Marriage in the military

“Today might be one of your I-hate-the-military days,” my husband of three months said uneasily.

I snapped to attention, temporarily forgetting the vegetables I was chopping.

“Why? Switching shifts?” I asked, knowing he wasn’t.

“No, I’m deploying.”

I practically puréed the onion. Then came my tears and venom. I realized it wasn’t his fault but didn’t care. He was leaving me.

This reality failed to cross my mind when I fell in love with Nick. He was the first military man I knew, and the romance swept me away. I had envisioned worldwide adventures with my groom. Instead, we were stuck in the ugly Idaho desert, an hour away from the closest town and hundreds of miles from home. We had no friends and were just settling into a church. Now Nick was deploying to Asia, unsure of his return date but positive he would miss our first anniversary.

All about me

A year earlier, Nick had given me a grey Air Force sweatshirt. Bursting with pride for my military man, I wore it everywhere and treasured that garment like a gold medal. Now, I peeled it off and stuffed it in the closet. I didn’t want anything to do with the Air Force.

Those feelings only intensified as his departure date drew near. I cried over everything, bewildering my poor husband. Even though his job as a fighter jet electrician nearly guaranteed his safety, I remained unsatisfied. Nightmares convinced me he wasn’t coming home.

“I just don’t understand,” he said one afternoon. “I’m not going to die. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t trust the Air Force with you,” I said. He was mine, and they were taking him away.

Nick pulled me close and spoke softly. “Crystal, please understand where I’m coming from. Not only am I deploying, but I’m worrying about you, too. I can’t take care of myself because I’m taking care of you. I’m not allowed to cry because you’re doing it all for me.”

I knew he was right; I hadn’t considered how he felt. My husband had been hiding his anxieties to protect me, but my selfish actions had left him without any support. All my energies were going toward me instead of us.

Despite that realization, I still felt bitter when Nick left. Depression engulfed me. I had been a Christian my entire life, practically raised in a pew, but now I couldn’t even fake a smile, especially in church. I resented the sickly sweet people who greeted me with a smile but never called me during the week. Most of all, I despised the God who gave me this man. Didn’t He realize how much I had given up to be Nick’s wife?

Deeper and deeper into my closet went the Air Force sweatshirt.

All about Him

A steaming-hot August morning found me in church again, lonely and tired. I was taking 18 college credits, trying to stay busy, but the schedule was exhausting. The choir sang, “All of You is more than enough for all of me / For every thirst and every need.”

Inwardly blushing, I realized my problem: I didn’t think God could satisfy my needs. I had been substituting my husband for my Saviour, and the results had been almost disastrous. If I trusted God to save my soul, shouldn’t I trust Him with my life and marriage? I reluctantly answered yes.

Shedding my pride, I called some other Air Force wives. Over tea, I confessed my feelings of anger and anxiety. To my surprise, they smiled knowingly. From then after, we met regularly to discuss our marriages.

Once my attention switched from myself to others, I felt energized and valuable. I also worked toward a personal goal by training for a competitive 10K race. As a result, my phone conversations with Nick grew more upbeat as my friendships deepened and interests widened, freeing him to concentrate on staying healthy and safe.

Nick eventually returned with a sunburn and souvenirs. And though I hate the thought of more deployments, I know they will come. I have to forfeit the right to plan our lives my way.

Giving our future to God is still scary sometimes, but I’m making progress. That sweatshirt now has its own hanger.

© 2007 Focus on the Family. All rights reserved. International copyright secured. Used by permission.

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