The floor rumbles under my feet, and a concussion rattles my chest. You could nearly see my shrug my shoulders as I think to myself,
"It's just outgoing...no problem."
In all honesty, God truly blessed me to end up at the camp that I did. My safety is threatened more by the people inside the wire than the people who take lives outside of it. I fear more being bitten by one of the planet's most venomous snakes as I walk than I worry about rockets or being murdered simply because of the color of my skin or the country I represent, although I do worry. I speak candidly with little regard to you, the reader, simply because this is the reality of my life here. The media doesn't like to burden the American public with the details of this war. But I am a voice, and I have seen enough. Although I won't divulge sensative or unnecessarily gruesome details, I also won't sugar coat my experience here...my honesty helps me cope, and it helps you better understand the events that have molded me into the person that I am today.
My job here is really quite simple, as well. My job is to maintain Morale, Welfare, and Recreation (MWR) facilities in this camp. My department coordinates activities for the Military and Allied Forces to participate in as a form of release, a form of therapy...along with being their primary link home through hosting internet and telephone services.
In saying all of that, I might sound pretty formal...but really, my job is provide support in any way possible. Sometimes, a Marine will ask to speak with me simply to vent about his experiences to someone who is non-Military and not in his chain of command. People seek me out at my job to talk to me simply because I know English, or because I am American, or because I am female.
When I arrived in Afghanistan, I was in no way prepared. It was a complete shock to my system. And really, there is no way to prepare. I had no other experience in my life to even compare to what I was about to embark on. I tried to interpret it like I was going to camp again...except instead of a week, it would be a year or more. Instead of Lake Geneva just down the hill from chapel, it would be dunes of sand for hundreds of miles in every direction. But, turns out, camp and Afghanistan did have one thing in common:
In 21 days, I will be packing my backpack (the only luggage I am bringing) for my 18 hour flight home, not including layovers. Even as I type, a hint of anxiety rises inside me.
What will my family think of me?
Who is going to pick me up from the airport?
I have sooo many things I need to take care of...just 'stuff' that couldn't be done while I was here...
Will my friends mind the person I have become? To say I've changed is an understatement.
Will I see Brandon around? How hard will THAT be?
What about other people that I have hurt that I need to make amends with?
My fear is stilled when I remember that I have no control over any of those things...and that through all of this, God is still with me. I may have changed,
But He has not.
"It's just outgoing...no problem."
In all honesty, God truly blessed me to end up at the camp that I did. My safety is threatened more by the people inside the wire than the people who take lives outside of it. I fear more being bitten by one of the planet's most venomous snakes as I walk than I worry about rockets or being murdered simply because of the color of my skin or the country I represent, although I do worry. I speak candidly with little regard to you, the reader, simply because this is the reality of my life here. The media doesn't like to burden the American public with the details of this war. But I am a voice, and I have seen enough. Although I won't divulge sensative or unnecessarily gruesome details, I also won't sugar coat my experience here...my honesty helps me cope, and it helps you better understand the events that have molded me into the person that I am today.
My job here is really quite simple, as well. My job is to maintain Morale, Welfare, and Recreation (MWR) facilities in this camp. My department coordinates activities for the Military and Allied Forces to participate in as a form of release, a form of therapy...along with being their primary link home through hosting internet and telephone services.
In saying all of that, I might sound pretty formal...but really, my job is provide support in any way possible. Sometimes, a Marine will ask to speak with me simply to vent about his experiences to someone who is non-Military and not in his chain of command. People seek me out at my job to talk to me simply because I know English, or because I am American, or because I am female.
And not in a creepy way, either. But when you are a male Marine surrounded by entirely other male Marines for months on end, it can be exceptionally refreshing to talk to someone different.
When I arrived in Afghanistan, I was in no way prepared. It was a complete shock to my system. And really, there is no way to prepare. I had no other experience in my life to even compare to what I was about to embark on. I tried to interpret it like I was going to camp again...except instead of a week, it would be a year or more. Instead of Lake Geneva just down the hill from chapel, it would be dunes of sand for hundreds of miles in every direction. But, turns out, camp and Afghanistan did have one thing in common:
It was about to change my life, starting at my Spirit, and working its way through every facet of my life.
In 21 days, I will be packing my backpack (the only luggage I am bringing) for my 18 hour flight home, not including layovers. Even as I type, a hint of anxiety rises inside me.
What will my family think of me?
Who is going to pick me up from the airport?
I have sooo many things I need to take care of...just 'stuff' that couldn't be done while I was here...
Will my friends mind the person I have become? To say I've changed is an understatement.
Will I see Brandon around? How hard will THAT be?
What about other people that I have hurt that I need to make amends with?
My fear is stilled when I remember that I have no control over any of those things...and that through all of this, God is still with me. I may have changed,
But He has not.
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