Today is the day America honors those who’ve served our nation. It’s a day to pay tribute to the men and women who have willingly given up their own freedoms and risked everything with the hopes that they would secure freedom for others. There truly is no greater act of sacrificial love for humanity than the willingness to lay down one’s life for the hope of freedom.

Although I thought I was marrying the man I wanted to grow old with at the time, in 1994 I married the Army. I had uncles who were WWII, Korean War, and Vietnam War veterans. They all wore the wounds of their service. I married into a family that also wore the wounds of service. And then my own marriage and family became a casualty of war.

Today, as we honor those who’ve served, may we understand the true costs of service. War destroys lives. War leaves physical wounds that never heal. War steals limbs. War makes sleep evasive. War leaves veterans with PTSD that is rarely healed. War creates brain injuries that are used to justify every immoral, abusive, and illegal act imaginable. War destroys marriages. War destroys families. War destroys spouses and children who struggle to love and understand the stranger it sends home.

Thank you to those who’ve willingly counted the costs and paid the price. Thank you to the families who likely didn’t count the costs, but paid the price nonetheless.

In the age of AI, robotics, drones, economic warfare, memetic warfare, narrative warfare, and educational warfare; we as humans have got to stop sacrificing human beings, marriages, and families, with the hope of securing freedom.

Freedom isn’t free.

Happy Veterans Day

Fair warning: Life is hard and my heart is raw at the moment.

I’ve been through more than my share of trauma in this life. There were seasons when I thought the constant trauma would never end. One of those very long seasons led to divorce. I found myself hiding in the guest room and realizing that the fear of being alone was much smaller than the fear of living another day in the daily trauma I was experiencing. I did not want my children to think anything about the horrors they were witnessing was okay and I wanted them to be assured that it was okay to walk away from something that was destroying you, no matter how much of your life you’d given to it. So I said I was done. After being gone in every manner, but physical for several years, he physically left.

On the day that I knew it was over, my counselor gave me some warnings. She knew the history and she tried to prepare me that he would try to turn our kids against me and that he would do everything he could to leave me destitute. She knew.

I am a survivor. All that trauma made me extremely resilient. I am not destitute. My kids and my relationships with each of them is a mess.

The one thing I didn’t fully prepare myself for is how badly my kids would hurt when a new woman came into their lives. Nor was I prepared to be the one to catch the brunt of their pain. And I certainly wasn’t prepared with a proper response.

My not so little baby girl is hurting badly. She may be 18, but developmentally she’s 10. After trying to process a new person sleeping in her Tata’s bed, she started facetiming me and telling me she was going to run away from his house. She “doesn’t want a new Mama”. She’s been begging me for weeks to “go on a date with Tata” and I knew something was bothering her. Today it all came spilling out with multiple threats to run away. If you’ve followed for a while you know those threats are not to be taken lightly. Search and rescue has been deployed to find her nine times, in two states. Those were the times we called for help. She’s attempted to run away more times than I can count.

So I took today’s threats seriously and started trying to reach her Dad. Although court-ordered not to do so, he had my number blocked. I called my 22 year old who was at their house. Now he’s mad at me for putting him in the middle. In hindsight I probably should’ve just called the police and driven to his house. But I didn’t. I wasn’t prepared. I’m human and I’m a protective Mama.

I have refrained from sharing gory details of the last few years because they’re really ugly. But, I repeatedly have had others going through their own hell contact me and ask me how I’ve dealt with things. I wish I had some great wisdom to offer, but the truth is that I have failed repeatedly to do whatever it is that my kids need me to do and I’ve often reacted out of fear, anger, pain, or some other ugly emotion.

What I can offer to those walking through the destruction of their families is this…

Give yourself grace.

Do the best you can at any given moment.

Keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Surround yourself with people that love you, believe in you, know your truth, and are willing to speak truth to you.

Take care of yourself.

Lean on God.

Know it’s okay on the days when you can’t take care of yourself. It’s really God’s job anyway.

Ask for help.

Let your kids know that you love them unconditionally. Even if they don’t see the truth, or lash out at you, or choose distance from you. Love them. You may be the only example they see of God the Father.

Again… Give yourself grace.

Ephesians 3:20  “Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us”

When I was at LSU (GEAUX TIGERS!), I went to Delta Downs a few times with friends. I’m not a betting person, but I bet on those horse races. I had a rule then that I’ve applied to life. I’d walk through the paddock and find the horses who were restless and wearing blinders.

