Celebrating Life on September 11th

Three years ago on September 11th I was 9 months pregnant with my third child.  In the weeks leading up to her birth, I feared - and even dreaded - that I would go into labor just four days early, thereby giving her a birth date of 9/11.  As I struggled to make peace with this possibility before it could become a reality, I came to find the idea of giving birth to new life on the anniversary of such death and destruction to be a   s t r a n g e l y   b e a u t i f u l   p a r a d o x

Knowing that if I were to give birth to this child on September 11th, there would be so much that my heart needed to say, but no time or energy with which to say it, I wrote - in the days before September 11th, 2012 -  what you're about to read, AS IF she had already been born and AS THOUGH her birth date were, in fact, 9/11.

September 11th came and went that year.  And when, on September 12th, I found myself to be still pregnant...I was profoundly disappointed.  You see...as my heart struggled to make sense of this idea - and then as I wrote the words you will read below, I realized that there could be nothing more beautiful...or powerful...than to bring forth new life on the anniversary of such hate and darkness.

Since the child that I wrote this piece about was NOT born on September 11th, 

I dedicate the following to all the children that have been born into a post-9/11 world

 and even more so, to the children that are blessed...

and cursed...

to share this date with history. 

I also dedicate this to our fellow military families, 

who serve every moment of every day,

 (and in some of those moments, quite honestly, need some help remembering 'why'.)  

I'm there, myself...too often.  

And finally, I dedicate this to all the hearts that are hurting today, 

because they lost someone they dearly loved 14 years ago.  

Yours was the greatest sacrifice of all.  

There IS a hope for our future!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our third child was due September 15th

I had hoped that she wouldn't decide to make her arrival 4 days early - on September 11th.

September 11th is a day that hangs H E A V Y with death and sadness. It's a day for remembering life, not celebrating it. Not a day for looking forward with hopes and dreams. But a day for looking back and remembering.

Alas, as everyone knows, babies don't cooperate.

~~~~~~

Our baby girl was born on September 11th, 2012.

~~~~~~

We named her Lily. 

A lily symbolizes innocence,  purity,  and beauty.

The day that was once only a somber anniversary has become - for our family - also a beautiful celebration of life.  And although I had hoped that our sweet, new child would not share her birthday with some of the most tragic memories in our nation's history, the stark contrast of joy and sadness that this day now represents to this military family is suddenly a beautiful reminder of why we serve.  He with his uniform and me and our children with our love and support... With our willingness to go with him when we can and to allow him to go alone when he must.

'Our  W I L L I N G N E S S  

to go with him when we can

And to allow him to go  

A L O N E  

when he must'

Lily's birth on this significant day reminds us that, although the 'looking back' is invaluable, the service to our country is always forward looking.  It's for the preservation of the hopes and dreams of this newest generation. Because when you look into the eyes of a small child you know all that is within them that is beautiful, innocent, and pure deserves a life free of fear and filled with
p o s s i b i l i t i e s...

Lily's birth on September 11th reminds us that the memories will always be raw and painful but there is a hope for the future.  We can see that hope in the eyes of the smallest, most innocent among us.   And - as a military family - we serve our country with every breath we take for this great and innocent hope.

'The looking back is made complete 

in the looking forward'

Be encouraged this September 11th anniversary. And as we all experience the profound sadness that comes with watching the horrific memories on the television throughout the day, realize that the looking back is made complete in the looking forward.  Amidst the ugliness, there is still a hope and a beauty in this world. And this hope and beauty is why we - and countless other military families -
S  E  R  V  E.

Homelessness Of The Heart

I’ve learned that there’s value in homelessness.  There’s a type of homelessness that leaves your heart aching and lost even while your body is sheltered.  It’s a kind of, “homelessness of the heart”, and I fell into it several years ago.

I was born and raised in a small community in Pennsylvania; the same community that my parents were born and raised in and their parents before them.  It’s just that kind of town.  I probably would have given birth to my own babies in that same hospital and taken them home to that same community and raised them beside those same neighbors, too.  Would have….if I hadn’t promised my life to a man who promised his life to his country.  You see, I fell in love with a man who loved his country so much that he would put every single step of his future into “her” hands.  And by my devotion to him, I made these same crazy promises.  At 23, I left Pennsylvania.

The transition from “belonging” to “homeless” was gradual, almost imperceptible at first.  I returned for quick visits frequently and my heart ached daily for the comfort and simplicity of home.  It’s a feeling all too familiar to anyone who has ever lived in one place all their lives…and then leaves.  A severing so distinct and poignant it could almost be mistaken for a physical severing rather than an emotional one.  Not a butterfly being removed from its chrysalis, but a butterfly being removed from its caterpillar-self, being separated from the very essence of who he is, in some abstract, disorienting way.

But when the painful severing process was finally completed, I awakened to a new reality; one that I hadn’t really considered before and found quite alarming.  I no longer have a home.  I no longer belong to that little Pennsylvania community…could never go back…maybe wouldn’t even want to.  The leaves have fallen and re-birthed  from those Pennsylvania trees too many times. The fallen snow melted, then fell, and then melted again. Life has gone on without me inside each of those familiar homes for so long, the distance so great, the living of life so different.  The course has been set.

You can never truly feel “at home” in a place where you have no history.  In some cases, the roots that are ripped from the soil in one location are replanted in a new location. Ten, twenty, thirty years go by and those roots grow deeper and deeper.  For these people, the homelessness may never fully develop.  As the ties that bind them to their former home are broken, they’re replaced by a developing history in their new surroundings.  The transition is challenging but natural. For a military family, the roots never have a chance to grow.  Just when they finally begin to take root, they’re plucked from the soil and replanted again.  It makes us strong.  It also makes us homeless.

I felt sorry for myself, missing out on one of the most comforting, natural parts of human life.  I felt sorry for my children, for giving them a life entirely void of permanence in their surroundings.

And then the lesson came.  The way it often does:  at just the right moment, in the most tender, quiet place in my heart.  God saying, in the softest of whispers, “This world is not your home”.  And my homeless heart smiled as it received these words, along with the enormous message embodied therein.  Homelessness of the heart isn’t a curse.  It’s a radiant blessing.  It makes every trip to someone else’s grocery store, every wrong turn out of my own driveway, every church service in every new town a genuine reminder of something that’s difficult to pay more than lip service to.  This world is truly not my home.  I have a beautiful hope in my homeless heart finally finding peace and a sense of perfect belonging in Heaven someday…  A person who drives the very same roads, walks in the very same front door, and attends the very same church year in and year out has a precious blessing on this Earth.  But the absence of that constant sense of “home” turns my eyes heavenward daily, and that is truly priceless.

There is value in homelessness…when it’s the kind of homelessness that draws you closer to the “home” your heart was made for.

Have you ever experienced a "Homelessness of the Heart"?  Please share your experiences in the comments below!