Kaitlyn Ramos

Guiding Light of Grace: A Story of a Love Transformed

It was a breezy afternoon but warm with south Georgia heat, even though it was only mid-February. I was also warm and tingly with the excitement of our first Valentine’s Day. He had just freshly turned twenty-seven to my twenty-four. George and I had just finished an utterly perfect lunch at Olive Garden, complete with a fancy bottle of Roscato and a shared tiramisu for dessert. I was smitten with my new “tall, dark, and handsome” boyfriend, as I’d described him to my mother on the phone a few days ago. I’d never experienced butterflies like this. We had been seeing each other for just a couple of months, and I was plummeting headfirst and eyes shut into our infatuation with one another. After Olive Garden, he was taking me on a tour of the lighthouse on St. Simons Island. It was a romantic outing complete with historical scenes and a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean. A welcome break from my working days as a student services assistant at a nearby college campus. As we browsed in the tiny lighthouse gift shop after the tour, George bought a nightlight with a lighthouse etched on the face. “To remind us of our first Valentine’s Day together,” my boyfriend expressed joyfully. Twelve years later, that night light shines in our downstairs bathroom. The Army may have taken us far away from Georgia physically, but I still feel a warm tingle when I catch a glimpse of it, remembering that warm afternoon on the beach. 

Barely more than nine months later, due to some hasty decision-making, George and I found ourselves married and expecting a baby girl. It was now October and the south Georgia heat was out in even more force, and I was just as overheated with the effort of carrying a baby to full-term. Two days after I turned twenty-five, we headed to the hospital for a regular check-up at thirty-nine weeks, but the check-up was not as routine as we anticipated. My doctor insisted that I stick around for an induction and have the baby as soon as possible. My blood pressure was climbing, and they wanted to ensure both of our safety. Ever my support system, George went home to collect my delivery bag and meet me back at the hospital, where my induction was underway. It was slow-going though. Giving birth in real life is nothing like the movies. It actually wasn’t so bad, until suddenly it was. I took a short nap about ten hours in, but I woke up in immense pain. George was at my side, unsure of how to help. But he didn’t leave - he held my hand and assured me that we would get through it. His expression told me how much he wished he could take the pain away. I eventually requested an epidural, which could not come soon enough. George held me as close as he could to steady me through the process. He despises needles, so I knew he was committed to seeing this process through with me. Finally, the pain was gone, but I was still shaking uncontrollably. My own experience of this process is shrouded by anxiety and pain. The later stages of labor were excruciating, and I was uneasy every moment with worry for myself and my baby. The medical staff was all new to me, and I did not feel supported, except for George, who never faltered in his support and reassurance. When our daughter, Anna, was born, twenty-seven hours after my induction, the tears flowed down his cheeks in rivers of love. How quickly we made the transition from couple--to family.

Tense Transitions

The quick changes were not over for us, and we were soon to be pushed too far, too fast. Over the next year, the Army would have us moving and transitioning four different times due to George’s promotion from enlisted soldier to officer. My career was put on hold as I shifted my focus to motherhood and graduate school. With one year old Anna, we eventually came to settle in Texas, where we finally began to really get to know one another and adjust to living together. One day, George came in during a field exercise to see me hunkered over my computer writing a paper on brain structures for my psychology program. Anna was in a diaper and pink tee cuddling with our furry brown pup in his bed. Soiled laundry littered the carpets, and the marbled gray countertops were piled with dirty dishes. George looked around, exasperated. “It’s not that hard to just be clean, Kaitlyn,” he growled in disgust. He didn’t speak to me at all as he took a shower and dressed to leave again. His jaw muscles tense in annoyance throughout the process.

A few weeks later, he took my car to work because his vehicle was low on gas, and he didn’t have time to fill it up. I decided, in an attempt to be helpful, to take it to the gas station - of course with Anna in tow. It was lower on gas than I knew, and I had to swiftly guide myself off the road as the blue SUV sputtered to a stop. I called George and asked him to come help with the vehicle, expecting the same level of consideration and care my father showed my mother - after forty years of practice being married. Instead, I was met with irritation and dismissal. He told me he did not have time to deal with it. “You shouldn’t have taken the car out! I have thirty people to deal with here. I don’t need you causing extra work!” he asserted angrily. Anna and I walked a couple miles back home on a busy highway in the blazing Texas sun. My internal dialogue blazed just as fiercely with anger and hurt from his lack of care. Anna became heavy in my arms, as, with an equally heavy heart, I realized I couldn’t rely on my husband to be there when I needed him. George did orchestrate the necessary roadside assistance once he got home that evening, but he was quick to let me know how much I had inconvenienced him. I resolved to learn to handle these “inconveniences” on my own in the future. 

Conflict continued to arise off and on for us, but we generally managed to work through our troubles. Shortly before our third anniversary, George came home with sad, but inevitable news. 

