Foggy Morning

I asked Bob last night what the chemical corps officer did in his unit when he was in the Army. He said his unit did not have one. As a mom, I am having a struggle wrapping my brain around my son's job in the Army. The acronyms are a challenge, and James was telling me 117 Battalion. Pronounced one-seventeen. And FIRES stands for something, and FiB does not mean lie, but Fire Brigade. I am learning. High Five!

Field Artillery. not mortars. not hand-held weapons. Okay.

My question: does the chemical officer run around making sure everybody has done their chemical, biological, and nuke training? Or, when they run into some strange substance, do they call the chemical guy---to come identify something? And in the meantime, do these reports?

I have a lot of questions. Questions that might be too revealing to be answered here. Like, who are they replacing, is there an artillery unit in Afghanistan now that they relieve in December? Man, I'd like to talk to one of their moms---what is best to send, whatall to put in a care package? One blog I was reading online---Mudpuppy, complained that their winter gear was slow to catch up with them. So, the friends and family back home got wind of it, and sent them boxes of warm hats, gloves, etc. And our packages beat the pallets that were getting air dropped. Some of the pallets broke mid-air, or were stolen by the locals. Mudpuppy said they were having to clear the drop zones of little children from the local villages because they did not want the kids to get hurt---these little kids were so desperate for something, or so bored that this was entertainment.

What a roller coaster---thinking James might go to Iraq or Korea and now Afghanistan---and fielding questions from my extended family asking about Afghanistan, the temperatures there, and where exactly is it?? Good grief. We have been at war for nine years now, and some folks don't know where Afghanistan is? I admit, it took me a while to learn how to spell it, and I am a knitter! (afghan---as in that crocheted or knitted throw lap blanket thingy)

We gotta laugh. Wait until James gets Grandpa's latest email on oil to combat plague. My brother, Jay just called---he is convinced our father who art in Houston has lost it with these conspiracy theories. Bleach works just as well or better than clove oil. (I love how cloves smell, though--ha) We gotta laugh. God gives us big families to help us learn to get along, and love one another. Some are easier to love than others.

And that is what fun about being a Christian: JOY! Joy, no matter what. Joy no matter what the test, or fog or confusion or comment. And I marvel at God's tremendous Sense of Humor.

But, my prayer? Please, Lord, help me not hurt or harm others or make their burden greater. I want to help. But, guard my lips---and my fingers as I blog or email. May Jesus be glorified in all of this. I need Your Help, Lord, to be a good wife, a good mom, and a good sister/daughter/cousin/aunt to my extended family. Being a parent of grown sons---is one more of cheerleader, helper, supporter, and observer. We write, we call, we email, we pray. And Dear Heavenly Father, Your Will Be Done. We are here for such a short time compared to eternity---keep us from worshipping idols. Smash my pride, my self-pity. Thank You, Lord for whatever happens. Please put Your Smile on my face, and Your Perfect Love in my heart, and Your Words on my lips. In Jesus Name. Amen.

I am so thankful for online sermons we can access for free. Here is one I think I will listen to again: