We are here in limbo—the waiting place. If there is one thing the military life teaches you, it is numbering your days. And renumbering. And canceling altogether. We wait for orders, we wait for the movers, we wait for housing, and we wait for this or that approval. Then things seem to happen on fast-forward, and we work. We work to move, we work to make friends, we work to acclimate, and we work to make a place in a new place. Then suddenly, after finding a groove, the detailer (the guy with the job list) is on the phone again. It’s time for orders.

Tattoo Man’s tour in Virginia is only scheduled to be a two-year stop, and we have already completed over a year. He is talking to the detailer. We pray. We wait. We try to live in today. The waiting is hard. We want to begin pulling away from people, from places. I don’t want to think about next summer when I might not be able to pick blackberries out at the farm. I don’t want to think this might be our last fall in the changing  foliage of Virginia. But there it is…we are supposed to move in June next year. It seems like a long way off, right? It is a disappearing year though. I’ve already noticed a shift in my thinking. As I rearrange furniture, I have the creeping thought, “I am NOT taking that table with us this time.” Or “Please God, let my washing machine last through this duty station, and then let it fall off the moving truck!”

 The real question is how to wait well. How can I live in today when I know that the ground is shifting beneath us? How can I establish a sense of security with my kids when they will have to leave friends, schools, houses, and everything familiar behind? 

I can’t. It’s a harsh reality for someone who likes to pretend she can control things. Everything changes, even if you don’t move like we do. Grief is a necessary part of living. This ephemeral thing called life is so fleeting. I take a hard look at today—at the people, kids, neighbors, family in front of me. Love them. Hug them. Give thanks with them. It’s the only way to wait well. Recent tragedies, some touching our base and our friends here who grieve, demand that we live today. So where are we going? Only God knows, but until then, we can wait.

*and we’ll let you know when tentative orders arrive