I Will Not Go Quietly. Will You?

My focus should be on creating exams and writing papers and possibly (just possibly) folding the clothes in the basket of clean laundry that sits beside me. I could run the dishwasher or go for a walk or (slight gasp) actually read a book non-school related.

Bake a cake.
Call my mom.

Finish that scrapbook from 2012.

Instead of the many, many things that I could be doing, I find my mind wandering between World War II questions and the current world situation. I eat a bowl of cereal and think about our boy and instantly feel sick. My emotions have run amok.

This boy of ours. About to join the ranks of those defending our freedom. Adamant that he wants no big to-do about his departure. Willing to quietly slip away and conquer a dream he's had for quite some time.

While his mother, on the other hand, wants to scream from the rooftops just to see if anyone's listening. Wants to grab the local idiot and shake them by the neck and say,

This life is not about you.

Running your mouth screaming freedom of speech.
    Destroying property claiming freedom of expression.
        Taking God out of my country citing freedom of religion.

All while we idly stand by and overdose on reality television.

I have no time for celebrity foolishness or talk show opinions. I don't share political propaganda via social media. I am by no means perfect, but may heaven help me if I bury my head in the sand.

The words of Dwight D. Eisenhower ring loudly in my ears. Speaking to those soldiers who were about to embark on the greatest military invasion the world has ever known, he said (in part*),

Your task will not be an easy one.

 Your enemy is well trained, well equipped, and battle-hardened.

 He will fight savagely.

I have full confidence in your courage,

 devotion to duty, and skill in battle. 

We will accept nothing less than full victory. 

Good Luck! And let us all beseech the blessing of Almighty God

 upon this great and noble undertaking. 

I cannot help but reflect on how those words still ring true today. June 6, 1944, may be well behind us, but the battle is ever before us. Let us not wait until Memorial Day or Independence Day or Veteran's Day to support a country, a flag, a cause for which much blood was shed.

Vietnam Wall. Photo by me. Sacrifice by many.

I am tired of making excuses, tired of worrying whom I might offend, and tired of the media giving valuable air time to fools making a mockery of their freedom.

Period.



*You can read or listen to Eisenhower's full speech HERE.

Things That Make Me Happy

Showing a video to two separate eighth grade classes...

and hearing not a peep as it played.



May we never forget.
May we always honor.



May we continue to teach.

For Love Of Country

I'm a little ashamed of myself.

How in the world have I been blogging this long and yet not have one entry on Veterans Day?

Memorial Day. Check.
Independence Day. Check.
Labor Day. Check.

Heck, I've even got a well-written entry (I am my biggest fan, after all) on what I like to call "It Stinks To Be Single Day." Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas... covered. Anniversaries? Been there.

But Veterans Day?

Shockingly silent.

I have got to be missing something.

Even so, allow me to share with you my thoughts on tomorrow. I am so looking forward to it. Not only do I get to watch a parade that will take place right outside my classroom window, but I also get to kick off first period with a invigorating lesson on the signing of the Declaration of Independence. In my world, life in middle school doesn't get much better than that.

Veterans Day.

Armistice Day.

November 11, 1918.

The eleventh day of the eleventh month at the eleventh hour.

The day the world would record as the end of "the war to end all wars."

As history has taught us, however, the decades would tick by and we would come to accept that, in fact, The Great War was not the war to end all wars. As a result, our country would shift the focus of Armistice Day to a day of honoring the veterans of America for "their patriotism, love of country, and willingness to serve and sacrifice for the common good."

I especially appreciate that part about love of country. Why else would the citizens of a nation voluntarily (setting aside the mandatory draft, of course) raise their right hand and swear an oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States? Medical benefits and a decent pension plan can only account for so much of that dedication, you know.

At any rate, by all means, thank a vet tomorrow and every day.

And if you're in the neighborhood, swing by my class around 8:05 in the morning. I'll be the one up front singing the praises of the patriots and trying my best to help a room full of teenagers appreciate the risk that fifty-six men took when they dipped their quills to the inkwell and signed a document so profound it ignited a riot in New York City that ultimately destroyed a nearby statue of King George III (which interestingly enough, would later be melted down and molded into over 40,000 musket balls for the American army).

You gotta love history.




