A Jar Opener and God’s Steadfast Love

December 2025

**A brief note: these reflections on deployment are my own personal thoughts and feelings. If you’ve gone through deployment as a military spouse, I am sure your experience was different because no two families’ deployments are exactly the same. So please know that I’m not saying this is what your experience was, or that this is how all deployments are. This is simply my way of processing and describing my own experience this year. Thank you to all soldiers AND their families for your service!

A Jar Opener and God’s Steadfast Love

One of the very first things I did when I found out my husband was being deployed was to buy a jar opener. You know – one of those floppy, flimsy-looking rubber pads that helps you swivel the lid on even the most tricky pickle jars. I knew about the deployment long before we told anyone, and in retrospect, I think buying a jar opener was my semi-flustered way of processing the idea of handling everything on my own for many months. And thus began the journey. 

Actually, deployment is just the natural continuation of a journey we’ve already been on our whole marriage. The Army has been a big part of Bjorn’s life since before I first met him. He’s wanted to be a soldier ever since he was a little boy and I love seeing him realize his dream. Every promotion and every accomplishment fills me with pride. 

Bjorn and I fell in love over long lunches in the dining center at college – me, dressed for my extracurricular ballet class, and him, quite a contrast and handsome as ever in his army uniform from early morning ROTC. His service in the military for all these years is one of the many things I respect and love about him! Before this current deployment, that has meant literally hundreds of days apart in our marriage due to drill weekends or training. But I have loved watching Major Olson do what he loves, whether it’s commanding a unit, training other soldiers, or being the Executive Officer of a CSSB (Combat Sustainment Support Battalion), like he is right now. Our three young children and I have sure missed Bjorn over these months as he serves in the Middle East and we can’t wait to have him home again. 

Deployment is hard to understand from the outside looking in, and there’s no perfect analogy or illustration to somehow sum it all up, but I’ve realized there are a lot of similarities between deployment and pregnancy, of all things. This is so clearly illuminated in my own life because I’m currently pregnant with our fourth child and my pregnancy has lined up with so much of this deployment. (I learned I was pregnant after Bjorn was already settled on the other side of the world. This baby is such a gift and we are so excited to meet her. I definitely look a lot different from the Hannah who said goodbye to Bjorn at the airport all those months ago!)

So how is a deployment similar to pregnancy? The “morning sickness” phase comes first: that heavy, dull pit in your stomach, the sick-to-your-stomach feeling watching your loved one leave…and learning to live with that feeling at first. It’s a daily exercise in endurance – smiling, functioning as best as you can, while acknowledging inwardly that something just doesn’t feel great or “normal.” There’s no use in laying on the couch or pouting, and there are other little people who rely on you. Mamas do what we have to do. Then the morning sickness mostly dissipates (thankfully, usually…) But there are times when the nausea hits you fresh or surprises you. 

Catching your stride in the middle is the part you hope to get to (and wish you could stay at, in some ways). You emerge from the constant waves of feeling depleted. Daily life isn’t as taxing. Your stomach isn’t riding the high seas. Life may not be the same as you watch the weeks and weeks and weeks tick by, but new routines settle into place. You’re grateful for renewed focus, energy, and motivation.

And then, just like the final month or two of pregnancy, that last stretch of time seems to last for years! The days crawl by. You feel like you’re always glancing up at the calendar on the wall. Patience and endurance are the most tested virtues as you near the end. 

That’s the illustration that seems most accurate to me as I walk through both of these journeys simultaneously – pregnant with anticipation (and with child!), with many months behind us and not too much time yet to go.

This year, while Bjorn (our resident farmer and green thumb) was gone, the kids and I grew our first garden. And it not only survived, it thrived! We enjoyed countless cherry tomatoes – and next year may not grow as many! Soren helped me check and care for the garden daily. We bought and raised two more chickens from chicks, who now add to our daily egg count. I started Invisalign, which often means aching teeth as my teeth realign. And I’m pregnant. I joke, “We might as well get all of the ‘hard’ done in one year!” But I know that’s not how life actually works. The “hard” of life doesn’t dissipate simply because one difficult thing has ended. Deployment, like other life circumstances (and long, often-hard seasons) is a training ground for us all. We hope to grow in resilience, in deliberately picking out any moments of joy and holding them close, in trusting God and not ourselves.

I saw a funny video earlier this year that made me laugh and it feels pretty applicable to my situation: in it, you see video clips of wives accomplishing all kinds of things without their husbands. They’re doing various homesteading tasks: unloading pickup trucks and grabbing hay bales, lifting sacks of feed up across their shoulders…pretty impressive physical jobs! (I can relate some – this year I’ve happily dragged and lifted chicken feed and bedding from the fleet and farm store, I’ve unloaded Facebook Marketplace furniture finds, carried countless items up and down the basement steps…I’ve taken my morning-sick self and three young children to a special family wedding 5 hours away…basically, I’ve done things and learned things this year that I look back and think, “Wow, I did that!”)

