I've been thinking about getting rid of Facebook for awhile. I told my husband that it's become a distraction from real life, that I got addicted to it while he was gone. That's embarrassing to admit. Everyone loves to hate Facebook and say how stupid it is, yet here am I admitting that it's become a real part of my life. I had an excuse while he was gone; it was our main form of communication during deployment. I was constantly online hoping to never miss him when he had internet access. But now that he's home, why am I still in this toxic "I hate it, but can't get away from it" relationship with a social media site?

I think the reasons go deeper than the ones I freely offered at first. We live in a culture where our lives are on display and it is becoming harder to see what "over sharing" really is. Even as I write that sentence, I realize that this blog puts my life on display and that I may over share even here. With the ever-increasing lack of privacy, I feel the need to perform. I want people to give me a thumbs up and "like" me. My dear husband says I need to forget about what other people think, that it's an impossible task to please everyone. I know he's right. As evolved and mature as I'd like to think I am, I still want people to like me. Again, I start to get embarrassed, until I realize that every honest human being would admit that they want to be liked and accepted too.

That embarrassed feeling has been creeping up a lot lately. Like when I said the "F word" in public and later realized that there was a couple nearby that goes to my church. Like when someone warned me that a certain beach has a lot of women in bikinis and I told her that I wear a bikini. Like when someone posts a picture of me on Facebook drinking a cocktail. I don't want my church friends seeing those things. But the truth is I like music that makes me want to gyrate my hips. I wear a bikini and push-up bras. I can hold my own with the infantrymen and sound like one too.

That embarrassed feeling is conviction, Carsen. You feel that way because you know it's wrong. 
Maybe. Maybe not.

That embarrassed feeling creeps up in other aspects too. My "wild" side isn't the only one on display online. My faith is too. Those that know me know that I have a spiritual life that is active and real. I don't want my church friends to see me one way, but then I find myself not wanting others to know that I want to follow God. Mostly because of the tainted image that it's become. Mostly because others have screwed that up for me. Mostly because many people see my faith as something used to condemn and judge other people. I want to share my faith with others, but I don't want them to think I'm another one of "those" people. Spirituality is something deeply personal to me, yet it is very much a part of who I am. I can't hide it. But sometimes I want to.

That's a sin, Carsen. You are *supposed* to be unashamed. 
Maybe. Maybe not.

I told my husband I was feeling this way. Told him that maybe I should stop leading a double life. That maybe I need to pick the bikini-wearing, cocktail-drinking, curse word-saying life or I need to pick the modest, religious, straight as an arrow life. There's something in the Bible about that, wineskins or wells or something. But is it really a double life? Maybe this "wild side" isn't bad at all, but the way God made me. Maybe he created me to think for myself and to rebel against the "should's" and the "oughts." Maybe he gave me this fiery spirit that gets pissed off at injustice and can't be quiet about it. Maybe he's made me to be comfortable and relatable to infantryman and the likes so that I can show them His love. Maybe if I wore a one-piece swimsuit and blushed when someone said "shit," I'd make people who are not in the church not want to be around me. Jesus never sinned or compromised his standards or made excuses for sin, but he did hang out with prostitutes and thieves and the poor.

That's justifying your actions, Carsen. Your thinking is wrong. 
Maybe. Maybe not.

And that thing about wineskins or wells or something... I'm pretty sure that's about the heart. The God who created me cares about my heart, not outside appearance. He cares about how I love people and care for people. He cares about me loving Him and He wants a relationship with me. He wants me to care about what He thinks. Because that's the thing about Facebook and humans in general, most can't see the heart. What is seen is just a glimpse of a person's whole self. I have given authority to certain people to correct me when I'm wrong because I trust their opinions and know that they know me deeper than just about everyone in the Facebook world. Maybe that's what I really long for: relationships that care about the heart. Maybe I don't want any more fake relationships that just see pictures and words out of context. Maybe I'm sick of telling someone something in person and they cut me off saying, "Yeah, I read your status." Maybe I want real relationships that I'm not worried about going awry based off of something on a stupid website. Maybe what I really want is authenticity.

Now that's just crazy talk, Carsen. 
Maybe. Maybe not.

a soldier's return

After 257 days of deployment, my soldier returned. It's been a month since that day and the whirlwind of emotions is starting to wane. I believe my emotional, jumpy basal ganglia have been on overdrive while the logical, focused cortex has been sitting back and laughing. The fog is slowly clearing and I'm starting to feel like myself again. Hello, logical brain, it's so nice to see you.

