In our society we are so wired to think in an individual way, that somehow our life is not intertwined into the lives of others. We are taught that we can make our own decisions and do what we need to do to be successful and happy. I’m just not sure that is truly possible. I am unsure if any of us can ever truly be free. In order to be completely and totally free, our actions, values, and behaviors would have to have no impact on others or this world. Or, alternatively, we would have to take into consideration all the consequences of those actions, values, and behaviors.

Take, for instance, the snowstorm that hit the Northeast a few weeks back. The governor of Massachusetts declared a state of emergency and enacted a driving ban across the state. My Facebook feed was riddled with people complaining that their civil rights were being impeded because they were not allowed to drive in the blizzard. Come on, people! If the governor is asking you to stay off the roads during the biggest snowstorm since the blizzard of ’78, can you at least consider the consequences of not listening?

The reality is that many people don’t listen to those requests or demands. As a result, first responders like fire and police personnel are put in harm’s way to deal with accidents, abandoned vehicles, and other tragedies. Oftentimes, it is these same first responders who have to report to scenes where people are seriously injured or even killed because they are living out their life and its “freedoms.”

What it comes down to is the element of responsibility that coincides with freedom. This is the same case in our free faith of Unitarian Universalism. Yes, we are free to search for truth and meaning, but we are called to do so in a responsible way. A lot of times we get caught up in the use of certain language for the divine, or expressions of faith, or viewpoints on issues, and don’t take the time to really talk about them. We are easily offended and don’t always pause to listen to the people around us. It is in these times that we are not being responsible in our search for truth and meaning.

Of course, there are also times when we do take that time, or create that space to talk honestly about such things. I believe that is where freedom exists. When we create a space and atmosphere that allows for the free and honest sharing to occur, we are practicing our faith in a responsible way. We are acknowledging that while we are entitled to our own beliefs, opinions, and values, we are also expected to respect those of others. Because when it comes down to it, my freedom shouldn’t be at your expense. When we seek to understand and respect one another, we can both be free. May it be so.

Remember the saying about how long it takes to get over a break up? What is it, something like divide the time you were together in two? So, if you were dating for a year, it should take about six months to get over the person.

Wouldn’t it be nice if life worked that way? Well, realistically, anyone who has been through a bad break up knows that these equations just don’t work.

What if we applied the same equation to a deployment? It should have taken three months for things to be back to normal after my wife got home, right? Not so much.

It’s funny, you know. People talk about the “new normal” after a deployment. Military families are taught about the adjustments and sacrifices that everyone makes during a deployment. We talk about how to make that “reintegration period” smoother.

Even with my counseling background and knowledge about how people grow and change over time, I can’t say that I was fully prepared for the changes we’ve been through since my wife deployed. Yes, it’s true that there is some readjustment back to daily life. Things like walking the dogs, taking out the trash, and cooking are all a bit different. Yes, that is a change that happens during a deployment. But the reality is that this deployment changed each of us – and it changed “us.”

I consider myself a pretty patient person. I am a good listener, and I take the time to support the people I love. But my level of patience deteriorated while Sue was deployed. It became a chore for me to listen to people complain about mundane things. Didn’t they know that I was worried about the love of my life being hurt or killed? How could they complain about traffic or have a long, deep conversation about reality T.V.? Some of that has subsided since she came home, but some of it has not. And perhaps the hardest part of that for me is that I was completely unaware it was happening. I didn’t realize that my patience was waning and my anger was rising.

Susan has had trouble adjusting home with regard to patience as well. It’s difficult to come home and have people assume that things are just going to go back to normal. It’s challenging to go back to a civilian desk job after your mind and body have been going 100 m.p.h. for so long. It’s hard to trust the people at your civilian job to have your back, the way your military comrades do, when in all reality they often don’t. It’s hard to have patience with people as they ask awkward questions about your deployment or, perhaps even more difficult, when they don’t.

It has been four months since Susan got home from her deployment. We are still in the “reintegration phase.” Sometimes I wonder what things will look like down the road. Will I ever fully regain my patience? Will she readjust to work? Will the people around us ever fully understand what we’ve been through?

I’m unsure of many of those answers. What I am sure of, though, is that I am thankful to have a different perspective when I am stuck in traffic or get the wrong coffee in my order – this deployment helped with that. I am sure that the level of connection and camaraderie that Susan felt during her deployment is possible in the civilian world, if only we have people like her to help make it so. And, finally, I am sure that the people in our life who love and care about us just want to understand. They want to know how we got through such a challenging time, and how we continue to learn and grow from it.

To be honest, I want to understand too.

September 20, 2012 was the one-year anniversary of the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. This discriminatory policy prevented gay, lesbian, and bisexual service members from serving openly in the American military. This meant that for the first few years I was with my spouse, she couldn’t speak openly about me or our relationship. She went to military functions alone, didn’t attend family events on base, or talk with her fellow service members about her personal life.

This also meant that when we married in June of 2011, she was at risk of being discharged simply for marrying the person she loves. Fortunately, the repeal went through, and now she can serve openly.

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For me, the word “joy” always brings to mind the same thing: tears.

