By Mishi Harari

It’s been nine months.

Nine wholesome, challenging, rewarding, frightening, and exhilarating months.

The months that have gone by have proven so much to me. They have provided me with great opportunities to bolster my faith in Gd and to open myself up to those around me who truly care: my fellow chaplain spouses.

Our chaplaincy is unique. It entails commitment and loyalty not only to our battalion and our soldiers and their families, but our role extends outward to the entire Jewish community and anyone at all who feels at home and wants to join us at the Jewish chapel.

Our weekly sabbath services have their ups and downs. There are times when the room is packed with young and old, retirees, active duty service members, and reservists. And then there are weeks when only one young, lone soldier will show up.

Whoever it may be, we are always ready. After the Friday evening service, we have a sabbath meal at our home, feeding the hearts and souls of all those who come to join us.

Our holiday programs and services, caring for service members who are being treated at the military hospital while away from their families, cooking healthful and nourishing meals for them, and bringing women together to learn about sabbath traditions and customs are just some of the things we have been blessed to be a part of so far.

My husband spends his time devoted to his battalion and the Jewish community, as much as he can, any time of day or night, for whoever may need his guidance.

Through it all, my emotions have their ups and downs too.

Our chaplaincy isn’t the only thing that is unique about our military life. Everything about our lives changed drastically and completely when we moved away from the comfort of our insulated community and joined the ranks of fellow chaplains and their families. We knowingly chose to move away from the comfort of our community, far from any Jewish schools, synagogues, and kosher food.

We consciously decided together, as a family, that we could accomplish so much more by being able to support soldiers and their families.

And yet, there are times when my heart cries and wonders why. And I question what I have brought myself and my family into.

During the hard times and the difficulties, facing challenges and days of loneliness, I wonder. There are days when I feel so present and comfortable. Like I truly belong here.

And there are days when my world is more lonely and isolating than I ever thought possible.

We have had quite a few hurdles to get through. There have been difficult and hurtful people who have challenged my faith in Gd and in myself. Homeschooling and raising a large family, pregnancy, and miscarriage have slowly and steadily pushed me down this untrodden path. Yet they have given me the chance to dig deeply into myself and find my strength. My intuition. My wisdom.

The experiences I have faced so far, large and small, beautiful and dark, have paved the first few steps of this new journey we have set forth on.

Through it all, there is one thing that protects me and also propels me. It encourages me and keeps me focused on my goals. It reminds me daily of why I am here, living on an Army post, far away from anything I have ever known and related with.

Faith.

My faith in the One above, the One who directs the steps of man, the One who puts each one of us exactly where we need to be at the precise moment we are there.

My faith in Gd has been strengthened by all of my adventures thus far. He has given me the courage to look past the haters, to open myself up to those around me who truly do love and care, and most importantly, He has taught me to look into myself, to see who I truly am.

Without the ups and downs, without the challenges that come along with the precious work of being a chaplain spouse, without all the beauty it brings, I would never, not in a million years, have known who I truly am and what I could accomplish.

And this is only the beginning.

We must take adventures in order to know where we truly belong.

I may never understand why we have been challenged and blessed in the ways we have, but I know that for whatever reason, we truly do belong here.

By Sarah Sandifer

I shouldn’t have been surprised, really, when we got all of our boxes unpacked, and instead of putting them out on the curb with a “free” sign on them as we had said we were going to do, Lane hauled them up to our attic with a mischievous grin on his face.

“I just thought this would give us the option to do it again if we wanted to.”

In the previous three weeks we had seemingly agreed on how hard DITYs are and how he owes me a trip to a beach somewhere as I was not excited to be New Girl again. So when he mentioned the option of even considering another DITY move, I threw a roll of tape at him.

We didn’t know a soul in our new city and we moved into our new neighborhood mostly without any fanfare besides some kind souls who waved as they passed our driveway. Not a family to be discouraged too easily, we explored and created adventures of our own as we finished out Lane’s PCS leave.

When I stilled myself and let myself acknowledge it though, the loneliness and accompanying sadness of beginning again were so palpable I ached.

Our move was especially tender because as soon as Lane signed into his new unit he practically simultaneously boarded a plane to meet up with his unit overseas.

“Daddy, I love you and I don’t want you to go.” She was wearing pink glasses and was five and this phrase just about broke me.

We said goodbye and the girls and I went to get ice cream; we got through Day 1.

On Day 2, I realized there was not a single person in this city whose number I had saved in my phone and felt more vulnerable than I wanted to admit. What if I needed help in the middle of the night? What if I needed to send an SOS and take a kid to urgent care? I knew no one and battled the urge to become a self-reliant fortress: I can’t crumble, there’s no one around to help pick up my pieces.

I sat for a few days in this vulnerability and loneliness, then a thought streaked through my heart: “It doesn’t have to be this way.” I decided that I actually do need people in my life, and if it wasn’t happening on its own, I needed to create it.

I repeated a phrase that became a bit like my battle cry: Stronger together, Sarah–remember, you are stronger together.

I decided that if I needed community then there were other girls who needed community too, so I organized a weekly Bible study for our unit wives. There were some moments of insecurity and doubt. Can the new girl really be the one to rally others together? They don’t know me, will anyone show up? 

I did it anyway.

On the day we were to have the first Bible study, each of our phones rang with the same terrible news: One of our soldiers was killed. Our collective breath was taken out of our very lungs.

Should I still have the Bible study, I wondered? Would the girls still want to get together?

I decided to still meet, with the same mindset I had in starting it in the first place. If I needed to have others in my life, no matter the circumstances, surely others did too. So on Night 1, the night we lost one of our own, I was shocked as the room was packed. It was true after all–we needed to be together, we are stronger together.

We talked about how we were doing and how good guacamole is and we cried a little, too, about how we were sad and how we needed to feel normal in a life that is decidedly not normal.

What am I trying to say with all this?

We needed to make space for each other and in doing so, we made space for love too. We needed a space that would push out the fear and the loneliness and the big doubts and would allow for love to fill in those gaps.

And it happened.

Each week we got together, we left a little less alone, a little more hopeful, with a little more grit and a little more love.

As for me, I continued to refuse to go it alone and started inviting girls from the unit over for Sunday night dinners. One night, they walked into laundry all over my dining room table and another night I ruined the spaghetti, a seemingly un-ruinable meal.

Deep down though, we all knew they didn’t come for the spaghetti. They came to be together, to not have to worry about one night’s dinner while their husband was deployed.

They came because there’s that low-grade simmer of fear that walks with us everywhere we go, every time the phone rings. And when we’re packed into a living room laughing about the chaplain’s wife’s mushy pasta, we kind of forget about that for a little bit.

Honestly? I’m glad there’s never a point where it just becomes easy. It keeps me awake to the pain and I think that’s a good thing.

It’s a continual reminder for me that I can’t do this alone and I mean that both in how I need God and how I need others.

I’ve been making it a practice to notice the goodness of God no matter what difficult circumstance is going on, and I can’t deny it: I see it in the people we do actual life with, the ones who say the same goodbyes we do, because the goodness of God is alive to me in the context of others–those who walk through the same suffering that I do and keep loving, keep giving, keep going.

In this military life, I find that loneliness, fear, bitterness and exhaustion will take up as much space as I let them. But if we make space for others, we’re also making space for love. And every single time, we’re getting more resilient as well because it’s just true:

We’re stronger together, we’re stronger together, don’t ever forget it, we’re always stronger together.

By Cindy S.

(previously published)

Sometimes I have a hard time connecting my daily ministry tasks to what God is doing in the lives of the people I serve and work with. Sometimes it feels like a lot of squeezing for a little bit of juice!

But this summer, God allowed me to serve in a ministry that helped me draw a very short line between my efforts and God’s results.

In June, I had the opportunity to volunteer for four weeks with Operation Heal Our Patriots (OHOP), a ministry of Samaritan’s Purse, reaching wounded warriors and their spouses with the gospel of Jesus Christ.

