had enough emotion to last a year and it’s only May. So I’m content to approach this season of life just as I said, “Like an expectant mother.”

It was negative.

Sorry if I just freaked you out. Stay safe. We miss you and love you more than sand. The beach kind, not the desert kind.

Mama