a treasure from the pearl

I didn't know how much it would mean to me until it was here. I didn't know I needed it, but holding the dusty piece in my hand, I know I do. I don't know who arranged for it to be sent to me, but I'm so thankful for their thoughtful act.

In my lap, I hold a piece of my past. A piece of me. In 2007, I moved to a little island country called Haiti. In 2010, I was glued to the television as I watched it crumble down. Days went by without knowing if my friends were okay. Over 300,000 people died in the earthquake that January day, many while trapped for days under rubble. Two of them were my friends. Many structures were destroyed; 1 million people were made homeless. One of those buildings was the orphanage where I lived and worked in 2007. This is a piece of that orphanage.

This is the place where I decided to become a nurse. This is where I gave my first intramuscular shot. This is where Katie taught me how to draw blood on Angela's kitchen table. This is where I met my three youngest siblings for the first time. This is where I kissed sweaty heads at night, bunk by bunk. This is where I would cry pissed off that babies are dying because of stupid things like dehydration. This is where I fell in love with a baby named Rebecca, where I cared for her scarred skin, where I mourned over a positive HIV test, and then rejoiced after learning it was a false positive. This is where I watched her and many others plump up and get healthy. This is where I listened to a school age boy tell me about his experiences as a restavek, child slave. This is the place that I cared for a machete wound in the office while the clinic was still being built. This is where I broke up with a boyfriend who couldn't understand why I wanted "to be in that shit hole anyway." This is where I danced in the rain and got yelled at by the nannies for doing it.

One of the most devastating things about watching Three Angels come down was knowing that my husband would never get to visit the place that helped make me the woman he married. He has yet to see Haiti and a part of me feels like he will never know that part of me until he goes. I wanted him to see where his wife became who she is. I wanted him to see a place that I called home. An earthquake may have damaged that place, but now in our home we have a piece of my old home. The pieces come together.

As I look at my piece of the orphanage, I see layers of paint that were rolled on over the years. I wonder to myself which layer is the one I put on. I see part of a pink handprint and wonder if those are the fingers of one of the little girls who insisted on braiding my hair. Either way, I know that Haiti and this particular building has touched and shaped me more than any impact I ever had on it. Haiti is a beautiful country, "The Pearl of the Antilles." Her people are breathtaking and resilient. The earthquake was powerful, but not as much as what this treasure represents. Beauty from ashes.

loving a warrior

I was in the bathroom, eyes swollen, chest quivering with each inspiration. I told him to come in there and shut the door; don't turn on the light, I told him. I need somewhere dark to think and talk. Fear and emotion swell up in me like a bright, awkward light. Darkness is what I need.

He had just expressed desire to maybe try something different in his Army career. He simply wants to get more information and explore possibilities, but my fearful heart can't focus. He feels like maybe there is something more out there for him, something that would bring him fulfillment.

Why do you want to do something more intense? Isn't infantry enough? Do you really want to do something that will take you away even more often? 

I plead with him as if he's already made a decision, already signed on the dotted line. My head is telling me to be rational and to listen to what he has to say and jesucristo stop being so selfish. But I can't get over it. I can't let it go because I know he's a warrior and sometimes that's plain scary.

I know you would be like the guy in Act of Valor who lays on a grenade to save his friends. I know you're brave like that. Sometimes I wish you were a coward. 

As soon as it leaves my mouth, I know it isn't true. Of course I don't want to be married to a coward. No, I don't want that at all. But I'm scared.

But God didn't give you a cowardly heart. He gave you a warrior one. 

I say it through tears, quietly, trying to come to terms with it myself. Loving a warrior is hard. Women have had a romantic fascination with warriors from the beginning of time. It's easy to swoon over a man in uniform, but really loving him... really loving his true warrior heart, now that's the hard stuff.

I believe there is an assault on warrior hearts, especially masculine ones, in today's society. I believe much of that is created by women. We tell our boys to sit down, be quiet, and for heaven's sake don't do anything dangerous. We do it because we are scared. Danger is scary. It is costly. There are warriors in literal roles like soldiers, police officers, and fire fighters. But there are the less obvious ones too, like the man who chooses to testify so that no more children get molested. Standing up for what is right is costly, it is dangerous. It is scary.

