Fertilizer

Let me be honest here. I don’t always feel like praising God. (gasp!) My family and I have been through a number of trials and we’ve had more than our fair-share of hard times. So many times it would have been much easier to run away from our circumstances or simply give up. However, if I had elected to run, I would have never witnessed the beauty on the other side of the problem.

You see? I’m human, and because I’m human I am guaranteed to have problems. Here’s a freebie—every one has problems. Every difficulty or challenging time I face, I call it all fertilizer. It sure stinks while you’re going through it buried under it, but in due season the fertilizer nourishes and encourages growth and beauty.

Think about it for a minute. Fertilizer contains many of the necessary nutrients to encourage growth and beauty. The main ingredient in fertilizer is animal waste—(this just might be the first discovery of a renewable resource.) It stinks. It’s unpleasant, and honestly?? I don’t think anyone would purposely choose to be buried under it. Nonetheless, the end results of adding fertilizer to a garden or plant yields a more hardy and beautiful foliage. Many times the fruit is bigger, sweeter, and more bountiful when fertilizer has been a part of the growing process.

When we go through tough times and have hard circumstances with which to deal, we have a choice. We can choose to either allow the outcome to make us bitter or we can choose to allow the outcome to make us better. God will still be God no matter the outcome. When we delve deeper into a relationship with God, he will give us his strength, his wisdom, his joy, his love, his peace and whatever else he deems necessary in order for us to stand up in end.

Psalm 34:1-5 says, “I will bless the ”uc">Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth.2 My soul makes its boast in the Lord; let the humble hear and be glad.3 Oh, magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together!


4 I sought the Lord, and he answered me and delivered me from all my fears.5 Those who look to him are radiant, and their faces shall never be ashamed."

The point is this: bless the Lord at all times. Bless the Lord when fertilizer is piled on you. Bless the Lord when there is no end in sight. Bless the Lord when you face a diagnosis with a daunting and not very promising prognosis. Bless the Lord when things are going right. Bless the Lord when your foliage is healthy and beautiful and your roots are well-established. Bless the Lord. Magnify Him.

Blessings to you all,
the PTSD Widow

Just some thoughts---

Fall is here in my neck of the woods. I'll be the first to tell you how beautiful the trees are becoming, and I love the smells! I just miss the summer. It seemed like summer was never going to arrive, and then when it finally did it was gone in two weeks.

Our home has been filled with busyness these past couple of weeks. School has gotten off to a fabulous start, and we have kids here all the time. I love it! My husband has been busy learning and teaching our sons high school chemistry, and I am in my element teaching other people's younger children. We almost have our own little schoolhouse going on here. I feel like I need to come up with a name for it.

We are preparing for some unhappy news, though we don't know when. We'll have to make a trip to the Southwest sometime in the future. My husband's mother is truly sick, and it's just a matter of time before she goes to meet Jesus. This morning, she faces yet another surgery to manage her cancer symptoms. I just don't know how long her body can handle all the radition treatments and the pain. If you are so inclined, please pray for her today. Since no one has an expiration date stamped on their foot, we don't know how much time she's got left. If the doctor's have mentioned a timeframe, the family has failed to relay the message.

PTSD is nasty and relentless. I am not looking forward to another season of dealing with magnified symptoms and outbursts. I've been praying that my husband's PTSD will remain stable, and it will for the most part. Anniversaries are coming up which will inevitably trigger traumatic memories. I pray he'll be able to manage. Couple those anniversaries with the fact that his mother is dying, and that's another story. Dear Hubby has only so much strength, and when triggers occur it's difficult for him to conciously pray and hand over the reigns to God. His emotions (mostly anger and depression)run amock and it takes awhile for us all to recover and regroup.

On a completely different note, our twins are driving. They are in the process of driving the required number of supervised practice hours before they can legally obtain their driver's license. Of course they must wait another 4 months for their birthday, but they are driving. We've had a couple lot of "instructional moments," but generally they do a great job. Our goal is that they learn and develop safe habits. It has been an adventure!

I'd better get ready for my day. There are lots of items to knock off of my to do list.

Blessings to you all,
the PTSD Widow

Modern Day Barn Raising...

There are men on my roof. Since my husband is disabled and there is no way for him to get on the roof to fix it, several men from our church are here to reroof the entire house. A few years ago, our house was damaged during a severe winter storm. Everytime we've saved enough money to fix the roof, something more pressing has happened and we've never been able to save enough. Our church is reroofing our house. Did I mention how much of a blessing this is for our family?

Gidget, our weiner dog, is the only one who is literally freaking out about this project. She keeps running around the house, barking loudly, and now she is panting so hard. Eventually she'll wear herself out. For now, she is busy being a dog! I hope my ears and nerves can handle her constant barking.

This roofing project is literally a community event. So far, I've counted nearly forty people who have given their time, talents, tools, and trucks. That's amazing! It's been kind of a modern-day barn raising. We've had potlucks, dinners, working parties--you name it. People who are unable to get up on the roof have been here pulling weeds and contributing food. It has been a total community effort.

The PTSD symptoms are creeping back into the picture. With people here all the time and constant extra noise, my husband has no safe place to go. On top of that other stressors have been taking a toll on his health. At times he manages really well, and other times it's all he can do to keep it together. So far, aside from a few outbursts, he has done fairly well.

