This week I celebrated my 25th birthday and Nathan attempted to order a present and have it delivered to me in a timely manner. He was so proud of himself for planning ahead and putting in his order weeks before my birthday. As the day approached, Nathan would ask if my present had arrived. On Friday, Nathan called, very upset, to report that the gift he had ordered was on back order and would not arrive in time for my birthday. He was furious and I could tell he felt awful about not being here for my birthday. I tried to remain as upbeat as possible and to reassure him that presents didn't matter and that I was just happy that he tried his best. The truth was, I was so upset to have a birthday, my first birthday with Nathan, be one that didn't matter. I wanted my birthday to mean something, to be special. I know Nathan wanted that too. I felt terribly that he couldn't be here and that he was feeling so guilty about it. The thing about deployment is that the focus is always on the war. Our thoughts and our dreams revolve around the status of troop movements. My heart aches each time the news isn't pretty. There isn't an hour of my day, nor an hour of Nathan's, that doesn't hold uncertainty and grave possibilities. It sounds so selfish, but I just wanted one day of freedom from all of the fear, from the deployment, from the distance, from the pain and the sadness. I wanted one day of simple pleasures with my husband.
At some point during the last week, Nathan said that he was upset because he had promised that my gift wouldn't be late. I felt the desperation in his voice, as if the present was the only thing Nathan felt he could do to ease the unfortunate realities of his job, of his way of life. That desperation made me reflect on the promises we made just seven short months ago. We promised that day that we would stand by one another through good times and bad, through sickness and health, through all that life had in our path. We promised to love and cherish one another regardless of circumstance. There was never a mention of presents on time, or holidays spent in the same house, let alone the same country. There were no promises of sharing the same bed, the same meals, the same home. We didn't promise to be home at five every night and to be there at the breakfast table every morning. We didn't promise to save one another from pain, sorrow, loneliness and fear. We didn't promise to solve one another's problems or to shield each other from the realities of life in this world. I vowed never to leave his side, to support him and lift him up and respect him for the rest of our lives. I knew that day, that our promises guaranteed us pain, loneliness and fear. Even God promises that we will suffer trials and persecution. The promises we make include the difficult things of life. As much as I would love to know that my birthday presents would always be on time and that Nathan would be home for dinner every night, those weren't the promises we made nor were those things promised to us. I'm just thankful that we have the time we have. I'm thankful that we're blessed with one another and that we can hold on to each other during the trials. I'm thankful that I have a husband who wants my birthday present to be on time. That, in and of itself, is a wonderful gift.
Today, I'd like to thank God for Nathan's priorities. Nathan faces danger and terrible living situations daily and yet he still makes it a priority to remember my birthday and to remember what it is that I face here at home. I am blessed beyond anything I have, or ever will, deserve.
