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Being a truck wife takes an awful lot of moxie.
It takes some serious brass to raise kids while their daddy is countless miles away, hopefully rolling along safely amidst tornadoes, blizzards, lot lizards, and thousands of careless, inconsiderate drivers. A truck wife must have sass, confidence, and be fiercely independent.
I’d go as far to say that truck wives have to have bigger balls than even their manly, tough truckers do.
Even with all the chutzpah in the world, there are still going to be moments when the loneliness, bitterness, and frustration creep in. Not because she is weak, she has and will prove herself stronger than she could have ever imagined, but because she is human.
I had one of those human moments a couple weeks ago.
I sat down with my dear friends, Ousier and Clairee and had myself a good old fashioned ugly cry.
I’m going to be really honest,
I lost my brave.
And in the mean time, fear, anger, and heartache settled into my bones for days.
I was mad…
because this bag has been on a truck floor instead of my laundry floor for too many days this spring.
As silly as it all sounds, I was upset because I couldn’t get my garden planted, or the lawn mower started, or keep the tree from dying, or the kids from fighting, or the car from breaking down.
I was sad…
that this hunk of a man-child was having to be more man than child.
I was hurting for my girls…
who couldn’t sleep at night because they were hurting for their daddy.
I’ve been stressed out…
by the mailbox getting bricked by some jerk kid.
And, overwhelmed trying to get my boy scout packed for his first big backpacking trip.
And, I was angry from one too many people telling me that my life wasn’t as hard as theirs was so to “buck up.”
Side rant: Since when was hard a contest?
Everybody experiences hard in one way or another. It may not look like your hard, but it’s hard none-the-less. Instead of pushing each other down as we battle to win the Hard Olympics, why can’t we wrap our arms around each other and lift? Who is our enemy anyway? And, what kind of trophy do they give the victor?
Sounds like a lousy kind of prestige to me.
I won’t lie, a few times I may have thought about praying for my husband not to get the big contract he’s worked so hard for. The thought of him trucking all spring AND all summer was just too much.
But, instead, I prayed that the Lord would give me an extra helping of courage.
He blessed me with blossoms instead.
Everywhere I looked, I found something beautiful blooming where it was planted.
My camera, and my vases, became full of flowers.
The Lord surrounded me with them.
They were each soft, vulnerable, tender, and incredibly breathtaking all while growing and blossoming in even the harshest of conditions.
What is He trying to tell me?
A talk by Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin helped me learn.
“In a hot, dry, desert area of northwest Mexico, farmers plant seeds and grow varieties of corn and beans that are unusually hardy and drought resistant. These varieties survive and flourish in a harsh climate where other plants would wither and die. One of these plants is the white tepary bean. Its seed will sprout and the plant will grow even when very little rain falls. It sends its roots as deep as six feet into the rocky, sandy earth to find the moisture it needs. It can flower and fruit in the 115-degree (Fahrenheit) desert temperatures with only one yearly rainfall. Its foliage remains remarkably green, with little irrigation, even in the heat of mid-July. (See Gary Paul Nabhan, “Seeds of Renewal,” World Monitor, Jan. 1989, pp. 17–20.)
Perhaps members of the Church could emulate the example of these hardy, sturdy plants. We should send our roots deep into the soil of the gospel. We should grow, flourish, flower, and bear good fruit in abundance despite the evil, temptation, or criticism we might encounter. We should learn to thrive in the heat of adversity.
Our pioneer ancestors survived and grew stronger in the face of extreme trials and afflictions and made the desert blossom as a rose… Our challenges today are different from those of our ancestors. Many of them lived lives of poverty and hardship; some among us, however, are affluent and complacent. Wealth, abundance, and easy living do not help us develop the ability to flourish when faced with the rigors and reversals of life. Rather than seeking ease, we must plant, cultivate, and nourish within ourselves the seeds that will enable us to withstand the winds and heat of temptation, sin, and evil and that will help us live successful, happy, and pure lives.”
My Father was reminding me to bloom where I was planted, even if the soil sucked and I was surrounded by thistles.
I am reminded that I am doing a great work.
I am a mother, leading my family hand in hand with my sweetheart even if he is miles away. I am training up the next generation. Through my brass, moxie, “balls” (who came up with that anyway? Must have been a man. Testicles are freaking WHIMPY not tough), and chutzpah, I am helping my children understand that we can and will do hard things. I am showing them how to work, stand strong, and be a do-er. But that’s not all. In my weak times, when I am scared, lonely, and lose my brave, I am teaching them about compassion, empathy, tenderness, gratitude, and love.
You see, you can be strong and tender, do hard things and still possess a soft heart, be independent yet need to be held by the one you love. It’s normal to have human moments, be feminine, and cry. What kind of love would it be if you didn’t ever miss your husband when you were apart?
Tears, like rain, bring on the most beautiful of blooms.
So, come what may and love it.
Bring on Summer, truck filled or not.
There is fun to be created, seeds to be planted, joy to be experienced, adventures to be had, and blossoms just waiting to bloom.
Being a truck wife isn’t for everybody.
It takes an awful lot of moxie…
and a tender heart.
To all those women out there who have lost your courage and are having one of those moments, I say:
I love you, I support you. You are right, this IS hard. You are amazing. Don’t give up. You can do this.