We feel entirely loved and blessed by the members of our local congregation. The truth is, we don't even know the half of how much effort it has taken to make this new roof a reality.

Thanking God and feeling blessed,
the PTSD Widow

Ungracious

Have you ever had your heart set on something and then been disappointed because it didn't turn out the way you had envisioned? That happened to me last week.

I went to church fully expecting to listen to another dynamic sermon by my pastor to give me a boost for the New Year. To my shock, dismay, horror, and whatever else...he didn't preach! He introduced another pastor. I stopped listening with my heart right then and there. Afterall, what could the inexperienced and very verbose man at the pulpit have to say to me? I took notes on his presentation, but I was just waiting for him to make a mistake. I wrote down things like, "The new word of the the week is 'clearly' rather than 'pragmatic' or 'caveat.' No $10 words this week."

I guess I got tired of nitpicking, so I started to record the positive things he did. "Restated introduction in first conclusion." "Uh-oh! He told us how we were going to pray." I believe I got up and walked out at that point. To begin with, my attitude was rotten! Secondly, nobody is going to tell me how I have to pray. Thirdly, I was tired of nitpicking.

When I went back and read my 'notes,' I realized how very ungracious I had acted. I had to repent for my rotten attitude and toss the critique in the trash. I can only remember the first sermon I sat through in 2011 was about resolutions and Judaism. (I think I wrote something negative about the topic in my 'notes.') I was ungracious. I didn't give the speaker a chance, nor did I let Almighty God intervene and do something divine in my heart that day. I'm sure my attitude blocked any inspiration that would have resulted from actually hearing what was said last Sunday.

In a way, PTSD is this way. It feels like my husband doesn't hear what I say. It feels like his 'rotten attitude' blocks any inspiration that could potentially come from actually hearing what I have to say. Sometimes I feel like he only hears what he wants to hear and begins forming his retort long before I actually finish my thought. I feel like he's constantly critiquing me.

It was good for me to realize what an ungracious attitude looks like so I can be aware the next time it threatens me. I no longer have to allow myself to surrender to such an attitude and miss out on a blessing. I can actually practice being gracious.

Many Blessings,
the PTSD Widow

I saw the old playhouse this weekend. It was old and torn up, but the memories were as fresh as the paint on the trailer my father had up on the lifts.

That little playhouse was our drive-through fast-food joint. It was the place in which we spent summer nights and played with friends. It was the house we cleaned and rearranged to accommodate our "club" meetings. That little house was the most beautiful place I remember.

Our friends had the latest and greatest dollhouses; Sister and I had a real life-sized dollhouse. We even brought electricity into the house via an extension cord so we could play our cassette tapes. We had picnics on the porch and brought the first wireless phone out there so we'd never miss a thing. We had a place where we had to use our imaginations and have fun.

I'm one of the blessed ones. I can remember things from my childhood. I can remember a lot of things. My husband is unable to recall many things because of PTSD. Of course he and I grew up in opposite areas of the country; but, since the diagnoses of PTSD and TBI he has little recall of childhood memories.

My guess is that my husband's memory is a lot like that old playhouse. At one time, he had all kinds of pleasant memories. Now it's all torn up and dilapidated. Sometimes I wish I could give my husband back some memories--but I know that is impossible. What I can do is help him make pleasant memories with our children. That way the boys will one day look back and fondly remember--even if their daddy can't.

Blessings for you all today,
the PTSD Widow

Security

Do you remember when you were invincible? For me that would have been when I was 22, newlywed, and new to the lifestyle of a military bride. Nothing could have prepared me for the future because I was living it. I was so happy! I had a good-looking husband, a steady paycheck, and hardly any bills. I had a bunch of wives who lived around me in a similar situation, and I had my freedom. I was living.

Nothing could have prepared my for the future--a life of living paycheck to paycheck, a diagnosis of PTSD that would alter what normal looked like, and not only the diagnosis, but also the characteristics and drama of the anxiety disorder. I had no idea that I would face depression and deal with issues that should have only been in the movies. I didn't know that there would be sleepless nights and nights when I'd wake up with my husband about ready to hit me because he'd had a nightmare and was still actively involved in that nightmare. I had no clue that I would have to learn how to talk him down from his anxiety episodes and sometimes be unsuccessful in my attempts to do so. I didn't know.

This may sound horrible and difficult, and I'm not going to lie--it is. However, Through it all I've learned from where my source of strength comes. You see, I had to learn that my security is not in any of my possessions. It's not in my house, my car, my husband, or my boys. My strength is not from my friends, a paycheck or the Army. It cannot come from anything I am able to do or accomplish--because I will ultimately fail. My source of strength and my security is in the Lord, or I am not very secure at all.

We lost everyTHING when my husband was medically retired from the Army. Our income went from comfortable to less than half of that. I went back to school and we were rather forced into bankruptcy. I lost my husband whenever he faced his trauma--the one that he relives on a continual basis. My children are growing up--and my friends have moved away. BUT my God has never failed. He has never left me. He has been my only security through it all. He will continue to prove faithful even when I am lacking. God is my source of strength.

Blessings to you all,
the PTSD Widow