For 16 weeks each summer, Samaritan’s Purse flies ten couples to their remote Samaritan Lodge in Port Alsworth, Alaska, for a five-day retreat focused on marriage enrichment and spiritual renewal. The staff that serves these couples consists of seasonal employees and short-term volunteers, working in maintenance, housekeeping, cooking, and food service. I was assigned to serve in the staff kitchen.

Because I had met several of the people connected with OHOP before I flew to Alaska, I had some idea of what to expect as a volunteer: long hours, physical labor, no stores—so bring everything you might need—and no transportation beyond my own two feet.

But what surprised me during my month there was the single-minded focus on sharing Jesus that characterized the staff, from the chaplains who work directly with the wounded warrior couples, to the volunteers and staff who provide support.

Daily we exhorted each other to stay strong because our work would bear tangible spiritual fruit. And every Friday, as staff and guests gathered around the fire, our work was rewarded as guests gave testimony of their new faith in Christ and their desire to be baptized. What a celebration as we walked down to the lake to witness the new believers enter the water with the chaplains!

Then, we happily returned to our tasks because we knew our efforts had grown fruit. We had connected the dots between our jobs and God’s moving in the lives of the wounded warriors and their spouses.

I had the opportunity to sit down with Karen Webber, one of the season-long OHOP staff members and wife of GARBC-endorsed Navy chaplain Tom Webber, and talk about the unique focus and teamwork I experienced at OHOP this summer.

Karen has served at OHOP during the last four seasons as a cook in the staff kitchen. Her job is not an easy one. As one of four staff cooks, Karen not only prepares meals six days a week, but also plans menus and orders food which is flown in once a week on Samaritan’s Purse planes.

Long hours and hard work don’t discourage Karen. She sticks to her motto: “Be kind and gracious and cook good food.”

And good food it is! While I was there, the staff ate shrimp, salmon, steak, fresh watermelon, scratch-made yogurt, apple pies, and gourmet pizza. I had to ask Karen why the food was so good; it requires substantial effort and expense. Her answer was, “It’s my goal to serve tasty, nutritious food to allow the staff to serve with strength and joy.”

Even though Karen’s position as a staff cook doesn’t directly impact the wounded warrior couples with the gospel, she knows that great meals renew the spirits of those who are interacting with the guests at OHOP. It is hard to minister to hurting people when you are feeling empty yourself, and Karen’s food fills the stomach and the heart. It certainly kept me going strong!

If you are like me, it is tempting to discount the small contributions you make to a ministry.

It is easier to see a personal impact when you are serving in a leadership position, or when you are directly sharing Christ’s love, but this is a misleading viewpoint.

Karen and her fellow cooks are solely responsible for the nutritional needs of 40 people who serve over a 16-week period in a location where they cannot purchase food for themselves. The volunteer kitchen helpers make sure the dishes are clean and sanitary for the next meal. The volunteer housekeepers keep guest and staff areas tidy and hygenic. Fail at these missions, and the staff members who counsel with the couples are too sick or tired to be effective.

So, we all work together, and even the smallest or simplest contributions are connected to the greater mission of sharing the Gospel.

Of course, this only works if we know and understand the mission.

If the mission ends at good food, clean dishes, germ-free bathrooms, and personal satisfaction in a job well done, our motivation won’t last for long. My experience this summer helped me reevaluate the impact of my ministry tasks on the cause of Christ, and to take the long view.

At OHOP, there were just a few dots to connect between my tasks and God’s results. At home, there are countless dots, sometimes stretching years into the future, requiring faith in the working of the Holy Spirit.

As a senior spouse in the Army chaplaincy, my role is often like Karen Webber’s at OHOP—demanding, yet far from the action—but I too can help other chaplain spouses on the frontlines of ministry “serve with strength and joy.”

What a lesson to learn! And what a gift to know that God will use all our efforts, large or small.

When we faithfully fulfill our roles “as unto the Lord,” we can trust God to connect those dots for us and use our efforts for His glory.

By Kristin T

In February of 2012 I welcomed my husband home from his second tour in Afghanistan. I couldn’t have told you anything about Super Bowl that Sunday, but the energy inside that Fort Campbell hanger was tangible with a certain mix of nervous energy, sheer exhaustion, and impatient longing.

