Harvesting the Soul: Peeling Away the Layers that Bind Me

by April L. Cao

I had been restless in the heat and humidity, craving the dry, cooler winds that usher in the start of fall.  The summer has felt long and burdensome, too busy ignoring the absence of husband and daddy while attempting to speed along the ticking clock of this deployment.  It seemed like the more I planned and the more activities we packed into a day only made the time creep by even slower.  The busyness was a distraction for my mind but my heart still beat to a slow cadence of loneliness.  I began to look forward to fall and all of the physical changes that accompanied it.  In the same way that fall is really a beautiful display of a dying-off period, I hoped that I, too, would begin to shed the many layers I had built around me in order to survive these past six months.  That I could begin the process of dying to myself again, harvesting the hope and anticipation I had tucked away. Thinking it safer to remain quietly buried for a season.  

Now that the air is finally cooler I feel like I can breathe again.  Long deep breaths to expel a bit of the stagnant attitude that has lingered a bit from the summer months.  The morning bus stop chill is invigorating. I feel more alive when my cheeks tingle and my eyes water from a stiff cold breeze. I find myself thanking God for creating the visible passing of time.  That days can be measured by the slower rise of the morning sun and the dwindling daylight late afternoon.  I begin to imagine a time not too far off when I look out the window and see crooked black trees, finally bare of their orange and red leaves, a reminder that our seven months is coming to an end. 

So now I begin the peeling away.  Like an ear of corn hidden beneath the snug, musty green husks that protected it from the elements.  I am like that ear of corn harvested perfectly for the season.  Mature and ready to shed the thick skin that I allowed to keep me stiff and upright. To endure outside pressures and temptations so that inside I remained unblemished and pure in both thought and spirit. There is work to be done in me as I prepare to welcome my husband home from this long deployment.

Next month our family will begin the process of coming together again. In a few weeks there will be four again when there had only been three for most of the year and I need to put away some habits that will make the transition harder.  I need to remind myself that soon there will be a physical partnership again.  Not just the encouragement that comes by phone or email, but the extra pair of familiar hands to love and work, comfort and discipline.  I need to remember that doing things differently does not mean that I did it wrong while he was gone.  He will want to help, to make up for the time he was gone and missed the tears, chaos and laughter.  It is his way to try and compensate for the time apart, to prove that he is present and eager to be a part of our daily routine.

I will have to slowly shed the part of me that couldn’t share each part of my day.  The things that I thought may have been too much of a distraction, when I needed him to be safer there than a confidant for me here. I will have to remember to speak.  To talk about the thousand little things that he can or can not fix.  To tell him that I was worried or scared or simply exhausted from being both mom and dad.  I will have to get used to his voice filling the room because now I am accustomed to the quiet at night, the sound of the television as background noise while I am comforted by the clink, clink of my computer keys. 

It will feel good to pray together as a couple. To go before God in thanksgiving and praise but I need to remember that it’s okay to be vulnerable again.  As we begin to  integrate our mutual expectations I pray that God will make me quick to listen and slow to speak.  I pray that my instinctive desire to make each and every decision humbly falls away so that he can take his place as the head of our home. One more layer to put aside in acknowledgement of how much he has been missed and needed.  In my efforts to be strong enough for us all I tend to put him in a box-compartmentalizing our roles until we are together again.  The only thing I need from him is to come home safe.  Concentrate on the task at hand and build up his spiritual armor amidst violence and unrest.

Because when he comes home I am afraid I will want every part of him too quickly so I pray that I will be restrained, but not confined, in my joy.  Allowing him time to breathe and readjust after the long days and nights in the dessert.  I will want to temper my expectations as he re acclimates to our home, which is a safe place, and remember graciousness as I regain my own footing as wife, lover and friend.  My heart hurts for the time we have been apart but my soul is redeemed through God’s tender care.  Even as my flesh built a wall to endure, He matured and refined me on the inside, harvesting my soul for the perfect season to reveal a thankful and delighted heart to the man that I love.

About the Author:
April Lakata Cao is a native of Northern Virginia and currently resides in Virginia Beach, Va., where she has just completed her eighth move in eleven years of marriage. April and her husband, a graduate of the United States Naval Academy, have two beautiful children ages four and seven. As a military spouse who has experienced five deployments and countless months of separation, April shares her personal challenges and life lessons as a freelance writer. She is a stay at home mom, a reading and writing enthusiast and for the past three years has published the blog, Amazing Grace (www.intoourheart.blogspot.com) to encourage, educate and inspire adoptive and prospective adoptive parents.  Not only does she have a heart for orphans, she is fiercely passionate about religious freedom and women’s rights across the globe.  But above all else teaching her children to love, trust and obey God is her most precious job.