The few weeks leading up a soldier's return are probably the worst. One might imagine that it's full of excited joy and hopeful anxiousness. For me, that didn't come until about 20 minutes before I was in his arms. Before that, there was mostly weariness, grumpiness, and about-to-cut-someone's-throatness. I was on edge and thought I was going to implode if one.more.person asked me when he was coming home. The fact is, the wife doesn't know because the soldier rarely knows. John was given an estimated date, but even when that date rolled around, it was unclear if he'd be en route that day or not. He had to report for a briefing and then leave his base to go to the one he'd be flying out of. This wasn't my first time dealing with the military so there was no surprise that the plane had malfunctions and his flight got delayed. It's true what they say about hurry up and wait. I decided to screw the hurry up part and just waited. When I knew that he was no longer in the Middle East, I tried to convince myself to get excited. My brain refused and decided to go into shock mode instead. In other words, the jerk checked out on me. When my brain, i.e. my filter, checked out, I decided I should probably turn off my phone. I was a WMD waiting to be set off.  

He was experiencing much more weariness, grumpiness, and about-to-cut-someone's-throatness than I was and our collective stinky attitude made it feel like we were constantly on the verge of a fight. I think this is why the Bible says soldiers should be unmarried and that husbands and wives should "not deprive one another." There was seriously about to be a throw down and I didn't know if we'd like each other that much once we were reunited. I didn't like myself, so how could I expect someone else to adore me? The fear of an impending breakdown coupled with bickering and tension made it hard for me to comprehend a rosy reunion. I hate to break it to you, but it's not like the movies. There wasn't any hanging parachute escapades or usurped military planes floating into the sunset in my future. Just an emotional wreck of a wife and an exhausted heap of a husband.  

The unit set up a website with information about the ceremony times so that families could stay updated about changes since communication with our soldiers while they were en route wasn't guaranteed. The day that John was supposed to arrive was spent refreshing that website to see if there were any more delays. I started to get ready and then realized I hadn't eaten much all day. A friend and seasoned Army wife brought me over some food and hung out with me while I finished primping. I think if I had been alone, I would have freaked out. I'm thankful for her distraction. It wasn't until I was already on post that I remembered that I didn't know where I was going. The vague directions I had were to go in the main gate and to follow the big signs. There weren't any signs. I started calling people, but no one picked up. I knew the general direction of the field and division headquarters so I headed that way. Somehow, my Spidey senses got me to where I needed to be. My in-laws and parents had surprised me by hiring a photographer to capture the event. When I got to the field where the ceremony was to take place, I met up with some friends and the photographer. I started to feed off of everyone's energy. The excitement was contagious. I remember taking a deep breath and thinking to myself that I didn't want my fear and stress to ruin this moment. We'd deal with the change later, I thought, but right now I just want to savor this happiness. 

The ceremony actually started early. It felt too fast because I had no time to process what was going on. The white buses were coming, being led by police cars. My heart was pounding and tears started to fill my eyes. My love, my best friend, my soulmate was on one of those buses and he was here to stay until the next duty called. The buses lined up and the soldiers disembarked and formed up behind the buses. The DJ started the chant, "Move that bus! Move that bus!" The buses finally moved and there stood my hero with his battle buddies. They marched forward and there was a small ceremony to retire the colors and say a prayer. Then we were instructed to charge each other Braveheart style. I had told John what I was going to be wearing and what my sign looked like. I stood out in the field holding my "Kiss Me" sign with darting eyes. I watched as other wives hugged and kissed their husbands, but couldn't see mine. Finally, I saw him walking in the back of the crowd. I tugged on the photographer's hand as I ran to my love. He saw me and I heard him say, "There she is." It felt like he had picked me for the first time. The following few seconds were the sweetest. Hugs, kisses, and smiles that I will hold in my memory for years to come. 

The practical growing pains of coming back together and reestablishing our roles as husband and wife have been tiring. It's truly been a month of coasting through the highs and lows. He's changed. I've changed. Our situations have changed. We've grown older physically as well as emotionally. Things are starting to smooth over as we get back into a rhythm and new normal. Night time has been redeemed for me. While he was gone, it was one of the loneliest times. Now as I lay in bed, I am often awake as I hear his breathing change from relaxed to a deep sleep. I think back on those fitful nights and the ups and downs of the last month and know that these moments make the other ones totally worth it. They never said it would be easy. This marriage thing is hard, especially in the military world. But as I snuggle up close to my partner in life, I know that it's going to be okay. My soldier is home. 

photo by Alisha Norman