When a soldier comes home, War comes home, too. When my husband came home last time, it was our hardest yet. He came home to a stressed-out wife getting ready to start her next school year and a toddler daughter he barely knew. Reintegration was going to be tougher than it had ever been on top of the extreme stress of cumulative deployments.
Reintegration means readjusting. Where is my place? What is my role? How do we do this together?
For me, a small positive of deployments is getting to organize my house to my little OCD heart’s content. I get to color code and label. And everything stays where I put it. Hooray! A little thing I can enjoy while trying not to worry about my husband being in a war zone.
But when he comes home, things have moved. His stuff got relegated to the back of the cabinets. He feels put away, like he doesn’t quite fit. Our lives went on without him, and we did just fine. It isn’t true, but it feels true to him.
Coming home took away his sense of mission and purpose. He felt like he left the job undone in Iraq and didn’t know how to change gears. He struggled to find his place in our home and lives. I had to learn how to let him back in, let him be the dad and do things his way.
Truly reintegrating took time. Think marathon, not sprint. Sometimes, it was a relay race who is coping better today? You’ve got the ball.When a soldier comes home, War Comes Home, too. Becoming one again is a marathon, not sprint. Click To Tweet
Deployments are also tremendously physically demanding, adrenaline pumping continuously 24 hours a day, everyday. The previous deployments had at least prepared me to be patient with him. He was a hummingbird around the house, zipping from place to place, barely lingering long enough to be still a moment. I got exhausted watching him.
When a soldier comes home, War comes home, too.
It was weeks before he sat down, then all he did was sleep. His body was wrecked from getting less than 6 hours of sleep a night and wearing 100lbs of gear all day everyday for a year. When he finally crashed, he slept every empty minute for weeks. My heart broke to watch him sleeping through those precious hours, when I so desperately just desired his presence.
As much as I wanted to authentically celebrate his being home, it took almost a year to feel like he was really home. And then the really hard work started.
I was not as patient as I could have been. I felt like I’d been alone raising this baby by myself for so long, but he wasn’t ready to be home with us. He felt robbed of another year of his life, hunting and fishing, and having any time alone after being continuously with others (even on the toilet). As a mom, I can better relate now!
And then the loss of time with all of his kids was so much, he didn’t know how to cope, let alone how to begin reconnecting with them.
A special kind of hurt wraps itself like a noose around your heart when you lose time with your children, much less a cumulative 4-5 years of their lives. Just writing those words grieves my heart. I. CAN’T. EVEN.
Additionally, the unique violent experiences he had in combat came home with him, too; they live in his heart and mind in a way I’ll only barely grasp. They were tearing him up inside, and I didn’t know how to help or that I was inadvertently making things worse.
We said the word “divorce” too often in the heat of bickering over mundane domesticities that turned vicious. Our house became the war zone.
We reached a point nothing on earth could save us, at least nothing OF earth.
God doesn’t want us to turn to Him because we think His way might be better. God wants us on our knees screaming for Him to save us. He wants us so desperate for Him we won’t take another step without him. He wants our full surrender, that moment we truly give it over to Him, quit playing at Christian and become a disciple.
For me, the path to that moment of surrender started when I truly realized that war comes home. The smell of it, the frenetic energy of it, the despair, bravado, and horror of it moved in with his foot locker at the end of his 4th deployment.
And things got bad. Really bad. Not everyday was bad, but we fought a lot. Tension and anger were the under current of our marriage and home. I didn’t know what to do. I started crying out to God.
But I wasn’t completely ready for total surrender. It took another year for the moment I stood in front of God and said, I just want you, to follow you, Lord, no matter what. I’m standing here until you make me move.
I remember feeling like Paul when the scales dropped from his eyes, my vision changed almost physically with living the forgiveness I finally understood. I didn’t have to get cleaned up to come to Christ. I just had to come and he would clean me up.
The next step for me was a book called When War Comes Home: Christ-Centered Healing for Wives of Combat Veterans. God placed this book in my path at just the right time to make dramatic changes in my heart and marriage. I spent the next several months reading a chapter a week and discussing it with a dear friend. We were both struggling with how combat had changed our husbands.
The book is written by combat veterans, wives, and experts from a Christian perspective. It costs about $25, but is a priceless resource. The book deals with everything from grieving the changes any combat veteran might experience to the most severe PSTD, offers insight and biblical solutions, as well as resources for help, counseling and domestic abuse if necessary.
I learned so much about forgiveness and commitment, God’s truths, and our real enemy in this world. Some content might not relate if your spouse isn’t a veteran, but so many raw truths about love being an action, not just emotion make this a trusted marriage manual I could recommend to anyone.
I was able to start understanding what he had seen and how he had lived in a way I hadn’t before. Compassion blossomed in my heart.
I had prayed for God to change my husband, and He did, but His answer was, “you first.” Today, I am tearfully thankful for that.
I remember I was having a rough day, standing over dishes and a mess not of my making. My husband was being kind of a jerk. My mouth clamped shut and I prayed in my head, “Lord, help me see him the way you do.” Instantly I saw the chains around him dragging him down: war, anger, death, loss, grief, shame. He wasn’t a jerk on purpose; he was too wounded to be anything else.Lord, I prayed, please change my husband. His answer - You first! Tearfully grateful for His… Click To Tweet
“Oh, you’re having a hard time just being you today . . .” I said. He froze. His eyes immediately softened and changed. “Yes, I’m having a hard time being me.” “What can I do to help you?” “Give me five minutes to myself.” Done! Easy peasy lemon squeezy as my kiddo likes to say. So simple.
And that was the beginning. I stopped expecting ANYTHING from him beyond going to work, coming home. While that sounds drastic, he couldn’t handle the pressure of my expectations. And I had been counting on him to make me happy when I should have been finding my joy in Christ.
I finally realized, he couldn’t fill my longing for true and everlasting love. Human love would always disappoint, but God never would.
Eventually, he began to unfurl in the security of God’s love for him through me and be able to relax again, laugh more, and take back some leadership in our home.
It’s been a couple of years, and I am still just barely scraping the surface of how war comes home, how what he has seen changes everything for him: the sound of a child crying, watching political debates, going to the movies.
But God has worked miracles in my heart that are healing both of us and our marriage.