We still have the double-sided sign in our attic: “CH T Belongs to Me” on the front and “Merry Anniversibirthday” in big thin lettering across the back.

My favorite guy was home.

We knew the drill. After the mandatory hold time, we decided to take a few days to ourselves before coming “home” to my parents’ house where he’d be reintroduced to our then two-and-a-half-year-old daughter and the son he met the first time via Skype only eight months prior.

It was a wonderful plan. We rendezvoused at a sweet B&B in Serenbe, GA and discussed our past, present, and future plans, uninterrupted, face-to-face.

We had filled out our “PCS (Permanent Change of Station) Wishlist” in the eleventh month of deployment and soon learned that we were headed to another deploying unit (out the door in twelve months) not on our list at all.

We believe the wisdom of Proverbs 16:9, “The mind of the man plans his ways, but the LORD directs his steps.” Location was no big deal…as long as we were together.

But this next assignment did not seem to be lining up with our desires nor our expectations.

Uncle Sam had given my husband some invaluable training and a wealth of experience in a relatively short amount of time. But another deployment? Again? Already? Emotions were high and feelings were mixed. Can we do this again? What if the next twenty years is like this? Will our children know their father? Will this break him? Will this break me? We didn’t know.

It had been a long year. He was tired; I was lonely.

A Bit of Background

Our initial introduction to active duty had been a whirlwind. My husband graduated seminary and welcomed our first child within ten days of his reporting to Fort Campbell to fall in on an already-deployed unit. He would be replacing a chaplain who had burned out, as we understood it.

I took our newborn and settled back into my parents’ home in SC and off he went to ready himself for his first adventure halfway around the world. Not unlike anyone else’s story, ours was exciting. And it was shocking. It was like nothing we could have prepared for.

On his very first day, before he was able to get upstairs to meet his rear detachment commander, he was caught off guard with a somber, “Oh, good, Chappy, you’re here.” He was led to a grieving father, set to retire in the next few months, who had just lost his son in a boating accident. He had missed so much over his career and was desperately looking forward to making up lost time.

This encounter was the first of many etched on my husband’s heart.  

Time in garrison post-deployment was non-stop reaction to crisis. Many counselings, many losses, many divorces, many suicides. We didn’t realize until much later that his aviation support battalion was larger than most by at least double.

I know my husband can thrive under pressure, and I believe he does only through the power of Jesus Christ.

God Met Us At Our Crossroads

We knew something had to give. He had been gone nearly 35 of our first 72 months active. He had trained aggressively and cared tirelessly for every family, it seemed, except his.

Certainly families can and do thrive in an active duty environment. This was a very personal decision. It was time to release, to leave and cleave. We began to pray for God to open doors as we began to emotionally separate ourselves from active duty.  

Like only He does, God flung the doors open. A pastoral position opened up at his father’s church where we had completed his seminary internship, a house not yet on the market became available (it was less than two miles from the church!), a National Guard position was offered, and, as a special surprise, we discovered we were pregnant with our third child without the help of fertility treatments.

We crunched numbers, set calendars, filled out a gazillion pages of paperwork, and packed our bags for our new adventure together.

A Few Thoughts and a Healthy Dose of Hindsight

• Timing is (not) everything.

We know better than to discuss important issues when we’re tired (or hungry); but we’re not always granted that luxury, especially pre/post deployment or PCS season. To say we were exhausted is an understatement. We took what energy we had at the time and threw it into re-evaluating our situation.

With the prompting of a senior chaplain,we ran our decision through five filters (in no particular order): Family, Finances, Future, Faith, Fun.

What was the best possible scenario within these five areas? Facts and assumptions? We knew the short dwell times of AD were not what we wanted for our family. We knew our finances would take a big hit leaving AD for a small-town pastorate.  We knew that we still wanted and needed the military as part of our future. We knew we wanted to minister our faith together rather than independently as we’d been experiencing. We assumed anything could be fun as long as we were sensitive to the Lord’s leading. We knew it was time for a break.

