As I'm typing this, two different things are going on: 1) there's a man hunt on post for an armed robbery suspect, and 2) a soldier in my husband's battalion is missing.
Here are the details as I know them:
1) There have been no shots fired on post. The military police are working with local law enforcement trying to find the suspect. Several of the buildings were on lock down, but now people are being asked to go home.
2) The soldier who's missing tried to cross a flooded roadway and his car was swept away. The car has been found; he wasn't in it. We've had lots of rain here. Lots and lots. In fact, it's pouring down right now. It's breaking the drought conditions, which is a good thing, but it's also caused flash flooding. We don't know if the soldier knowingly went through a cone or didn't see it because it was dark. As the chaplain, my husband spent all day with the soldier's wife and family yesterday. He came home after eleven hours, ate his only meal of the day, and fell asleep on the couch fifteen minutes into "Phantom of the Opera." Today he's picking up family from the airport and whatever else he can to provide comfort in an impossible situation.
On top of that, I read a disturbing article on what ISIS is doing to nine-year-old girls in areas they are taking over. It made me sick to my stomach.
I'm feeling helpless. Useless. Powerless.
And, with all that in the background, I'm trying to add a little more romance to my "Cowboy Competition" story. I'm struggling--really struggling--with what difference one, little novella about people from 1871 who don't exist makes in the here and now.
Please understand, I'm not whining or asking for advice, I'm just wrestling through it.
I know I need to finish this story to the best of my ability, but that's about all I know. So I'll cling to what I know and leave the rest to a soveriegn God.
Until next time,