CHAPTER SEVENPATHS NOT TAKEN
Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.
—Proverbs 3:5
PAIGE
I closed Josh’s journal and retreated under the covers as I read the last journal entry before Josh’s injury. All this time I had assumed Josh approached this day like any other day. I assumed he got scared but never to a point that he would be prompted to write a goodbye letter to me. It confirmed the fear he had before he left for Afghanistan. My heart broke for him. I couldn’t imagine what it took for Josh Wetzel, the guy who doesn’t even worry about the bad stuff, to listen to his intuition and write down his final words. Two days later he would by lying on the ground fighting for his life… just like he thought. It was an unbearable thought even though I knew how it turned out. But I still wanted to comfort him more than I ever had before when I closed his journal. However, I was at the Fisher House that night, and I wouldn’t dare wake him up to discuss something like this. Instead, I thanked God for preparing his heart, saving his life, and allowing me to read this journal. Then, I cried myself to sleep.
When I got back to his hospital room the next morning, I greeted him with a hug and misty eyes. I told him that I had finished reading his journal, and that’s all we ever spoke of it. The tears were of both empathy and admiration. While his last entry shook me to my core, I loved that his attitude never swayed from feeling chosen for this. If it saved someone else or took someone’s place, it was all worth it. If this was pre-injury, then post-injury Josh had a lot of potential.
But I wasn’t sure where I was positioned in all this. What purpose did my life have in Josh’s greater story? While Josh felt his calling was the Army and, day by day, we were seeing that his Army story wasn’t complete, I felt like I was drifting into the abyss. I was beyond grateful that my days consisted of caring for my husband—that he was alive was something I will praise Jesus for until my own last breath—I could barely even get a two-minute shower, let alone have a moment to myself to process what my life looked like now. Since Josh’s injury, his mother and I, and everyone else who came to help out, hardly ever left Josh’s hospital room. Personal hygiene and matching clothing were not necessities. We hardly took full showers; we either rinsed our bodies or stuck our heads under the faucet. Our daily wardrobes never called for more than T-shirts and sweats—outfits that could easily go from daywear to sleepwear—and makeup was just pointless. Night after night, I would lie in bed in my room at the Fisher House or in the hospital cot-chair, drifting in and out of sleep. Tossing and turning gave me so many moments to think back about our journeys. There was one thing I was certain of: I had grown up a lot since arriving at Walter Reed, which made reflecting on my previous self that much more frustrating.
The day Josh received orders to report to a base in Washington state, I wanted to turn off my life like turning off a TV remote and go back to my regularly scheduled programming—my life playing volleyball, dreaming of coaching my own team in the near future, and my graduate classes. I had wondered whether this was the sign. Was my life turning into a big mistake that everyone else saw coming? I mean, I had tolerated a lot with this Army stuff. I gave up graduate school, a life and jobs in a familiar place, and proximity to friends and family. And because my husband failed a run by five seconds, I had to pick up my life and move to Washington? Pluto sounded closer.
When Josh told me this news, I thought, I will never understand what God is doing with me. I can’t stand to hear people use the words “God-given purpose.” What does someone have to go through to be so certain of God’s plan? I have been in church my whole life, but it seems like some Christians are knighted with this holy mission, and I’m just trying to obey in case God needs me for something. Obedience, though, doesn’t control events like this. What is the purpose of this? Sanctification? Yay. Can’t wait.
I prayed frustrated prayers. I didn’t understand how something like this could happen. How could a technicality have enough power to uproot a Special Forces candidate after he had completed a third of the qualification course? This was just another example of the many times I contemplated God’s intention with me. Up to this point, God seemed like the CEO of a big corporation or the president of the United States. He made corporate-level decisions that eventually trickled down to my little situation. Except this time, it wasn’t a trickle. This felt like the levee had broken, and I was watching all my hopes and expectations go floating down the river.
I recalled the few days Josh and I had to scramble and put our two houses’ worth of
