different time. same place.

Exactly one year ago I was sitting outside of the Starbucks where I am current seated and, as the warmth of the intense sunshine hit my face, I wrote this post.  It's amazing how much life can happen in 365 days.  How it can feel like a lifetime ago.  But still feel like yesterday.  I remember the fear and anticipation and hope and all-kinds-of-overwhelming that had come to be my baseline as of last spring.  While overtones of these experiences certainly linger-sometimes still in disturbing intensity-it feels much better to be sitting here writing to you today.  Even though the sun isn't shining.  No, friends, there's snow on the ground. . .

But that doesn't change the fact that I trust very deeply in my soul that there are brighter days ahead.  I see shadows of light and continue to trust that in the coming months these shadows will turn to glimmers and that the glimmers grow and begin to overpower darkness.

Before yet another shut-down-the-east-coast winter weather event blew in last night, I captured this picture while Philip and I were outside (one of many numerous trips to our favorite Starbucks/Chipotle locations in Arlington this weekend).  It gave me a great deal of hope.

This weekend has been a true blessing and wonderful time of reconnection.  Lots of laughter, coffee, cookie dough, Chipotle, closeness.  Tears.  Rest.  It's been beautiful.

One beautiful memory and image from this weekend that I will never forget occurred a block away from the hotel as we were arriving to check-in after finishing up at Andrews on Friday.  There was a homeless vet standing on the corner.  Philip  pulled the car over, stopped, and spent about five minutes talking with the man who had served in Vietnam.  Philip was exhausted.  He wanted food.  He wanted a shower.  But he knew it his heart that he couldn't not stop. It was a pretty touching thing to witness.

Some of the best marriage advice I received was from an AF pilot's wife who was the daughter of my pastor growing up:  the first 24 to maybe 36 hours (if you're lucky) after separation will be blissful, and then you will inevitably fight.  Knowing that this phenomena will ensue has been really helpful throughout our marriage because we can anticipate and name what is going on as it unfolds (or shortly thereafter).  Using humor to work through what we have come to playfully coin "reintegration sickness" has been really useful for us as a couple, as we've done this hello/goodbye/hello thing a time or two or a hundred.  I had to laugh because one of the most pronounced incidents of "reintegration sickness" this weekend occurred when Philip became highly annoyed at my attempt to change under a blanket out of a suit into my "comfortable" clothes as we drove through Georgetown (what can I say, I was eager to get out of the suit????).  I am just picturing my mother's expression as she reads this thinking, "that's not reintegration, that's your husband having sense!  what were you thinking girl???"  I don't know I was thinking that I didn't feel like dragging my clothes into the public restroom and changing at Chipotle???  We've gotten some good laughs out of it.

I know that the days and weeks ahead will require lots and lots of extra patience and understanding from each of us, but truly there's no one in the world I'd rather fight and make up with than this guy. . .

I've started to go through the journal Philip wrote in each day during the deployment.  What a powerful narrative.  We've been blessed with some really good processing time.

reading the memoirs

Winter storm Whatever-they-named-it-this-time kind of got in the way of Philip being able to take care of stuff he needed to deal w/ at the Pentagon today which puts a wrench in our schedule/travel logistics for the week, but we're rolling with it.

Tomorrow it is back to Princeton.  Back to daily working to hold on to Jim Elliot's wise words: Wherever you are, be all there.