*quoted material courtesy of http://www.va.gov/opa/vetsday/vetdayhistory.asp

Of Obnoxious Brides And Clueless Politicians

Darn this nice weather.

I woke up in a bad mood. Maybe it was due to an overload of Bridezillas on Netflix last night (not good, I know). Maybe it was due to that teleprompter-reading-commander guy we've got in the big house and that ridiculous, threat-ridden virtual speech I caught a few minutes of on the late news (manipulation, for sure). Maybe it's because we once again have no hot water and I simply cannot bear the thought of a cold shower (get over it, I will). At any rate, when my eyes opened my first thought was of a for sale sign and a moving truck, but here I sit on this blasted front porch.

The air is cool. My cat is beside me. A string of motorcycles just went cruising by. Those old men looked pretty darn happy, if I do say so myself. It's quite difficult to stay in a bad mood.

I gotta tell you, though, those bridezilla women are crazy. It's like a train wreck that I can't look away from... I know I shouldn't watch, but good grief... do people really act that way? All that stress and drama wrapped around what some girl thinks perfection should look like. I just don't get it, but then again, I've never understood the pressure of having the perfect wedding. I would rather shoot for the perfect marriage (which we all know ain't gonna happen) than strive for an hour or two of me "being the princess for the day" while those around me are made to feel like cra--

Back away from the Netflix and nobody's gotta get hurt.

And what about our head guy? The guy in the big house? His eyes were bouncing back and forth so much reading that teleprompter that it was hard for me to follow a word he was saying. He threatens to shut this down and shut that down- even had the nerve to say that if the other side doesn't get on board with what he wants, "the soldiers, even those serving overseas, will not receive their paycheck come October 1st." Really? I don't believe him, or any other politician for that matter. I've not seen or heard one smack-talker who will ever convince me they have a clue what is going on outside their glass walls, at least not at this particular moment in time. That entire group of overly-paid, public-elected officials sit in padded leather chairs and blah-blah-BLAH-blah all the day long while we can barely afford one family pack of GROUND BEEF a week.

We have never lived in a home where the American flag is not displayed. We have honorable discharge papers under our belt and military achievement awards on our wall. We pay our income taxes, our property taxes, our vehicle taxes, and what will soon be our healthcare taxes-fines-whatever. We abide by the law.

It's enough to put a person in a horrifying, bad, bad mood...

Except for this wonderful, refreshing cool breeze. The cat is looking inside the boys' bedroom window. I don't know what he thinks he's gonna see... there won't be anybody moving on that side of the window for a while yet. I can hear the husband rattling around inside the house. I've been blessed with a man who knows how to wield a wrench and isn't afraid to use it. He's fixed that water heater before, Lord knows he can do it again. I've got a kid who helps buy groceries, a kid who wants to serve his country, and a kid who is just plain happy.

A God who gives me hope.
So much for that bad mood.

I just hope those bridezillas get their act together quick.

Marine Post: Take Two

From last Monday:

The younger son said to me earlier,

I think you're about as good as a forty-year old can get.

I'm not exactly sure what that means, but it made me laugh nonetheless. The fact that he shaved a few years off my age didn't hurt either. You gotta wonder at times what goes through the minds of these kids.

It would appear that a military recruiter has set his sights on that boy of mine. Not surprising in the least, if you know him at all, but still a tadbit troubling from the mother point of view. I think about my own mom and wonder what she thought about such things- she went through it twice. I think about my estranged mother-in law and feel a foreign twinge of empathy- she was told her firstborn had signed up only hours before he actually left AND it was on Thanksgiving Day.

Yes. The firstborn I went on to marry, but that's another story.

For now, it's time we invite that recruiter over for supper.
We've got the Army and Air Force covered.
Let's see what a Marine brings to the table.

We're always up for entertainment.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


And today (Saturday, the 21st):

I wrote and posted that earlier and took it down only hours after it went public. I guess I was second-guessing what I was putting out there and not wanting any one comment to influence the boy one way or the other (or influence my thoughts, to be more exact). It always amazes me how the things I think will get the most attention don't get much at all and the things I think will bore the reader to death generate the most feedback. That particular post certainly kicked off a lot of interest almost immediately. Anyway, as is the usual with me, I've had time to process my thoughts and am ready to move on with life... at least for now.


Whatever will be will be.

