Measuring out my life with coffee spoons
“For I have known them all already, known them all:— Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons” When Mr. Hooah fled for a nice retreat to Uncle Benning’s camp for wayward husbands, I joined a local gym so that I could work on getting myself into shape. The local YMCA where I joined and workout daily, has this awesome computerized tracking system in it. When you become a member you meet with your personal trainer who takes you through the circuit. The trainer sets up your range of motion on the machines, as well as the weight, sets and reps that you need to do every other day in order to achieve your goal. My goal is not to build muscle, but rather tone the muscle I already have. In order to achieve that goal I lift lighter weights, but do more sets and reps than someone who is wanting to actually bulk their muscle up. All this time the machines have been recording the amount of cumulative weight I have lifted through out the circuit since I first started. As of the 25th of June I had lifted a total of 152, 896 pounds! Also, in the past two weeks I have spent more than 8 hours on the cardio cross trainer, and have burned almost 5000 calories! Man! That is amazing to me!
I tend to be a process oriented person, but when I see the cumulative results of a given process it is an incredible feeling. I don’t think that the end result, for me anyway, would feel nearly as incredible if the process were not something I mindfully, and carefully monitored. Step, by step, and lift by lift I slowly got to those numbers. I am excited to see how those numbers look at the end of the year, but even more so I am excited about the next workout. I don’t want to miss today’s feeling of accomplishment out of a desire for next years results.
So many things in our culture and society are so quick fix, solution/end result focused that we miss the joy of the process. We miss the important lessons that we learn along the journey we are taking. As an older college student, 10 years ago, I remember feeling saddened when I would hear the much younger students constantly complain and bicker about their reading assignments. I attended a liberal arts college, and one that practiced a very classical and synthetic approach to education.
Every student, regardless of his/her major, studied the humanities — for a minimum of 3 semesters. Oh, the griping and bellyaching I listened to during that time. We studied every thing from ancient Mesopotamia to the most modern writers — and everything in between. The process was incredible, but some students turned their noses up to much of the first source material that we were blessed to read. They did not care about the process of figuring out what the author was conveying, or understanding the back drop in which ancient words were spoken or written. They were much more interested in getting their degrees and getting out of college. Some of them feasted on predigested information and left college with a malnourished understanding of the events and the thought that was so powerful then, that it is still seen in many aspects of today’s life. I likened it to turning down a prime rib dinner for a Big Mac, just for the convenience of it!
Another project I took on recently, in order to keep myself distracted in the evenings, is refinishing an antique buffet. It is extremely ornate, and I am learning to appreciate the process in stripping and sanding it. It is not a piece of furniture that can be rushed. Well, you could rush it, but really the end result would tell your secret of hastiness. Instead I am having to slowly hand sand the smallest more curvy parts of this buffet. I am enjoying getting to know every curve and chip in the wood. I am finding that this buffet is filled with many little surprises in its construction — surprises I would have missed out on had I not taken the time to strip and sand it properly. My buffet is a work in progress. I am a work in progress as well. Actually, my whole family is right now.
My husband is a work in progress. He is working hard to become a strong, reliable, and readied soldier. His experience over the past several weeks, and the weeks to come will mold him and shape him into someone that others will recognize immediately — an American Soldier. He will stand taller, stronger, and a little more proud (and believe me he already stood this way before he went in, so this says a lot!). He will have been put to the test, he will have had moments that felt like eternity, he has had thoughts of regret, thoughts of success, and doubts. He has had accomplishments realized, and goals met where he felt as if he didn’t do his best. This process of training is changing him, and I believe he is taking in the process as he slowly transforms from a civilian to a soldier.
My son is working hard at keeping his boots to the ground, and his back to the blowing sand. What he is learning and experiencing with each grain of sand that hits his tired face, with each blistering day and hot night, with each encounter in the battlefield, each letter, package, and email from home, and with every prayer uttered, I will never fully grasp. He is learning a new culture. He is learning how much he can take in a given day — and it is much more than he ever thought he could. He is learning moment, by moment, and second by second that life is precious and freedom is a priceless commodity that must be obtained through sacrifice. He is learning how much he is loved and missed, as well as learning how much he loves and misses his family.
I am learning through this process how much I love my husband, and how much his absence resonates through my day. I am learning how much I took for granted those kisses good-bye of mornings past. I am learning that an Army wife is many things in many people’s eyes, but in my eyes we are a stronger than usual type of woman. I am learning that is all that can be said because we are also incredibly diverse.
I am learning that mothers of deployed soldiers are full of compassion. They feel a little lost at times because they are not nestled within the safety of a military base nor do they feel as rooted in the military community, and sometimes they don’t know what is going on. Sometimes they feel very alone. They do know that their soldier has gone to a foreign land where some of our soldiers have bled and died. They know with every news report of a fallen hero that a mother is going to hear a knock at the door; the knock that we all fear. I have also learned that mothers are very strong and courageous women. They get up every morning and start a new day and find new ways to love and support their soldier. They cry when they hear taps play, and they stand with joy and cover their hearts with their hand when the Pledge of Allegiance is being uttered.
I can’t imagine how I would cope if all I could do is focus solely on the end of Bryan’s training and the end of Mike’s deployment. Those are the goals, but if I lived a suspended life until those goals were met I would do us all a disservice. I am in college again, only this time my classroom is the military and my teachers are all those around me. I am in this class to learn, experience and grow. It is vital that I push forward, stay strong and measure my life with coffee spoons.