And then the latter half of the video is in stark contrast to the first half. The husband is home. And that same wife, who just threw bags of feed over her shoulder, needs (or wants) his help getting the pickle jar opened. Isn’t this just the perfect picture of a wife while her husband’s deployed? She’s truly got the physical, mental, and emotional strength to get things done. She will get the hard things done. Because they have to get done. But then there’s the needing your husband (or wishing he was there) to help you open a jar of pickles in the kitchen. Those are the moments during a deployment that can make your heart ache.

I am by no means helpless, but it’s okay and even healthy to need help. Husbands and wives, we’re meant to need each other! On the flip side of the coin, we’re also meant to be strong. Leaning on each other, AND strength. I’m strong, but I need Bjorn. Both of these things can be true. 

Those moments of strength and resilience are contrasted with a few hidden bouts of sobbing facedown at the kitchen table during the kids’ quiet time. It’s not that I can’t do hard things; I just love my husband and want him around. And there are so many things he just plain does better than me, and that I appreciate him for. It’s only natural to need your person.

The hardest I’ve cried this year, though, was Day One, at the 4 am drop-off at the airport. Hugged and kissed my husband – my best friend – goodbye, and watched him gather up his few bags and walk inside the airport with his semi-serious smile that I know means “We’ve gotta do this, but we’re going to be okay.” 

Instead of merging left and zooming off to rejoin the world, to rejoin my kids at my parents’, I kept my van in park. I sat there, watching my husband through the glass doors as he worked his way through the airport entrance and down the hallway, getting smaller and smaller, and farther away from me. Then, when I couldn’t see him anymore, the tears came. It was almost the hardest I’ve ever cried. I abandoned myself to deep, deep sobs. I didn’t care who saw me – no one really cares at the airport anyway, everyone hustling off and absorbed in their own struggles and excitement. I slumped over and sobbed loudly until I couldn’t cry any more. And then when I’d cried all my tears, I sat up straight, dried my face (and probably the steering wheel) and put my resolve back on. Day One of deployment had started. The countdown had officially begun; I could almost feel the clock ticking. And I drove back to the life and the work that God had called me to do. Bjorn was holding up his end, following through with his commitment. It was time for me to hold up mine.

When I arrived at the hospital to deliver my son six years ago, I was already 10 centimeters dilated. That means I had labored entirely at home (and the 10 minutes in the car to get there) and it was “go time.” I remember asking for an epidural and the nurse held my hand, looked me in the eyes, and said, “Honey, you’re so strong!” I knew then that regardless of what I wanted, the pain would not be taken away, and that I’d have to lean into the hard work instead. 

Sometimes in life, there is no “easy button.” You can’t always avoid the pain, the hard, and the necessary. But I’ve come to learn that the lack of an “easy button” develops three things in us: resilience, confidence, and (a needed) trust in God. 

I’ve been so determined to “do it well.” (Even though it took some time to figure out what that even meant.) If I was going to live through a season when my husband was deployed, I really, really wanted to do it as well as I could. I wouldn’t say I’ve been 100% successful in managing stress and in accomplishing all I had hoped, but we made it! Homeschooling the children has been both a gift and a huge challenge this year. We started the school year in late July, as soon as I felt my morning sickness and energy levels were easier to work with. 

I’ve been told by gracious, kind people at church every Sunday how strong I am and how well I’m doing. And I’m so humbled that they would think so. But just like being strong and capable didn’t diminish the hard work and discomfort of giving birth to my son, being strong during this deployment hasn’t taken away the difficulties of deployment. The strength and the “hard” coexist. Sometimes we just do what we have to do – and people will think we’re strong for it. I’m grateful for the encouragement I’ve received. Deployment is never easy for any family, and kind words can go a long way. I’m also so thankful (and really so blessed) to have family around. My in-laws have been involved and available, and my own parents don’t live too far away. That makes a big difference.

In the same vein, I’ve learned a lot about support and what having a church family means. The amount of care, concern, checking in on us, and prayers have been many, and I’m so thankful. There have been so many people praying for us. Even a couple meals dropped off! And I know our circumstances aren’t akin to a family member fighting a disease, or living through a true crisis, so I’m incredibly humbled.

I only made a paper chain when there were about 20 to 30 days left. Making a chain with over 200 links would’ve been too depressing. I know it wouldn’t have helped the daily “one step at a time” mentality to look up and see countless links encircling all of the kitchen walls. And even now, while we’re working away at one end of the chain, we’ve had to scratch out the dates on our ripped slips, and add more days to the other side! (People joke that the Army’s motto is “Hurry up and wait,” and that’s definitely how it feels, as we await Bjorn’s flight information to see if he’ll even be home by Christmas.)

I thought we may have gotten away without Murphy’s law hitting us hard this deployment. Unfortunately, I’ve had 3 appliances break or struggle in the past week (the last week or so before my husband returns). A busy week of repairs, a new microwave, and a few maintenance bills later, and I’m hoping we’re back to normal!

