Police Memorial Week

Not that we need any reminders that the police officers in our lives have a dangerous job, but this is a week where we are to remember the fallen. It is time to take a deep breath and ask God to comfort those who have lost a loved one in the line of duty, and to thank God for the officers in our lives that would give just as much if they had to. It is time to stop taking your precious moments together for granted, because while you were exchanging angry words out of frustration with your beloved, someone else's beloved never made it home, and they don't have the chance to say "I'm sorry" like you have right now. It is time to take your moments one at a time and own them, to choose your words carefully and decide to bless your spouse with them instead of cursing, to heal instead of hurt, to hold instead of push away. Say the loving words your pride doesn't want you to say. Start to love like you know you should. When your family is laughing and having a tickle war on the living room floor, instead of excusing yourself to clean up the kitchen, get down there with them and join in. This week, take time to remember the fallen, to be grateful and thankful for their sacrifice, and to honor their memory by using your days well. This is a better tribute to those who have given their lives than any sticker on your car.

The Time Has Come

Whenever my husband begins a graveyard shift deployment period, I make a list of projects that I have been wanting to tackle but can't seem to get to when my plans are fourth in line. You know how it is; work inside or outside your home all day, get kids to do homework, unpack and repack lunchboxes, have dinner, clean up dinner, get little bodies into bed, sit on the couch for an hour and fold laundry while Sports Center replays the only news you'll watch that day (this is why I have no idea what is happening in the world). Now there are plenty of things I dislike about graves: sleeping alone, keeping everyone quiet until 2pm, and mainly, missing my sweetheart while he hibernates upstairs in a darkened and muffled room. But I'm focusing on the good, and now, after 10pm, I do what I want. I can make a quilt out of my grandpa's favorite shirts that I brought home in a box after his memorial service. I can turn a pair of old wooden drawers I picked up from a closing children's boutique into shadowboxes or shelves to display my antique button collection. I can finally file my daughters' schoolwork and artwork into binders so they can look though the pages and ooh and aah over each others' work, as they love to do. I can make homemade bread with my Kitchen-Aid mixer so we can eat fresh bread like I did growing up. This is my creative season, the time that is my own, again. I just returned from a phenomenal and inspiring women's conference in which the speaker told us, "In the Bible, time doesn't go. Time always comes." I thought about that for several days afterwards. Time doesn't fly by. Time can't run out. It can only come. This year, the time came for my grandpa to be taken home to Jesus. The time came for a new baby to be born to my brother and his wife. The time came for a friend to move away. And the time has come for my husband to work nights again. The time has come for me to make a memory quilt, to restore shelves, to make art albums, to learn to bake bread. My time has come. And instead of being lonely or sad, I am going to own my time. Because it is only for a season, after all, and there will come a time when my time again is our time, and I can snuggle with my man on the couch, share a bowl of popcorn, and watch our funny shows from the On Demand menu. But for now, I'm going to bake some bread.