Loving my husband's warrior heart and honoring it for what it is may cost me something. It may cost me everything. Or I can live in fear and beg him not to do anything dangerous. But isn't that exactly what we need? We need dangerous. We need fighters, warriors, righteous strength. We need trail blazers. We need men who will raise boys that respect women, so that maybe one day there will be no need for sex slaves because there isn't a demand for it. We need men who will put their lives on the line for the sake of others. We need men who will go, even when they are afraid. We need warriors and women who will love them, especially when it's scary.

I just love you so much. I don't want to lose you. 

It's all I can say, and really, it's all there is to say. The truth is, he isn't mine. God is just letting me borrow him for the time being. My husband is His. And who am I to try to put out the fire placed in him by his Creator? So I take a big, fearful, selfish gulp and put my head on his chest. His heart sounds like a beating drum, a warrior ready for battle.

lazy lovers

"Ok, just let me finish this first." He was home very early and I was still in the middle of the dishes. Since block leave wasn't over for the battalion, but he was out of leave days, my husband had to go check in at the company for PT and accountability. (Translation: He was out of vacation days so he had to go back into work, but not everyone was back from the vacation period, so he didn't have a normal full day's work.) This meant that he was usually home before 8 am every morning. At first, it was really nice. He'd climb back into bed with me when we got home and we'd sleep in and start off the day slow. However, I'm about to start nursing school and began feeling stressed and pressured to get things done. The days of being lazy lovers are slipping away and the reality of John going back to work full time and me starting a very intense registered nursing program is starting to sink in.

But the days aren't completely gone yet. Where I want to do and plan and make happen, John wants to be and rest and let happen. (See how he's so good for me?) I love my husband dearly, but when he was asking me to stop what I was doing so that we could go back to bed, it took everything in me to listen to him. I wanted to blow him off and say "No, I have things to do!" Then I thought about it... will it really hurt if I go to the store two hours later than I had originally planned? Then I remembered all those lonely nights without him. Images of crying in my bed longing for him so deeply came to my mind. I wiped down the kitchen counter, put the sponge away, and went back to bed snuggled up close to the love of my life.

As if we haven't had enough change and transition the last two months, we'll be adding a new dynamic with me going back to school. The program will take up 60-80 hours a week of my time. Because of that, there will be new normals and roles in our home. The first year and a half of our marriage I've been a homemaker. Now the stereotypical gender roles will need to shift some with him being responsible for more duties around the house. We're not exactly sure how all of that will work out practically, but we do know that we both feel a little nervous about the change.

My nervousness comes out in the form of "we're going to have to face this soon, so we better just start practicing now." John's response is more like "we don't have to face it yet, so let's just enjoy this while we can." I decided to take my husband's lead and simply enjoy this time of no work, no school, no kids, no pets... just about no obligations other than each other. We've basically been on one giant date for a week. I've been fighting my habit to do and am enjoying just being. John went back into work today and school starts in five days. I'm already feeling a bit nostalgic about the days of sleeping in and being lazy lovers.

Juice Fast

Our juice fast was... ambitious. We were attempting a seven day juice fast to detox from the copious amounts of fast food and junk we've been eating. We completed only two days. Apparently you are supposed to prep for a juice fast by cutting out fast food and other fattening and/or sugary foods one to two weeks before you begin the fast. We prepared for our fast by eating brisket, nachos, and beer. Ah well, we know better now.