Distractions of a Cedar Chest

Do you ever spend most of the day cleaning only to look around and see that nothing is actually... well, clean ? That has been my day and it has by no means been a lazy day, but good grief. I might as well have spent the day on the couch doing nothing.

I woke up at eight.
Had two cups of coffee.
Spent close to an hour online with my mom.

Made a late breakfast or an early lunch, depending on your point of view.
Started laundry. Changed sheets. Cleared the floor of clothes and shoes.

Let the daughter dive into the cedar chest.

And that's where things got a little out of whack. You see, that cedar chest is full of treasures. Baby blankets. Baby pictures. Baby dresses. Dolls. Cabbage Patch Kids. My first pair of glasses, circa 1978.

We looked at pictures from my basic training, the husband's basic training, and our early years together. I pointed out that in both group pictures from my basic and technical training, I am standing by the very girl my husband-to-be dated in his high school years and was very much infatuated with. This little known fact came to light one day when he drove to my base to pick me up for a date. I let him in my room, finished doing whatever I was doing, and turned around to see a rather pale-looking face holding a framed picture and looking at me in disbelief. He asked me how well I knew the girl I was standing next to in the photo. Rather well, was my reply. He shook his head in disbelief and we moved on in life. To this day, we still laugh about that moment and wonder at the odds of such a thing happening. Considering we grew up a thousand miles from each other, joined two different branches of the military, and trained on two separate coasts... I'd say the odds are pretty slim.

So that little story, though retold many times before, was at least one distraction of the day.

We found a pair of crocheted baby shoes that belonged to the husband. A crocheted baby hat and sweater that came from a great-uncle. A crocheted stocking cap that was made by a grandma. Crocheted blankets. Quilted blankets. Embroidered blankets. School pictures. Report cards. Lots of construction paper artwork.

And still not a wedding album to be found.

I finally had to walk away, leave the memory feast to the daughter, and carry on with the laundry. I've yet to vacuum. We did manage to squeeze in the mandatory grocery run and hit up Sonic for happy hour. A strawberry limeade and sunny weather make a Saturday a little more complete.

Even if the housework is not.

No Grease Monkey For Me

quick disclaimer: this is not a post dissing mechanics;

 it is a post, however, poking fun at the thought of a wrench in my hand as a career choice.

My friend Beth reminded me of a time in my life about twenty years back. In her blog post I read today, she reminisced about taking the ASVAB test... that test that basically checks a person's compatibility with the armed services, I guess. It made me think of a story that my brother would surely appreciate.

The ASVAB is a strange thing. I'm not the only girl I know who scored higher in the mechanical field than any other section of the test and while for some this may be a well-earned score, for me it made no sense at all. I may come from a long line of drag racing and hot rods, but I am my mother's daughter through and through. I don't mind visiting a garage for small talk or a soda, but I have no desire to hang out and get my fingernails dirty.

A high mechanics score I had, though, and while I was in the midst of processing out through a MEPS station on my way to basic training, I was given a piece of paper that told me exactly what my job was going to be once I made my way out of basic and onto further schooling and a permanent duty station. I called my brother from a pay phone and dutifully recited whatever that big, long fancy-sounding title was (the military loves to jazz things up) and my brother became eerily silent on the phone.

Now, I don't remember what the title was, but I do remember his reaction.

Sis, you HAVE to get out of that.
Why? It sounds pretty neat.
It's a grease monkey, Sis.
A grease monkey?
Yeah, that job puts you down in the missile silos doing maintenance.

And then he laughed.

My sister. A grease monkey in a silo.

Well, needless to say, this girl listened to her brother. I did some quick thinking and some even faster acting. By the time I signed the dotted line and raised my right hand in an oath to my country, my job field had been changed from mechanical to administrative and I had an even fancier title that boiled down to one simple word... supply, and that was fine by me. My last call that day before I boarded a bus to catch a plane was to my dad (I think) and my message was simple.

Tell Tony I'm no longer a grease monkey.
I'm now a glorified pencil pusher.

Thank goodness for big brothers.