The rule… always bet on the ones who are restless and wearing blinders. They don’t pay attention to the way those around them are running their race. They’re just eager to run their own.

Today, for the first time in many years, I looked at the horses racing the Kentucky Derby and placed a bet. I saw a video of Mage in a paddock wearing blinders and scratching his hooves, eager to run. I watched tonight as he ran his race like he was the only horse on the track. It was beautiful!

After the win, I got to thinking about how hard it is in this day and age to run my own race without paying attention or comparing myself to those around me. I took this picture with a filter…

I don’t even know who that is and it makes me want to book an emergency appointment with a plastic surgeon. If I study that picture and start thinking that’s what I should look like, I’ll never be able to happily run the race I was created for.

Reality is, I look like this…

Hebrews 12:1 (paraphrase) Let us throw off everything that hinders us and run the race set out before us with perseverance/endurance.

Lessons learned from the derby:

Keep my blinders on. Don’t pay attention or compare my race to others, and especially not to some altered version of myself.

Eagerly run the race I was created for.

Endure.

Persevere.

Win. 🙌 🥳

Shortly after turning 50, I woke up in a vacation house that I had rented with dear friends and watched the sun rise over the peaceful lake in the above image. I’ve watched many sunrises in the last three years. Each time the light is about to peak above the horizon, I hold my breath with anticipation. The light is coming. The darkness is ending.

Because of God’s tender mercy, the morning light from heaven is about to break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace. Luke 1:78-79NLT

After 28 years of loving hard and fighting harder, my marriage ended. I grieved for my husband for several years before we were divorced. Life isn’t fair. War is ugly and damaging and the destruction doesn’t end on the battlefield. The endless wars of the world have left us with generations of damage and destruction. The wife and children of a Vietnam veteran who came home forever changed, became war casualties. With those casualties unhealed, the cycle is repeated after multiple tours in the sandbox of Iraq. War is a catalyst for the propagation of destroyed families.

I’ve sat many times with the intent to write about the pain, grief, and fear of my family falling apart. The pain was too big. The grief sometimes overwhelming, and the fear hard to define. I’ve battled shame over the failures, but I do not count our marriage as a failure. We were a great team for a very long time. Our marriage produced four amazing humans. Marriage gave us someone to grow up alongside, to learn with, grieve with, celebrate with, confide in, to share life with. For many years we chose each other day after day and valued one another enough to fight for what we had. But marriages don’t fall apart overnight. They fall apart with wounds that add up and never have a chance to heal. They fall apart when disconnection becomes the norm and distrust the baseline of interactions. They fall apart when two people who should function as one, stop fighting for each other and just start fighting each other. We had more than twenty years of success before we started failing to remember that we were on the same team. I personally failed often in pausing to think about the power of my words before they escaped my mouth and my biggest shame comes from the things I’ve said that I can never take back. Fully aware that the power of life and death are in my tongue, there were many times when my words did not speak life. And so… the life we spent decades building no longer exists. The dreams of growing old with the father of my children have died. My cold feet have no warm legs to seek at night. There is no hand to hold or arms to embrace in the difficult and ordinary moments. Plans, dreams, decisions, and responsibilities are now solely between me and God. But God…

Yes, I fear living out my life without a teammate. Yes, I fear all of the uncertainty that comes with every area of my life being redefined. Divorce is kind of like skydiving from a plane that’s on fire with a parachute that you haven’t tested. You make the jump knowing that staying in the plane will lead to certain death. You feel nothing but pressure and winds and everything feels out of control on the jump. Your parachute opens with a jolt. You spin and turn as you fall. Eventually your feet find solid ground. The thing about the landing is that the moment your feet find ground is disorienting.

disorient verb

dis·​ori·​ent

disoriented; disorienting; disorients

a: to cause to lose bearings : displace from normal position or relationship

b: to cause to lose the sense of time, place, or identity

I’m getting my bearings, finding my place in this world, and giving thanks daily that my identity is wholly defined by my creator. I know who I am. I like me. I’m pretty sure God does too.

MANY people have asked me to share my story and the asks are usually followed with statements about others needing to know they aren’t alone. If you are living through the aftermath of war and your days are filled with grief, pain and fear; YOU ARE NOT ALONE!! Find a counselor. Find a support group. Confide in the people who love you and know you. Reach out to your clergy or the people in your Bible study. Join a Bible study. And please, do NOT be ashamed!!

