This weekend I got the happy news that my dear husband, Matt, is back in the States; I spoke to him on his brief layover in Maine on Sunday around noon.
That is, just seconds after I got news that a young man in my church was killed in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan.
And, in his mother's sorrow, I feel the weight of everything I've been too afraid to imagine over this past year.
My joy is tempered by my continuing awareness that we're in a so-called "war on terror," and that we're still asking young people to go on our behalf to fight, half a world away.
My continuing dissatisfaction with war, and with this war in particular, finds fuel in the reality of how easy it can seem to feel like this war doesn't need to affect us.
After all, I'd just been glad to celebrate the safe return of someone I love.
But now I'm ready, again to say: enough of this war.