Oilers

It’s zero dark thirty here in Cleveland and I’m up waaaaay past my bedtime thanks to the highest pollen count in weeks and those two iced coffees I knew were bad decisions today.

Hi friends.

I genuinely hope that none of you are up at this hour.

The rain is slowly falling and it IS peaceful and that is something to be thankful for.

The other day I looked at my husband and declared to him that I was the best thing to ever happen to him.

His extremely pastoral reply was , “Absolutely, after my salvation.”

Now listen,

There’s no Pastor’s wife on this planet claiming to be on the same level as “eternal salvation.”

We know our cooking isn’t even close to “marriage supper of the Lamb” level, okay?

His reply was ALMOST as hilarious as the beginning of the conversation all together.

And we both laughed at the sight of ourselves.

Watching our oldest take such good care of his new bride has reminded us that it’s awesome sauce to allow your broken marriage to be a spring board for your kids.

Each day we hug them both closer to becoming a family of three we find ourselves turning down Memory Lane for a little stroll.

Those early years when “Isaac” came along there was very little for me to “laugh” about.

Out of college we were a team in the Christian School that my Father in law started.

Friends who were on staff with us recount times when we had “forehead to forehead” meetings in the supply closet to iron out an argument,

Or three.

We could’ve been smooching for all I know, but most LIKELY it was the former and NOT the latter.

But apart from that we were living the dream.

We were busy and happily in love.

Who cares I had no idea how to cook?

That was just a minor detail when you’re living on love and can split a hot dog.

And then we were a family of three and I was home to tend to this wiggly kid.

Baby Blues told me that a good cry might solve whatever was bothering me so I tried that for a few months only to find out that the more I cried the more I found to cry about.

Isaac was adorable and smiled at every turn.

I had the picture perfect life but I wasn’t busy anymore.

I mean busy about work that mattered.

I was just a stay at home Mom after all.

I thought of this when a dear older gentleman at church was asked to give his testimony one Sunday morning.

His son helped him up to the platform and he began to pour out his heart with a little help from a wrinkled piece of paper of bullet points he held with a tremor in his hand.

He had joined the navy to sail the ocean as a “Gunner,“ manning all kinds of misses and weaponry.

We all listened to his grand visions as a seaman, bravely fighting alongside his comrades.

You could see the mischievous twinkle in his eye as he revisited his heroic dreams.

But in God’s providence he was stationed on an Oiler.

He wasn’t sent to the frontlines, but instead was charged with enabling combat vessels to get there.

As he spoke there didn’t seem to be an ounce of remorse in his voice and with a half smile recounted how he met his sweet wife who was now a year in heaven.

Sitting there in my seat I tucked that little thought away scribbled down in my “thoughts notebook” and pollen and coffee thought this was a good time to bring it to the blog.

Of course in good student fashion I had to look up the jobs that oilers entailed and was even amazed to read about vessels like the USS Neosho that famously replenished other ships to accomplish amazing feats during WWII.

And that word was exactly what I was looking for.

“Replenish.”

By definition it means, “to fill something up again, restock, or restore a supply that has been used up or depleted.”

Plain and simple, if there were no oilers in the world there surely would be no aircraft carriers, cruisers, destroyers, frigates, corvettes, submarines, and amphibious warfare vessels.

And the reason this dear man’s testimony made an impression was because though he thought he left the navy years later settling into civilian life, I heard in his bullet points and tears how he was a faithful “Oiler” to his wife, to his son and to his infant daughter who died of childhood cancer.

Watching him full of spiritual zeal and yet depleted of physical strength I was reminded that being an Oiler isn’t so bad after all.

As a young mother with no clue as to what was truly important, I see now that it wasn’t my place to serve on the front lines.

It was and is my job to replenish the one who left my kitchen with a kiss each morning and who came home worn thin in the evenings.

I found this secret joy in filling up his stomach with some frightful thing I boiled and microwaved and fried into oblivion.

I thought of new ways to restore his spirit and making his time at home surprising and fun and also peaceful and sacred. A hide-away from the enemy.

I watched a man depleted of zeal find it in time for the next round of tasks and responsibilities and Proverbs 31:12 became my goal, “She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.”

As each child came along I began to realize that these were souls I could pour my life into and send out into the world armed to make a difference for Christ.

They each would take their turn on the front lines.

Sure, when the dishes piled and the babies were sick the front line looked awfully tempting.

I wasn’t always content as a replenisher of spirits.

And I still can grow weary so many years later.

I think that through the years the Lord has allowed me to see that as a wife and mother the influence I have been entrusted with far outweighs any station or opportunity I could be afforded.

More often than not, I’d rather be found in my kitchen than anywhere else in the world.

What’s even crazier is that this girl with no child rearing experience who couldn’t even get jello to “set,” now has a precious season of getting here and there to remind other wives and mothers just how wonderful it is to be an “Oiler.”

And in case you were wondering you’re welcome at my place for jello anytime.

Carry on fellow “Oilers, “ carry on.