We had peace, we had purpose, we had a place to go, and we had a plan.

• You can take a soldier out of active duty, but you can’t take the active duty out of a soldier.

So, what about all those glowing plans of quality time together? Well, I’m still not sure whether to blame genetics for his high-octane energy level or the military for this ingrained op tempo, but our first year with that DD214 was nearly as lonely and independent as the years prior.

I recall moving into our new home and my husband spending many of his evenings working on the house. Everything was time-to-task, whatever it took to get the job done. He even put up a ten-foot fence by himself…in winter…in Pennsylvania.

Perhaps it was partly his bewilderment at my preoccupation with our three children under age three, but we were certainly in a stage of independent taskings. Again, timing isn’t everything. We were together and I wouldn’t trade that bumpy year for anything.

In addition to the unexpected restlessness, there was the actual marked lack of sleep, the continued speaking in acronyms, the higher-than-normal personal expectations, the detailed evaluation of systems, and (perhaps more so for a pastor/chaplain) the constant analyzing of people.

These aren’t bad things, just things that tended to carry over for us.

Of course, there are also things we miss. First, the simple wardrobe. I love the uniform; it’s practically a wearable duffle bag that looks so good on my mister. I doubt he’d admit it, but I think he enjoys lacing the combat boots for his Mdays. Then there is the unity, organization, efficiency of personnel that is just not the same in the private sector.

You still might catch my good-natured eye roll at the church potluck. Why won’t folks just walk down both sides of the table?! It became a joke pretty quickly, “Just sigh and say ‘civilians.’”  

Until we got our medical coverage straightened out, I even missed Tricare Prime. I know!

We laugh about it now, but active duty has a rusty on/off switch.

• The grass is greener…where you water it.

One benefit of being married to an amazing chaplain/pastor is that he knows the delicate art of communicating to need. I can always count on him to diffuse my mood, break my cynicism, and encourage my heart.  

The fact was, we were just in desperate need of pausing to patch up and refill the watering cans. It seemed clear that another move with another deployment would have likely left us high and dry, at least for a season.

It wasn’t a lack of faith that the Lord would care for us. We knew He had our best interest for His glory through struggle.

It wasn’t discontentment; we refused to dwell on “the luck of the draw” when it came to assignment.  

It wasn’t an unwillingness to be “spent” for the work of the Lord. For the believer, life is ministry.

We were just ready to enjoy the gift of marriage a bit closer positionally (insert smiley emoji).

And now, always ready for our next adventure.

By Anonymous

When my husband came home to tell me he had received orders for a year-long unaccompanied tour to Korea, I remember thinking how different life would be.

I didn’t expect just how different.

He had only been an active duty chaplain for three years and we were still at our first duty station. We had established a good routine and had a great supportive community. I had grown up as a military kid, so not having a “home town,” we decided that I should stay at our current location with our two children. Our oldest was five and our youngest turned two, three days before my husband left.

The day came for him to leave, and although extremely sad, I was determined that things would go back to “normal.” We got up early the next day and made it to chapel (on time). I remember looking around that day and things just felt different

My husband had been the chaplain over the contemporary service for the three years he was there and it grew to be a very tight community. The people attending were consistent and willing to serve. However, it didn’t take long for that to go away. The transition to a new chaplain was hard for people, and for me.

Slowly, people started finding churches off-base and I finally made the decision to go elsewhere as well. So not only did I lose my husband, and my children their father, we lost our pastor and our church community. It was a very lonely place to be.

Our new church was wonderful and welcoming and understanding of our situation, but it was small and a bit of a distance away. And for me, who was getting used to being a single parent, it was hard to get plugged in.

We lived on base, and our community was great. It was surprisingly filled with fellow believers. We had different denominations we associated with, but our foundations were similar. In the beginning, people were very kind and thoughtful. But, after about three months, they kind of forgot about us.

So while my community was always supportive and willing to help in any way possible, it wasn’t always inviting. Not to say they were rude, it was quite the opposite, but I found myself being more of an outcast.

