Peace On Earth....

I have tried, like I've done so often the past few years, to walk away from the thoughts running through my head.  To walk away long enough to get the "real" to do list completed and leave the blog for another day, but, alas, this one won't leave me alone...not today...So, I ask that you LISTEN to this video...that you take in the words and the message.  Let it sink in to depths of what you believe...what you believe about God, about Faith, about humanity, about YOU.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F756Mjxxrvc


What if we each truly believed in Peace on earth?  What if we each examined our own thoughts and feelings and beliefs about each other to see if they really brought Peace?  What if we each vowed to bring Peace to our small corner of the world?  What if we each vowed that Peace would reign in our own souls, our own homes, our own neighborhoods, our own towns, until Peace reigned everywhere?

What if we truly believed that "God is not dead, nor doth he sleep."?  What if we surrendered our hatred, our need to be right and, most of all, our fear?  What IF????

A letter to my daughter

I really hemmed and hawed over the title of this blog post...there were so many things running through my mind....how God uses my children to teach ME...how God truly does care about the littlest parts of our lives...how he TRULY cares about the LITTLEST lives....how he reveals himself to the smallest among us...how prayer REALLY is the solution...or simply a letter to my daughter.

My Dearest Legare,

An amazing thing happened last night.  Since you are only 4, I'm afraid in such a short time you won't even remember what transpired, but I want you to always carry this FAITH/life lesson with you, so I'm writing to you that you may have this with you.

See, you have been having such a hard time sleeping alone in your room.  This has been going on for weeks and no matter how much your daddy and I encourage you, comfort you, and talk to you about it, you just won't stay in your bed.  At first you were coming to our room, you'd get to stay for a minute or two, then one of us would hug and take you back to your room, only for the process to repeat itself at least one more time during the night.  You would cry and talk about being scared, and we'd assure you all is well.  After a few weeks, you realized that if you go to Collin's room, he'd let you stay.  Well, "let" is a strong word, he wouldn't know you were there 'til morning, but you could be close to someone and that was enough.

This concerned daddy and me.  We couldn't understand why you wouldn't stay in your room, and, frankly, Collin was getting bothered by sharing his bed all of the time.  So, we began to encourage to stay in your room.  As you talked to us about your fears we learned that you have bad dreams every night and that's why you don't want to be alone.  Daddy suggested we pray, and, if I'm being honest, I laughed.  It seemed such a small, insignificant thing to pray about.  And despite of my unwavering faith, and a strong prayer life, I really thought it was such a silly thing to pray over and that, well, what if you had a bad dream anyway and felt like you couldn't trust God.  SHAME, SHAME on your mom.  When it felt like there was nothing else we could do (bad timing) we prayed.  As part of your night-time prayers you asked God to give you only good dreams.  I laid with you in your bed, held your hands and prayed out loud that God would be with you that night...that he would enter you thoughts and fill your mind with wonderful dreams...that he would make your room feel safe...and that he would reveal himself to you as your protector and your comforter that you would KNOW and BELIEVE HE is always with you, and always listening.

Then I asked others to pray too...petitioning God on your behalf...

And sweetheart, this morning, you were sleeping soundly in YOUR BED.  You had not stirred all night long.  When you woke you were excited to tell me that you only had good dreams.  God was with you.  God answered your prayer.  He honored, what to your mom was such a mundane, little thing, but to you was so huge and because it was important to you it was important to him.  While my intention was for this lesson to be for you, I find, once again, God using you to teach ME.

Hugs and Kisses, and all of the love in the world!
-Mom

Home

I grew up knowing “home” as most civilian children do.  It was the structure I lived in for most of my childhood.  It was the town where I went to school and church.  It was where I played, rode bikes, participated in sports and danced.   I lived in the same house, in the same town for 12 years.  To this day I know it well, and have never lived anywhere as long as I did there.  I have great nostalgia about that town, that house.  I smile each time I think of the friends and the memories.  I’ve probably even romanticized it all a bit over the years.  There’s a comfort in knowing that one place, some sort of solace in the uninterrupted monotony of it all.  And it has left me to wonder if my own children will ever know home.

Over a decade and 3 children into this military life, we have moved 9 times.   To date, our youngsters don’t really remember the moves.  They know we talk about a house in Jacksonville and that we haven’t always lived in the same place.  But there are moves to come that they will experience with all of the adventure a PCS holds; in addition to all of the stress and emotion.  I have to admit that there is a part of me that is pained when I think that my children may never return to a town (whether in their minds or in their travels) and instantly be transported to a place in their lives, long past, that was fully of joy and discovery and family and love.

As I wrestle with this thought I am struck by something my mother-in-law said years ago.  My mother-in-law is a military brat, specifically a Marine Corps brat, just like my own children.  She never knew home in the sense that many civilian children do.  Yet, as a mother herself, years after leaving her last base, more years in fact than she had ever lived on base, she found herself at MCB Quantico for her son’s OCS graduation.  She had never been to Quantico before.  My father-in-law joked, asking if it looked familiar.  With the same gleam in her eye, the same nostalgia, the instant transport to another time, she said, “No, it just feels like home.”

In that simple statement I have found such great comfort and truth.  My children’s sense of home may not be my own, but it is no less strong.  In the midst of an ever -changing lifestyle there are still constants for them to cling to, even if it’s an MP checking IDs, little red signs with gold lettering, old brick buildings, a salute, a uniform or Taps in the evening.