One thing I knew as I approached this deployment was that the only way I’d get through it would be by relying on the Lord. I knew I had to be intentional in my time with Him or I’d remain stagnant (or even backpedal into the kind of survival mode where I feel it all depends on me). I picked up a Scripture journal. And I made the commitment to daily be in the Word. It has been so rewarding to see how King David daily relied on the Lord for deliverance, safety, refuge, peace, and redemption. Psalm 33:20-22 echoes so much of the theme of Psalms I’ve seen so far: 

Our soul waits for the LORD; he is our help and our shield. For our heart is glad in him, because we trust in his holy name. Let your steadfast love, O LORD, be upon us, even as we hope in you.

Again and again in Psalms, I’ve come across the phrase “steadfast love.” An unchanging, unshakable care for us is exactly what we humans need – and God lavishly bestows upon us His presence and His strength on days when life just plain feels too hard. I’ve been able to lean into that and God never lets us down. I try to often say the phrase, “There is always so much to be thankful for.” Because there really is. Even in the light of struggles here on earth, true peace and healing comes when we look at eternity, and at the God who sent His Son to die in our place so that we could be made right with Him again. What we deal with here on earth is temporary.

My heart hurts a bit when I look at Soren, our now-6-year-old, who has grown so much while his daddy’s been gone. Every day, he loses a bit more of his little-boy look and hints of teenager Soren sneak in. How on earth is he looking like a young man already? Every morning when he comes down the stairs to sit with me on the couch, he looks a touch older. If he’s looking different to me every day, he’s definitely going to look different to his dad. 

My heart hurts a bit when I look at Sophie, our oldest. She’s 8 now and her legs are even longer than before. She’s turning into the most beautiful young lady and I know Bjorn will be surprised not only by how tall she is, but he’ll be so impressed by how much she can accomplish on her own.

My heart hurts when I look at Svea. Because at two and a half, she’s been changing so much. She started the year with a head full of white blonde curls and I prayed they wouldn’t mellow out too much before her daddy got home. Those baby curls don’t always last forever – they’re already starting to lay down in the back – and I wish I could’ve bottled them up even better than snapping a few photos. She’s grown so much in chattiness (she was already chatty, but that’s increased!), in awareness, in doing so much on her own. Every day Svea creeps closer towards being a preschooler, and moves away from those toddler days.

My heart doesn’t only hurt because they’re growing, because growing is a gift. It also hurts because I know there were so many moments that their dad missed out on this year. Lots of bittersweet is wrapped up in the package of deployment.

Bedtimes have been interesting this year! We’ve settled into an unconventional way of doing the bedtime routine. It’ll need a bit of altering but at least we’re getting enough sleep! The kids and I have spent evenings together downstairs, tidying up and playing after supper. When it gets late enough, we all head up the stairs together, Mama switching off the lights as we go. Bedtime means books read in my bed, everyone to bed later (with the grateful realization that we don’t have a bus to catch). Bedtime has been a group effort – a group project, like much of this deployment has been.

We decorated for Christmas just before Thanksgiving. Every morning, I wake before the children and take my place on the couch to read, reflect, pray, do computer work, and write. As I type now, I’m looking over at a little ornament that has come to mean a lot to me this season as we near the deployment finish line. One of my children wrote “God is good” on a simple black circle. The “good” has a backwards “g,” reminding me of the childlike faith that put that phrase there.

God has carried us through this long race. And if the kids and I are emerging from this experience closer to God and knowing we rely only on Him in the end, then I’d say things are looking pretty good. 

When I close my eyes to summon up images from this year, I see my son Soren helping me find green beans and tomatoes in the garden, collecting his beloved rocks, and digging holes in the lawn (good thing neither my husband nor I care much about landscaping). 

I see my daughter Sophie zooming joyfully on her bike up and down the sidewalk, snuggling her pet chickens, discovering the joy of burying her nose in a chapter book. And Svea. (Isn’t it always the 2 year olds who seem to change the most over the months?) I see those precious white blonde curls, her toothy grin, her twirls and tippy toes and happy stomps in her toddler dance class, her little fist gripping a pencil as she proudly does mazes in her “school book.” 

I see the kids and me at our local mom and pop ice cream shop for walking tacos and frozen treats on Thursdays. I see us trekking to our extracurriculars – van loaded with a small cooler with supper and the kids with their Yoto Players. I see school mornings in the living room’s golden light as we notice new things about Vivaldi and Cézanne and the geography of the United States. I see us doing our best to shovel snow away from the chicken coop doors so we can swing them open on cold days. I see us watching episodes of Little House on the Prairie, whose nostalgic theme song will forever remind me of this season of our life. I see the kids each clutching their bent-up photo of themselves with their dad – something I printed off for each of them to get us through the last couple months. I see us all piled in my bed, the reddish glow coming from my lamp, chilly little feet tucked under the flannel sheets, everyone elbowing for room by Mama as we read a stack of books too late into the evening. I see a lot of hard moments, too. In some ways, I feel like we’re limping a bit as we approach the finish line of this marathon – not really the confident, powerful strides I was hoping for as we reach the end.

But most of all, when I close my eyes and think of what this deployment looked like… I want to see that simple circle ornament on the tree with its backwards letter and childlike faith. “God is good.” And His steadfast love will always hold us.