I do not think this was new. I probably always was kind of an outcast. I was surrounded by pilot wives. I was not in their “group.” I did not always understand the language they spoke in terms of their husbands’ jobs. But I always had my husband to talk with at the end of the night. We went out on dates and I could “get away” if I needed a break.

Well, that was no more. I found myself, on most nights, tired and overwhelmed, looking on Facebook at all the things the people around me were doing with each other–but not with me.

Our houses were very close together, making our lives pretty transparent. Sharing fences, and windows and doors often being open, we heard and saw real life. My neighbors on most Friday nights would have people over. I remember one particular night seeing four other families being invited over, their children having a blast together and the parents enjoying conversations while my kids and I sat in silence eating our frozen pizza.

I didn’t understand. Why was I left out so often?

I started seeing this pattern more and more. People would say encouraging words, would invite the kids and me over for dinner (usually no one else would be invited), and would say we need to do it again. But then they would have a birthday party for their kid and invite everyone else in the neighborhood except us.

I remember talking to my husband on FaceTime in tears, just asking him, “What’s wrong with me? Why don’t people like me?” He, of course, was encouraging, but at the end of the night, I was alone with my thoughts.

So I started thinking, maybe God is trying to teach me something. Maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe I’m too vocal with opinions, or joke around too much.

I decided I would start being less like myself and try to work on things. But when I started doing this, people would ask me, “What’s wrong? I’ve noticed you’ve been different.” All this just brought confusion for me. I didn’t want to tell them what was going on, so I always simply said it was personal.

After a few months, I started noticing something.

When I was invited to a Chick-fil-A playdate or I randomly ran into a few people on the street and we started talking, there was something that always seemed to happen. One of them would use bad language, immediately look at me and say, “I’m sorry,” and keep going.

I always found this a little odd. I never directly said, “Please don’t use that language around me.” They just assumed I wouldn’t appreciate it. They were right, but I never said anything.

I noticed it more and more. Even around different groups, I could tell they were more cautious with their words–start to say one word, pause, and use a different word.

It finally hit me. Maybe there was nothing wrong with me. I was simply a chaplain’s wife.

Now, I know not all chaplains’ wives are the same. We each have our own convictions and struggles. I know that not everyone’s personalities mesh well together, and some of these people may have had a problem with just me. But the simple fact was, when I was around, they weren’t acting the way they usually did. I never told them my convictions, they simply assumed what they were because of my husband’s job.

After this “ah ha” moment came, I then had to start asking myself if I was ok with being an outcast. Was I ok not being part of a “tribe”?

The answer was yes. I still had support and knew these people would be there for me because they genuinely loved me and my family. I just may not be “their people.”

I wasn’t going to change the values I had because I might be invited to more birthday parties. And I didn’t want them to feel they couldn’t be themselves with me being around. I just had to be ok with being alone sometimes. Ok with seeing others go out together having fun while I sat binge watching Netflix.

In the end, it should never have been about me. It should have been about God. Once I finally came to that realization, and I took the focus off of me, I no longer felt alone.

I felt free.

Free to go out and be who I was, and to show others who I really was. I decided that even if I was ok with being an outcast, I was going to try and not be one. At least on my end.

I started inviting families over for dinner more and letting them see my real life. Making more of an effort to go out and let others in. I think people started seeing that even if we had different convictions, we had more in common than not.

Towards the end of the tour, I felt more a part of things. Looking back now, however, I don’t think much changed around me. Instead, I had changed. I had a different outlook on life. My convictions and values were a part of me, but that didn’t mean I needed to sit and be lonely because others didn’t share them.

I needed to go out and make myself available. I needed to invite instead of waiting for an invitation.

The Lord definitely sanctified me in ways I never thought possible during that year. The fact remains that my husband loves being a chaplain, and I love being his wife. I will proudly wear the title “chaplain’s wife” no matter what assumptions come with it.

Because, let’s face it, assumptions will be made about us no matter what our husbands do.

Let’s get out there and invite people in before too many of those assumptions can be made.