Post Traumatic Stress, Secondary Traumatic Stress, Compassion Fatigue, Post Infidelity Stress, Codependency… all terms counselors have used on my healing journey. I have two kids on the autism spectrum. I have taught them that they are not defined by their labels or diagnoses and that labels are not excuses or justifications for failures or bad behavior. Labels serve the purpose of giving access to needed help and provide a paradigm to work within. In order to practice what I preach, I embrace who my Father says I am. I am not a victim. I am a victor. I’ve experienced trauma. I am not traumatized.

Y’all, I won’t lie. Knowing who I am and knowing the goodness of my God does not mean that a single step on this journey has been easy. Waiting for the parachute to open, free-falling, hoping my feet would find solid ground, and finding my bearings once I was standing, has been HARD!! I woke up to this song as my alarm daily for over a year and some days had to remind myself to breathe and put one foot in front of the other. Thankfully, I live on the water and my mindful breathing and walking has included sand under my feet. 😊🏝️

If you or someone you know is living through the destruction that far too often comes home from war, these are a few of the resources and supports that helped me survive the darkest days and get my feet back on solid ground. Please share and feel free to message me.

cohenveteransnetwork.org

https://homebase.org/

https://captivesfree.com/pages/spouses

I read countless books. Feel free to message me if you need a recommendation or ten.

I am confident that with Christ I can do very hard things.

God’s plan is still to prosper me. He gives me hope and He promises great things for my future.

He says that I’m wonderful, made in His image, of great value, and deeply loved. I believe Him.

I have ground beneath my feet.

The sun ALWAYS rises.

Isaiah 50:7 But the sovereign Lord helps me,
so I am not humiliated.
For that reason I am steadfastly resolved;
I know I will not be put to shame.

This verse has been a sermon I’ve metaphorically preached from a mountaintop to others struggling with guilt and shame. What I’ve repeatedly said is that neither come from God. God (or more precisely the Holy Spirit) gives conviction and discernment, when we are doing something wrong. Discernment is the gut-check that provides a base to our moral compass and helps us know when we’re about to stray from a path of righteousness. It is NOT guilt. Conviction is a gut-check we feel when we’ve already made a bad choice. It’s the needle on that moral compass that tells us we’re now facing the wrong direction and we need to repent for the direction we’re facing. Conviction is NOT shame. Shame is embarrassment of the things we’ve done or the circumstances we find ourselves in. The root of shame is always either a refusal to repent and accept grace, or… pride.

Here’s the thing about making something the topic of a sermon that you repeatedly preach from a mountaintop, your words have no credibility unless you practice what you preach. A woman can’t lead others on a path to freedom from shame when she is hiding in shame from the circumstances of her own life.

On the first day of this year I shared that God had made it very clear that my theme for 2019 would be “grace”. In that post I revealed that having to make that word the underlying theme for an entire year scared the hell out of me. I knew that God putting it in my face everywhere I looked meant that I was either going to need a lot of it or need to give a lot of it. Needing to give a lot of grace meant that I would hurt and, I don’t know about you, but I can’t remember a single time when I’ve woken up thinking, “Man, I hope I get hurt today so I can exercise giving grace.”

My favorite book of the Bible is James. First off he just tells it like it is. His book is basically the cliff notes of all of Jesus’ sermons. It’s Christianity for dummies. And since he grew up in the same house with little boy Jesus I’m guessing that he had a better understanding of who Jesus was and what it meant to follow him than any other author of the New Testament. Here’s the thing about the book of James… you can’t read it without getting through verses 2 and 4 of chapter 1… My brothers and sisters, consider it nothing but joy when you fall into all sorts of trials, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its full effect so that you will be mature and lacking in nothing.

Joy… “consider it nothing but joy when you fall into all sorts of trials…” Maybe someone else has found a way for joy and shame to coexist, but I have not. This year has brought with it the biggest marriage trials we’ve ever faced. Instead of considering the trials joy, I have hidden in shame. It’s time to take my joy back. It’s time to lay down my pride.

At the very end of 2018 I received a partial answer to a question that had been unanswered for a year and a half. I entered this new year, the time that should be filled with hope and anticipation, filled with ominous dread. The rest of the answer to that one question was coming, along with jolting revelations that have only led to more questions and often more partial answers. Grace-giving has unquestionably been the overriding theme of my year.

