What is Normal, Anyway?

Seven years ago today I stepped off a bus in Middlesboro, Kentucky, returning from a fifteen month deployment to Iraq.  D Company, 1st Battalion, 149th Infantry had just returned from Ramadi, in the Sunni Triangle, where there was a fight everyday.  My unit had already been at Camp Shelby, Mississippi for a few days to get used to being home, but everything was still so surreal.  Green grass.  No desert.  No wearing body armor or carrying a rifle.  No sounds of war. 

As I stepped off the bus I strained my eyes to see Christi.  My loving brother made a bee line for the bus and was the first to hug me, but then I found her.  Angelic.  Suddenly, everything was good.  God had been faithful and seen us through the valley.  I was home.  Things would be normal again soon.

And they were.  Until my Dad got sick and passed away from lung cancer.  And then a new normal set in, until my sweet Emmy was born.  It was a wonderful new life, until we lost Micah on the cusp of another deployment to Iraq.  But then I got home safely again and we were blessed with our darling Abrie.  And then another new normal emerged for a few weeks until “normal” was ripped from our lives with a cancer diagnosis.

What is normal anyway?  Am I confusing “normal” for “comfortable?”

I’ll be honest: I miss both.  This round of chemotherapy has more kick than last one.  The side effects have come sooner and harsher than the last time, but that’s to be expected with the higher dosage and the toll the last round took on my body.  It’s harder to get outside and visit with family, both things which bring encouragement and a sense of “normalcy.”   I have two days of treatments left and then I’ll spend another two to three weeks in the hospital while my body recovers and, Lord willing, my cancer goes into and stays in remission.  Right now, there are no signs of cancer cells in my body.  This was the case at this point last time, too, so please keep praying.

Both times when I returned from Iraq I thanked God often that I was home.  I would thank Him simply that I was home and not deployed.  I tried not to take my relative freedom and being with my family for granted.  Now, I feel guilty for any moment that I didn’t cherish my wife and daughters’ presence.  I long for the opportunity to go to my favorite restaurants, with an appetite, and eat my favorite foods.  I miss running, even though I dreaded it many mornings.  I can’t wait for the day again that I’ll drink coffee with Christi on the couch in the mornings before the girls wake up.  You know, normal stuff.

It’s amazing what perspective we can gain when something is taken away: freedom, a loved one, health, a job, or anything that is important.  The thing I must -we all must- remember is what has changed: our circumstances.  My God hasn’t changed.  Hebrews 13:8 says “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.” There is no caveat that says anything about His power or promises in relation to my circumstances, no matter how difficult they might seem.  There is no mention of my “normal” or my “comfort.”

Jeremiah 29:11 has been the verse that has marked Christi’s and my marriage. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” The thing to remember is that God made this promise to the Israelites while they were in captivity, not when life was just grand, but then He saw it through.  I believe this is the same promise that God has given my family, and no matter how much “normal” has been thrust on it’s head, He will see this promises fulfilled.