By L.G. McCary

Making friends isn’t the simplest thing for me. I have a quirky sense of humor influenced by British sitcoms, Shakespeare, Calvin and Hobbes, and my dad’s affinity for puppets. I contemplate the zombie apocalypse on a regular basis. I repeat the phrase, “I read an article the other day…” so often that it’s become a joke.

Needless to say, finding my “people” can be a bit of a process.

But making friends within the military sphere is hard for a different reason: friendships have parting dates from day one.

One of the first questions I ask upon meeting someone new is, “How long have you been here?” From their answer, I calculate how much time I have to get to know them and whether it is worth it.

It may sound terrible, but I know the person I’m speaking to is making that same calculation. Is it worth exchanging numbers? Should I friend her on Facebook? Is this someone I will never see again because new orders are in the pipeline?

I met several fun people as we prepared to leave our first post, and they all gave me the same look: “I like you, but I’m not going to talk to you again, sorry.” I’m sure my face said the same.

The truth is, friendships rarely last a lifetime with job changes, changing schools, having children, and a hundred other things small and large that shift your social circle. It may not feel like it, but every friendship is always somewhere between hello and goodbye.

For military spouses, the continuum is compressed into a few short years or months, and it changes the way you approach relationships in some comical ways. For example:

• Asking someone you met an hour ago to be your emergency contact isn’t weird for a military spouse.
• If you’ve been at a post for six months, you’re officially the expert. Be prepared to tell the newbies the best restaurants and kids’ activities in the area because they will ask.
• You could be asked to teach a Bible study at PWOC (Protestant Women of the Chapel) when you’ve never been to PWOC before and have only the vaguest idea of what it is.
• Having a ten-minute conversation with a stranger in the produce section of the commissary or the bathroom at chapel may net you a new hairstylist, dentist, chiropractor, and best friend.
• Someone you barely knew at a previous post is now your instant best friend at a new one because she’s the only person you know.

For someone who takes a long time to trust people, it’s been an education. A very wise senior chaplain’s wife told me at our first post, “What you used to do to make friends won’t work anymore. You have to think differently.” She was right. I don’t have the luxury of taking my time.

Instead, I have to take the approach of my lovely friend Tayler who grabbed my arm after chapel one day and said, “I’ve heard we should be friends, so let me give you my number, and we’ll hang out this week.” And we did.

Non-military friends get to stick around somewhere long enough to grow deep roots and enjoy a wider space between hello and goodbye. I admit I envy the breathing room, but I also see how easy it is to waste time.

If there’s anything I have learned in four short but intense years, it is to cherish my friends because time is short.

While social media allows us to communicate news and enjoy pictures of friends who have moved on or stayed behind when we have moved, it isn’t the same as chatting while your kids play at the park or laughing over coffee together at the Starbucks on post.

You won’t get this moment to laugh, cry, pray, and encourage each other again. That goodbye is looming on the horizon, and new hellos will come. You can’t walk alone for long.

“Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil.” Ephesians 5:15-16

P.S. If you’re still lonely, lure new friends with homemade baked goods. Brownies are especially effective.

Are you a chaplain spouse? Do you love to write or is it something you’ve been interested in? Read on, my friend…

A few years ago, I came across a dissertation paper that was studying officers’ spouses. The study found that as the service member was promoted in rank (and the spouse became a more senior spouse), there was an increase in isolation which led to increased depression and anxiety.

That part may not surprise you.  But then I came across one sentence that said that the increased isolation these spouses experienced was very similar to what was commonly seen in a pastor’s wife.

Because I, too, am a chaplain’s spouse, I realized that it is quite possible that our community struggles with a double whammy.  This was what fueled my passion to do the Anonymous Chaplain Spouse Survey in 2015 and 2016.  My research, along with many conversations with senior spouses, has confirmed what many of us know to be true.  That being a chaplain spouse (although quite fulfilling) also brings difficulty that we must be willing to talk about.  Whether it is real or perceived, chaplain spouses tend to struggle some of the following:

• Isolation from family, friends, and sometimes military spouses we are assigned around
• No consistent church home/community (especially active duty)
• An internal struggle to be involved out of calling vs obligation
• Difficulty with being authentic/vulnerable for fear of feeling weak or jeopardizing a spouse’s career
• Watching or experiencing your chaplain’s experience of burnout and stress
• and so much more.