It wasn't all for naught, however, as I learned some things. Probably the most important thing I learned about the experience is that juicers are really loud. Ok, maybe that's not the most important thing I learned, but it is a good point to note if you live in an apartment with paper thin walls. Sorry, neighbors! No, we're not pressure washing the kitchen; just makin' some juice. I did learn that I'm crazy addicted to food. Mexican is my kryptonite. And bread. And cheese. And... Shoot, a girl's gotta eat! But in all seriousness, the experience really taught me the difference between hunger and a desire to eat. The juice was providing me the nourishment I needed, yet I still wanted to munch. Another positive thing about this experience is that it seems that the two days of consuming nothing but raw fruit and vegetable juice has help to reset my cravings. I will always love carne asada, but billboards for fast food now make my stomach churn. I find myself once again craving all kinds of nutrient rich foods. Before the fast, I was in a greasy slump and my body had forgotten what it really wanted.

We drank the same juice for most of the first day and I wanted to scratch my tongue out. The recipe we used called for ginger. I am what they call a supertaster. (Scientifically confirmed, in fact. But that's another story.) This means that I'm freakishly good at identifying certain flavors. People like me tend to be food critics and wine connoisseurs. My super tasting doesn't lend me any fancy title, instead some flavors just really jump out at me. That was the case with the tiny bit of ginger that was in the recipe we drank for the first day. You know that scene in the movie Ratatouille when Remy tastes food and there are little fireworks popping in the background? I can so relate to this visual representation of taste because that's exactly what the ginger was like for me. Except that most of the ingredients had a decent flavor that combined well like a talented band and the ginger was the one annoying off key instrument. So we experimented with different recipes in which I omitted the ginger.

My favorite juice so far is as follows:
4-6 leaves of kale
1 cucumber
2 carrots
2 green apples
2 oranges
1 half lemon

We are back to eating real foods like normal people, but we are still enjoying making homemade juices. We try to include some dark green leafy vegetables in each batch, but a sweet all-fruit juice is a nice treat every once in awhile. And for me, that's what it's all about: the balance.

Vacation Detox

Well, I did it! It's been two weeks without Facebook and it feels pretty good. The only time I miss it is when I think about friends that are having babies soon and I want to know if the big day has come and other updates about people I don't see often (Hey, Madeleine B. email me!). I will probably reactivate it soon, but it's been a nice break.

We just got back from a trip back home to California. John got to see his family and friends for the first time in over year. It was touching to see how loved he is. A week seemed like way too short of time, but we managed to squeeze a lot in, including birthday celebrations and a lake day. We throughly enjoyed the crisp California air and lack of humidity. We even got to wear sweatshirts most nights!
Ah, that bay breeze!

Getting back to one's "roots" is always refreshing and grounding. It was nice to have face to face interactions with people we love. One not so refreshing part of being home, however, was eating tons of junk and gaining weight. Since John got home from deployment, we've been indulging on all kinds of foods that aren't so healthy. This past week it finally caught up with us as we tried to consume as much of our favorite foods we can't get here in Texas. We decided that needing to unbutton our pants to sit down isn't acceptable so tomorrow we are starting a seven day juice fast to just reset our systems, so to speak.

We're trading in carne asada fries, burgers, pizza, and buffalo wings for kale, cucumbers, apples, and celery. The first three days we'll be drinking the "mean green" juice which includes the above ingredients as well as ginger root and lemon. Days 4-7 we'll add in other things like carrots, blueberries, and flax seed. Once the week long juice fast is over, we'll slowly start to add in whole fruits and vegetables (not just the juice), nuts, beans, fish, poultry, whole grains, and treats. Neither one of us wants to be rigid and never eat junk again, but we're hoping to sort of cleanse out the crap we've consumed the last two months and get back into a more moderate lifestyle. When John was gone I started eating healthier and exercising more. He did the same and we both felt an improvement in our energy level and overall well-being. I also didn't have a cold sore for 7 months (I was getting one about once a month before). Unfortunately, I have two healing up and one more just popped up this morning. I'm hoping the fast and subsequent healthy lifestyle will again subdue the outbreaks. I hear the first three days are the hardest as the body goes through a sort of withdrawal period. I'm up for the challenge and looking forward to pushing myself. It will be a great exercise in self-control and discipline.

This is all we'll be consuming over the next three days! If you see us over the week, please encourage us to keep going;  I'm sure we'll need it!

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