Planning My Funeral At The DMV

While spending an hour and a half in our local DMV completing the tedious task of renewing and exchanging plates, my husband and I covered a multitude of conversational topics. We talked about taxes and politics, kids and supper ideas, and the annoying woman in the back who would not stop complaining about how long everything was taking. While the rest of us were thinking, Join the club, lady, the employee behind the counter patiently reminded her, No profanity in this office, please. Eventually our conversation turned to the unavoidable end of life on earth as we know it, and I'm sure we were entertaining those around us as much as the still complaining lady in the back.

I want you to bury me in my uniform, said the husband, referring to his military Class A's. Not on your life, said I. That uniform stays with me.

I want to be buried in that uniform, period, he said. Fine, but the ribbons and badges come off before they put you in the ground. You gotta have something to pass down through the generations, was my response. Nope. Everything goes with me. I've seen that stuff in flea markets before. It goes with me, he insisted.

So be it, I sighed. Then the wedding ring stays with you, too.

Oh no, he said. You keep that. Don't put me in the ground with that thing on.

It is so staying on, I assured him. Till death do us part and beyond, buddy.

He looked at me and winked and mumbled something about never being rid of me. Meanwhile, I got to thinking about my own closet and what in the world I would be buried in. I mean, technically, I'm all for cremation, but that topic has stirred up more than enough trouble with those around me. Suffice it to say, if I go before anyone who has other plans, it will make no difference what I would prefer and really... I'm okay with that. I suppose a funeral is mainly for the living anyway, isn't it? No sense creating more havoc during a time that has enough difficulties of its own. At any rate, I mentioned that nothing in my closet that looked nice would fit me at this point. 

What would I be buried in? 

Not my own military uniform. That thing should be preserved for posterity's sake (and besides, the collar drives me crazy. No one would ever believe I looked at peace while wearing that). Not my black suit. Too tight. Jeans and a t-shirt? Comfy, but no. Look, said the man of compassion,  I'll just put a pink top on you with a pink sweater and you'll be happy. (This was said to score brownie points at the remembrance of my favorite color). I don't know, I said, that's just too big of a chance to leave it up to you. After all, I've dealt with my fair share of questionable birthday and Christmas gifts.  I thought about it some more and then a picture popped into my head.

My wedding dress! Bury me in my wedding dress!

He looked at me like I had lost my mind and then started laughing.

Yeah, I can see you wanting that.

I love that dress, I insisted.

I know you do, but your wedding dress? Bet that would be a first.

And fluff it up all around me, I told him.  It'll look like I'm floating on a cloud. Might as well make a statement and besides, I always have wanted to wear it one more time. Just do what you have to to make it fit.

So there you have it, kids.

Dad in his uniform. Mom in her gown.

End it like it all started.

*And yeah... I would rather my daughter or granddaughter or somebody wear my wedding gown rather than stuffing it in a pine box, but hey, it made for a good conversation. Anything to pass the time at the DMV. =)

Darn That Patriotism!

While I sat this morning drinking coffee and crocheting (how old am I?) my oldest sat with me drinking a Powerade and talking about his future. It seems that the two most important men in his life have been talking to him about the Air Force. I don't know whether to smile or cry.

Smile because, after all, we are talking the Air Force here. That would be taking after me and not his Army dad (who, ironically, is one of the two men saying Go Air Force!). We have our own bit of friendly rivalry around this house.

Cry because, after all, we are talking about my firstborn here. The whole thing makes me think of my mom and dad who went through this with their own firstborn (my brother) and then again with their youngest (that would be me).

As I was washing dishes after he headed back outside, I was thinking That's what you get for instilling in these kids a love of country and hope for a future. So like I said, I'm not sure whether to smile or cry. Good thing he's still got a year of school left.

And good thing he's still in the thinking mode.
We all know how it is to have so many possibilities ahead.

The Senior Year has begun.

Boys That Grow Into Men

Today I am going to attempt the unthinkable.

I am going to sew. Or at least something similar to it. Technically I'm going to Hobby Lobby first in search of some kind of magical tape that my mother suggested. She spent about ten minutes last night on facebook chat giving me step-by-step instructions. I was utterly confused, but she was patient and kept right on going. You would think I'm about to piece together a quilt or something. Nope. I just need to hem some pants.

Hey, I've never pretended to be the seamstress of the family.
That's all my mom, and she is nowhere near me.
I'm all on my own here and am seriously considering the benefits of a stapler.