And so, here I am, nearing the end of the year, unable to count the number of days and evenings that I’ve spent face-down on my bedroom floor with my face covered in snot and tears as I have cried out to God for comfort. I have hidden in shame as I have wondered how we got here. I never imagined that there would be a day when I would question whether or not I could handle the pain I was experiencing in my marriage for one. more. day. Life has dealt me pain and trials. My own choices have dealt me pain and trials. There is no trial I’ve ever walked through that prepared me to choose joy when security, safety, and unconditional love morph into insecurity, fear, and indifference. Every single time my amygdala takes over and tells me to “RUN!”, God reminds me of grace. Only He knows how much of it I’ve needed and how undeserving I’ve been of it. He also reminds me of how He pursued me no matter how hard or fast I ran from Him. And then I remember that the entire purpose of marriage is to model Jesus to our spouse. Lay down your life. Love unconditionally. Give undeserved grace.

Aside from the things God reminds me of, there are several things I know are certain. I know that God is good and He is true to His Word. I know that continuing to have faith in His goodness and trustworthiness produces endurance. And I know that endurance is the path to maturity and wisdom. I also know that hurt people hurt people. If you’re not yet married, I highly encourage you to work through your childhood trauma and lay down your baggage before you commit to love and honor another for the rest of your life. If you are married and you’ve experienced trauma since you made that commitment, run (don’t walk) to a counselor and start working towards healing. Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter how tightly we try to seal the baggage we stuff our unhealed wounds into, they will eventually spill out on the people standing by our sides.

We live on a tiny little island that is positioned between Tampa Bay and the Gulf of Mexico. From one end of our back porch I can see the sun as it rises over the bay. From the other end, I can watch it set over the gulf. Both the setting and the rising are breathtaking. But there is something that often happens in between that will capture my attention and sometimes bring me to tears with the power displayed. Tampa is often referred to as “The Lightning Capital of the World”. The lightning storms here will often last for hours. They are sometimes loud and booming, and sometimes completely silent. But they are always filled with awe-inspiring strike after strike that light up the darkness, and for a moment charge my body with an uncomfortable mixture of anxiety and excitement.

The jolting, and the anxiety, and the excitement, are all my story at the moment. Oh, but the sun…. it ALWAYS rises. JOY!!

On February 18, 1989 I met this cute boy in Washington, DC that had one dream… to be a soldier. Six days later he declared that he wanted me by his side as he lived out that dream. Five years later we were married. From that point forward just about every detail of our lives was defined by the US Army and my husband’s commitment to defend the Constitution and promote freedom.

For more than a quarter of a century he served America. That service came at a huge cost to our family and his health. Our 8th wedding anniversary was the first one we spent together. It was our 12th year of marriage before we could say that we’d spent more time together than apart. Our children celebrated birthdays and holidays, played sports, performed in all types of recitals, received awards, and traversed life without their Dad there to cheer them on. While the kids and I attended weddings, funerals, family celebrations, dealt with surgeries, sickness (including cancer), and often moved and settled into new homes and cities without him; he celebrated holidays, birthdays and promotions alone and sometimes in the middle of war zones. On countless occasions he helplessly listened to us cry over whatever hard thing was happening at home, or excitedly tell him about something amazing that he had missed, only to have the conversations cut short because he was under attack or the satellite phone or laptop he was on lost its signal.

My husband’s willingness to lay down his life for you and I, meant that he spent months and years disconnected from everything that he loved and that he was fighting for. It meant repeatedly starting over and learning new “normals” after deployments as our family adjusted to the impacts that war had on his body and mind. It meant that each member of our family has had to learn exactly what it means to come to the end of ourselves and be completely dependent on God’s strength to carry us. Isaiah 40:29 He gives power to the weak and strength to the powerless. Psalm 28:7 The Lord is my strength and shield. I trust him with all my heart. He helps me, and my heart is filled with joy.
My husband’s service still means that he has to fight every day through pain, for his physical and mental health to be restored as much as God will restore it.

But… he would do it all again. WE would do it all again. Because…

Galatians 5:13 For you have been called to live in freedom, my brothers and sisters. But don’t use your freedom to satisfy your sinful nature. Instead, use your freedom to serve one another in love. 

And…

John 15:13 There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.

There are so many veterans that have served this nation with a willingness to lay down their life, but only one is mine. LTC (Ret) Chad Anthony Calvaresi, thank you for your service.

If you know anyone that has served, please take the time today to thank them for their service.