I realize this might not be the logical thought process for most people, and some might even find it strange, but it’s the truth. The idea of joy immediately makes me think of tears. This is because I am what some might call a “crier.” I cry when I’m angry and sad. I cry when I’m frustrated or overwhelmed. But mostly, I cry when I’m joyful. I’m one of those people who cries at my niece’s chorus concerts, or when I found out my good friend had just given birth, or when watching two people make a commitment to one another in marriage. These times of joy bring tears to my eyes, and I am so thankful for that.

It’s like my heart is overflowing with emotion, and the only way for that joy to go is out! So those tears of joy are indicators of abundant love and happiness. They are my way of showing support and love for the people I care about. They help me feel connected to the joyful and happy experiences in life. I think, in some ways, those tears of joy are also reminders of the bittersweet that can come with success or achievement.

Most recently I have been watching videos of soldiers coming home and seeing their dogs for the first time. To be honest, I’m not sure why I do that! Having a spouse deployed is an emotional rollercoaster, and every time I watch one of those videos I long for the day that Susan is home, and our pups see her again. Watching these dogs squeal and jump, wag and give kisses brings such joy into my heart, and I can’t help but cry. There is such a pure love and joy in their responses to seeing the person they love after a long deployment. In those videos, the dogs and the soldiers exude pure joy and appreciation for each other.

I have moments of joy that happen almost every day. Afghanistan is 8 ½ hours ahead of Boston, so my day is essentially on an opposite schedule from my wife’s. We usually get to talk or email twice a day. I feel so blessed to have the ability to stay connected with her in this way. Every time my phone beeps with a message or email (yes, I got a smartphone specifically for this deployment!), my heart starts to beat a little faster. There is nothing like the feeling I get when she writes to me or calls. There is a solid joy in knowing that she is okay. But those times of joy are amplified because of the very true reality that she is not in a safe place right now. That’s the bittersweet I’m trying to explain.

But whether bittersweet or genuinely joyful, I am so thankful for those times in my life when I have felt wholly joyful and happy. There is a necessity in relishing in those times of joy. There is so much suffering in this world, but there is so much joy too. All too often we focus on the negative, or try to keep ourselves under control. My hope for myself, for all of us, is to live in the moment. My hope is to feel the joy, and to let those tears of joy flow. Like those dogs who are swept up in the excitement of reunion and jumping with joy, I hope to grasp the moment and be overcome with joyful emotion.

A member of my congregation was due to become a mother for the first time, and the women gathered for a Blessing Way. This ancient tradition is used to offer love and blessings to the soon-to-be mother and prepare her for the beautiful and wonderful experiences of childbirth and mothering. Having never participated in a Blessing Way before, I was excited to learn more about the tradition. We shared words of love and encouragement, and pampered the mother with a corn meal foot washing. There were many moments of laughter and of tears, and many stories shared of joy, loss, and transformation.

The ceremony ended with a ritual in which red yarn was wrapped continuously around the ankles of each of the women in attendance, one after another. This yarn made its way around the group, encircling each of our legs until we were intertwined by a cord of interconnectedness and love. Each section was snipped and tied off around each of our ankles. We were asked to wear the yarn until we learned that the mother was in labor. At that point we would cut our yarn to release the energies and encourage the baby to enter this world.

I wore that tattered piece of red yarn around my ankle for weeks in anticipation and love for the woman who would birth her first child. The red yarn was an accessory during worship services, to classes and dinners, and while spending time with family and friends. The red yarn served as a reminder of the ceremony, the soon-to-be parents, and the anticipation of new life.

One Sunday morning we learned that the mother had gone into labor, and each of the women who had been in attendance at the Blessing Way prepared to “cut their cord,” right there in the service. But I was not wearing mine because it fell off prior to my coming to worship that morning!

Now, some might consider this story superstitious or odd. Others might think I was reading into the meaning of that cord and the power it held. They might chock this experience up to coincidence or chance.

Now, I’m not sure whether my yarn coming untied and this woman’s labor are connected, but I am sure that it caused me to take pause. It is in moments like these that I am most in awe at this Universe. It is at moments like these that I wonder most about that which I cannot see, or touch, or hear, but that I can feel in the deepest cavern of my soul.           I know that that yarn didn’t hold any special powers, that it was merely an object of remembrance and solidarity designed to send positive energies and thoughts to the mother-to-be. But I also know that the yarn was a representation of all that is beyond us, and within us, at the same time. That yarn was a prayer. It was an attempt to channel the positive and loving intentions and wishes of the women in that room, of the Spirit of Life, and of the Divine into a life-giving and sustaining force. The red yarn was a conduit for wonder and awe.

Maybe the yarn had nothing to do with the labor, and maybe it had everything to do with it. In the end, a healthy baby was born in the wee hours of the following morning.

We will never understand the mysterious workings and ways of this Universe; we simply aren’t meant to. Instead, it is our role to seek meaning in the wonder, and to hold onto that meaning in our connection to all that has ever been and ever will be. It is to honor the connection to that which is beyond us all, and the mystery of it.