My boy is depending on me, though, so surely I can pull this off without him having to worry about random staples poking him around the ankles. He stands somewhere around 5'11" and these pants are something like six inches too long. He'll have on steel-toe boots and be tromping around a machine shop so surely no one will be inspecting whether or not his hem is straight.

Except for my daughter.
Who will report back to my mom.
I hope I get this right.

It's a big weekend for the oldest, our machine tool wizard. He was hand-picked to represent his machine class in a district competition that could lead to a national win. Wouldn't that be something? He's got a fresh hair cut, neatly pressed (though yet un-hemmed) uniform, and big dreams of a future career.

God's got a plan.

It's another big weekend for another young man I know. I last really knew this boy was he absolutely hating the rules of eighth grade grammar. I remember him well, though. Always polite, always quick to participate, always willing to try. Today he is a young man fresh out of high school and basic training/school. I was chatting with my mom last night (in the midst of her how-to instructions) when I was alerted to another incoming chat. Every now and then I'll get a message from a former student wanting to know how I am.

(Remember yesterday's post? It's those same kids that forever live in my heart.).

Anyway, this message wasn't to ask how I was doing, but to basically say goodbye. It about broke my heart and yet, that's the way life is. He's heading off to Afghanistan this Sunday. Combat medic. Limited communications via postal mail only. Fifteen months. What's a teacher to do?

I told him I would pray for him and to remember what I've always said to any kid I've come in contact with, God's got a plan. I said to lean on Him and just go over there and do what needs to be done. I encouraged him to experience life on the other side of the world and to let me know when he got back. His simple reply? You'll be waiting a long time. Fifteen months is a long time, but particularly to a young man who is about to embark into the unknown, I think. We said our goodbyes and signed off with those sappy little smiley faces and I fought back tears.

You spend time with these kids and then they're not kids anymore. They're adult people doing adult things. I went to bed and thought of a zillion other things I should have said. God's got a plan? Is that really the best I can come up with? And yet, there is no other way to say it.

He does have a plan.
From the day we are born.
We just have to walk it out.

Adam is doing just that and I have no doubt that God will use this gentle man in a powerful way. I'll just be glad when he pops back in on chat to tell me he's home. Until then, I'll be blogging and praying and trying to put a straight hem in a pair of pants my boy needs by Thursday. Surely the same God who knows the number of hairs on my head can help cut an even line.

Even so, I think I'll keep the stapler on stand-by.

Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;
      you formed me in my mother's womb.
   I thank you, High God—you're breathtaking!       

Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
      I worship in adoration—what a creation!
   You know me inside and out,
      you know every bone in my body;
   You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
      how I was sculpted from nothing into something.    

Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;       

all the stages of my life were spread out before you,
   The days of my life all prepared
      before I'd even lived one day.

Psalm 139:13-16 (The Message)

Just Call Me 007

So I always wanted to be a spy. There was a brief time when I was in the service that I actually underwent some mysterious questioning that resulted from a little in-house profiling... something about my security clearance and loner status and who knows what else. Whatever it was, none of it matters now. I ceased pursuing anything remotely interesting when I fell into that crazy thing called love. Plus the fact that I was told there would be times even my mom would not be able to know my location. I'm too needy for all that drama.

That's a true story, by the way, and I have no regrets. When it comes down to it, all I ever really wanted out of life was to be a wife and a mom. I suppose that's why I've always enjoyed the whole homemaker thing. Of course, espionage might have been more exciting than cleaning the toilet that I talked about yesterday, but hey... at least I'm here when the kids get home from school.

Thank goodness for books. They take me to places I would otherwise never go. My new favorite author has a whole spy series that I am absolutely hooked on. These are books I would actually be willing to spend money on... they're that good. And if you have learned anything about me, it's that I have this crazy compulsion to buy things in sets, so if there is one book or five or eight... well, I'm going to have to get them all. Right now, though, I'm just depending on my local library and my one free-hour-at-a-time nook reading at Barnes & Noble.

I spent an hour there today catching up on the fictional life of CIA Agent Mitch Rapp. (Or maybe he's FBI. Or NSA. Or another alphabet trio). Whichever it is, I definitely get caught up in it. As I was leaving I caught myself glancing over my shoulder or getting an idea of what was taking place behind me by the store window reflections. I had to laugh at myself.