The Chaplain Spouse Blog is an authentic and safe blog .

I am inviting chaplain spouses who are interested in writing to join me in creating authentic meaningful content for our community.  If you are interested, here is what you can expect.

Content contributors can/will:

• Remain publicly anonymous if desired, but must be confirmed as a chaplain spouse
• Touch on authentic topics for our community
• Write content that breathes life into others rather than be divisive
• Have the option to write content that is faith-based
• Find community in an ad/political free platform

FAQs

The Lifegiver mission statement is purely to “provide a place for honest conversation and breathe life into our community.”  Although that sounds pretty vague, it hopefully sets the tone for positive content while remaining authentic.

1.  Is there a commitment?

Not at all.  For those who wish to write regularly, I will definitely consider it and welcome having new and fresh content.  I personally work better when I have deadlines each month, but you may be in a place where you want to write as you feel prompted by a topic.  If you are working on a piece, I wouldn’t mind getting a heads up though!

2.  Is there any payment involved?

At this time, no.  In order to keep Lifegiver a free resource, as well as a nice platform where people want to come, I do not take sponsorships and therefore do not have incoming funds to pay out.  I have hesitated reaching out for contributors or team work for a long time because I have not wanted to “ask” for more than what I know you already give to the community- especially as a volunteer.  However, I also want to be obedient to the prompting I feel to give you a place to both give and receive positive, encouraging content. 

3.  How will you decide who will be a contributor?

I am not currently turning people away from this opportunity as of yet.  I would definitely encourage you to turn in any brief writing samples you may have.  If you are just beginning, that is ok, too!  We all have to start somewhere. Just like a family, I expect to have various writing styles and experience.  The great thing about a blog like this is that I can create categories like devotionals, educational, PTSD, support, etc.

However… Any articles, or behavior, that is divisive, destructive, or does not have healthy movement forward will not be included as it does not align with the mission statement.

4. Will you be including faiths other than Christian? 

As of right now, yes but with some limits.  This may change, but it would not be helpful to our community and in line with the calling of a chaplain family to not be inclusive.  There will be limits to faiths that are attempting to proselytize through the blog.  This is a place of support.  I will also have the ability to create categories on this if necessary.  Limits on this also go back to being filtered through the mission statement.

5.  What topics can I write on?

What is most important to me (and I believe to the community), is that it is authentic, relatable, and has movement forward.  In other words, I would love for content to deal with tough topics that are rarely talked about openly, even if they feel negative. I only ask that the article ends in encouragement and movement forward.  

Consider writing on topics that other chaplain families are wrestling with and experiencing!  Please try to steer away from personal blog style writing where you are documenting your own journey.  Feel free to share parts of your story, but use your story make a point or make it more relatable to what someone else is experiencing.  For more on this, consider watching my video on “Telling Your Story“

 6.  What is the process of being accepted and submitting an article?  

• Apply and turn in a brief writing sample if you have one (see below)
• After you receive an email acceptance from me, consider asking for feedback from me or other chaplain spouses on your topic.
• Send me an email on a topic you would like to write on and start writing!  Aim for 800-1000 words.
• Enjoy a FB group just for chaplain spouse writers
• Send in your article and wait for editing.
• Receive your article with edits; approve or appeal any changes until an agreement is made.
• Article is submitted and waits in the Lifegiver queue for publishing. You will be notified of the dates of your publishing

A note on editing:  

Please know that all articles will be screened and possibly go through some editing before they are made public.  I know first hand that it is quite vulnerable to have someone edit your work.  If this is new for you, I understand completely! I promise you will value it as it may even sharpen your skills as a writer!  Your article will not be published without your final approval 🙂

7.  Do I have to make images for my article?

Not if you don’t want to.  If you feel especially talented in this area, I am open to it.  More on this to come…

If you are interested in this exciting opportunity to serve, fill out the form below!

I’m so excited to do this with you!  Corie Weathers, LPC