Beccalynn married a Counting Mutant. Together they created a Renaissance family. Wild Oat found them in his 20s and now is married with three kids. Ase and Zany, former dancers who now bravely face life as emerging adults. Girly dances, collects dead things and faces her teen years with superpower logic. Creatively they navigate life through Jesus’ gift, asking uncomfortable questions to discover the deep love that awaits us all.
Now it is popular to be one, but when I was a kid it was not. Dad wrestled with shame, like many Vietnam Vets. He felt a
little extra-because he was stationed here.
He worked personnel. Many faces passed through his office.
Some were on their way over; some on their way home. He would tell me about the
guilt over the ones he sent over and the question that nagged-which ones came
We were stationed at Kirkland Air Force Base in Albuquerque, New Mexico
and Hill Air Force Base in Logan,
Utah. My Mom played the chapel
organ, my Dad worked at the radio station. I would listen as Dad would talk
about the new music coming on the scene; Christian Rock which shared hope, all
the while being relevant.
As an observer-grown-ups don’t realize how much kids really
catch-I watched his pained face as the black screen with names scrolled after
the news. When in the car, listening to the radio, songs quickly changed with
the push of a button because of a lyric. One time after work tried to run him
down. He was in uniform.
We loved our lives in base housing. The roar of jet engines
and helicopters lulled us to sleep. When other kids stopped playing because of
a car, something in the air stopped us because we couldn’t hear each other.
Everyone was welcome because tomorrow they might live somewhere else. Being
lonely was never an option.
We were proud of our Dads for wearing Blue. For giving their
time to our country because the country needed them.
It didn't matter to me if he served in a jungle or in an
office. In a jungle he would face bullets, mines and enemy lines. Here in the
states, he faced media, people and the feeling of being left on the bench.