But then again, I always think like that. Let me walk into any room and I will do a mental checklist of the people there before I focus on anything else. It's like my mind is wired to note certain things and then decide if something is out of place. I'm always on alert in a parking lot. I pay attention to exit signs. I watch cars in the rearview mirror.

(I'm giving away too much information here, am I not?)

Oh well. Such is life. We all have our little quirks. I don't like to think of mine as paranoia, mind you; just a heightened sense of awareness.

Yeah. That sounds so much better.

Ahhh... but that's the joy of reading. I can be traveling the world uncovering botched assassination attempts one week and then living the life of an 1800s rancher's housekeeper the next. I can typically find almost any story to match my mood and I can always count on a book to pass the time.

Even if I did choose the role of a housewife instead of saving my country by living a double life. It just wasn't meant to be.

Superman

I spent the better part of the morning at a middle school Veteran's Day event which always gets me thinking back to one of the many memorable events in my life. Some of my family and friends have probably heard this story more than once; some have not heard it at all. It bears repeating many times over. It's about my dad.

Once upon a time there was a twenty-one year old girl who had made up her mind to go into the Air Force. Bags had been packed and papers had been signed. All that was left was to board a train bound for a St. Louis airport.

Well, that girl was me and let me tell you, I thought I had it all figured out. I knew I was doing the right thing, I had my family's support, and I was just ready to escape a small town that I thought was holding me back. Granted, this is the same small town that I long for now, but that's another story for another day.

At any rate, my mom and dad along with my best friend at the time drove me to the train station. I don't remember all the details... for instance, I'm sure my recruiter was there to ensure that I actually did board the train, but I don't remember seeing him there. I vaguely remember the hugs and tears that I'm sure took place. I kind of remember the parking lot. I have no idea what I was wearing.

What I do remember are the seats on the train. When I finally boarded, I found a spot and set my bag beside me. I checked and re-checked my ticket and just sat taking it all in. There were other people boarding although the train was by no means full. The seats were red velvet (or at least very soft fabric) and the arms rests were red vinyl. You get the picture. Now I'm sure I was not sitting there for as long as it seems, but very slowly I began to realize that this process of joining the military was actually being put into motion. I looked out the window to see my mom, dad, and friend all standing there. I knew my mom would not allow anyone to leave until that train left the depot.

That's when those doubting thoughts began to descend on me like a low, black cloud on a stormy day. What was I thinking? There was no way I was going to pull this off. Heck, I didn't even like to run (and still don't). Maybe Walmart wasn't such a bad job afterall. And, most importantly, it's not like I had actually taken the oath yet. No actual contract had been signed; I had only promised to show up to collect my train ticket. I looked out again at my family. Yep. This was one big mistake. And I was about to get out of it.

Now this part I remember just as clear as the day it happened. This is why I say I can remember those seats so well. I remember sitting there with a firm grip on the arm rests. My heart was pounding, my stomach felt sick, and my mind was reeling. There was no way I was staying on that train. I recall vividly taking a deep breath and placing all my pressure on those arm rests. I was about to come up out of that seat.

Then I looked out the window. There was my dad, watching his girl embark on something I knew he was proud of and yet at the same time probably scared to death of, but he just stood there smiling. I'm telling you, even sitting outside a Starbucks right now as I type this, I still choke up at the memory. That is how intense this moment of time was: in one swift motion, he gave me the thumbs up sign. Only God Himself could have inspired that because with that one seemingly simple gesture, I felt all fear leave me and myself relax. My immediate thought was that if my dad believed I could do it, well then... I could do it.

At other times when I have written about this, I've referred to my dad as Superman. This was my Superman moment. To have a man that you have so much respect for pack so much encouragement into something as trivial as putting a thumb up into the air... well, what else do you call it? Needless to say, I stayed put on that train. I went on to accomplish things that I would have never thought possible and even though my time in service was relatively brief, I have never looked back with regret. I will always remember that moment and I will always talk about it. It's just that important.

Of course, there's another side to that man in the form of my mom. Tucked away in a box is a ribbon-tied stack of polka-dotted envelopes full of all the words of prayer and encouragement that she wrote to me while I was away. God knew before I was born the team it would take to see me through. I'm so glad He chose them.

Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. Psalm 139:16