The Fruits of My Labors

Last week, I traveled to a land far, far away (it’s called “New Jersey”) to participate in an Army Reserve event. It was my first such event in over two years and I was looking forward to seeing some of my former colleagues there.

What I didn’t anticipate was running into not one, but two colleagues who worked with me before I ever hopped onto the healing track.

The first was a fellow lieutenant colonel who—at the time—was a fellow senior captain at the Captain’s Career Course. The year was 2012 and we were both in promotion peril. Twenty-nine days after we met, we graduated our course and both pinned on major a few months later. I remember this teammate being a happy-go-lucky kinda guy who had a lot of fun and liked to do things well. In fact, most of the people in my team were great people (which is very rare) and we had quite an enjoyable time working together. (We took a picture pointing at our rank to send to the rest of our teammates to comment about how a decade flew by.) However, what he remembers about me is quite different. He remembers me getting mad at everyone when they didn’t do what I wanted, the way I wanted it. “At the time, I thought to myself, ‘She probably hasn’t learned that she can’t control people like that; it just won’t work out,’” he said as we exchanged notes about our time at the course. “But I can see you’re different now, no longer full of fear” he said, and, “I can see how the healing you’ve been pursuing has made a big difference.”

Then, there was one of my former bosses—now a colonel—with whom I worked a year after the above-mentioned course. “You’ve matured a lot,” he said. “Maybe,” I replied, and “what you’re probably seeing is that I’m not ready to defend my life at every turn! I’ve been doing a lot of healing.” “I remember that you had lots of potential, but you were weighed down by all the baggage that people can carry with them,” he followed. I agreed and briefly listed off three or four experiences that caused or exacerbated my complex post-traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD) like my husband lists of things to buy at the grocery store. “That’ll do it,” he said, and, “but I can tell it’s gone.”

Yes! It IS gone! Yeyyyy 🎉🍾🎊🎈

Being reminded by these two gentlemen of where I had started and how far I have come was a sign from God to me. It was God reminding me of the fruits of my labors by declaring, “Look at all you’ve accomplished, at the new creature you have become!” and “You are in a new season, now—one in which you can enjoy the fruits of your labors for years to come.”

Thank you, Father.