“I’m deploying to Qatar. I’ll be gone a year,” he told me abruptly one evening after work. I had always known this day would come, but I still wasn’t thrilled to hear it. In the weeks before the deployment, communication was difficult. Once, he needed me to go pick up a list of items from a military supply store. I carefully went through the store selecting the things that matched his list. All the while, I was bursting with the pride of helping my husband prepare for his order - only to get home and find that most of what I had gotten was incorrect. George shook his head in irritation, “I should have known better than to send you. I should have gone myself.” His words stung my heart like a hot poker.

“I got what was on your stupid list!” I retaliated. Things became more heated from there - to the point where he delivered the most devastating verbal blow I could imagine. 

“I can’t wait to leave, so I don’t have to hear you anymore.”

 I sobbed uncontrollably. George retreated to the spare room and told me he didn’t want to be around me. By morning, we had both cooled down and things went back to normal. However, we spent the final hours before he reported to his unit hunting down items he needed at the post exchange store. Not the way I had hoped to spend our last bit of time together. Sadness was creeping in quickly, and I was worried about what this deployment would mean for us.

In the days after he left, my perspective shifted to a focus on myself and Anna. My best friend asked me how I was doing with the change. “There was so much tension before he left…I think a chance to miss each other could be good for us,” I told her honestly. However, I also felt the deep ache of his absence. I put off washing the sheets as long as I could stand it. When I was especially sad, I held the pillows close and inhaled my cherished memories of him. As time progressed, the feelings of tension in our relationship faded, and I began to wonder why I had been so frustrated at running errands for him. He had been home to need me, and I should have appreciated that. 

Every morning, I woke to Facebook messages from him. He told me, “I don’t know how people do this over and over. Nothing is good without you.” In the evening, he would call and express his worries over his unit’s work, emphasizing every failure. I listened, and I asked God to protect him. Eventually, he began to develop a rhythm, and his talks would shift to brainstorming solutions. His voice took on a more confident quality, and I was grateful to see him shifting his mindset. 

While he was gone, I completed my master’s degree, and I began to work towards a teaching certificate. I desperately wanted to lift some of the financial pressure from his shoulders. Internally, I was terrified. I hadn’t finished my teaching certificate in undergrad because I was too confused by the many steps, and I wasn’t confident in my ability to prove myself through performance. But I took on opportunities to practice. I had a part-time job in childcare and as a behavior therapist for children with autism. Determined to learn and grow, I was sure to be there on time every day. I created lessons, attended training, and observed in classrooms. Maybe I really can do this, I thought. I felt almost ready to take on the world. 

A full year, almost to the day since George left, Anna and I waited with a hundred other families at the airfield where his unit would be flying in at any moment. I was wearing a brand-new dress with a black and white floral pattern and the highest heels I could walk in. My hair and makeup were in perfect order. Three-year-old Anna wore a pink camouflage T-shirt that read: This princess is here to get her hero. It was specially made by a friend. It felt like hours that we waited for that aircraft to land. I saw it coming in from way up in the clouded sky - an enormous grey jet lit up against the fading blue of the night unfolding above. Anticipation was palpable in the crowd as the roar of the engine finally ceased when the aircraft landed. I held Anna in my arms, so she would be able to see the soldiers file out of the jet in perfect formation. Far too many speeches later, George finally was free to find us in the crowd. Anna and I both launched ourselves into his arms.  We shared a kiss filled with all the longing of a year apart and the joy of a long-awaited reunion. George embraced me as if I was the most important thing in the world in that moment. 

Relational Resilience

After a sweet summer filled with getting reacquainted with one another as a couple and as a family, things began to fall back into a normal pattern. He was back at work, and I was set to begin my student teaching internship. On the first day of school, I wore my most respectable teacher dress, sensible ballet flats, and had woken early to fix my hair and prepare my lunch. The night before, I had made sure to fill up my car and George’s car with gas. I had a notebook and pens prepared to take notes. I had spent months setting up childcare for Anna and taking her there a few days a week for her to get accustomed to it before I had to be at school every day, and I had laid out her clothes and prepared her bag for daycare the night before. I set off that morning with more than enough time to get her settled at daycare and get to school early myself. We were in the car and on our way, making great time, when the unbelievable happened. My passenger side wheel struck a large pothole. Bam! My tire went flat, and I had to carefully pull over.

“I can’t be late on my first day! How will that look?” I screamed inside. I couldn’t handle the situation myself and get to school on time. I had no one I could call for help, except for the one option I never wanted to use. I had to call George. Bracing myself for his frustration and the likely possibility that I would still have to handle it alone and miss my first day anyway, I called. Tears streaming and voice shaking, I relayed the story to him. He said he was on his way. I waited in the car with Anna and tried to explain what had happened to the tire. She seemed to think the “wheel broke,” which wasn’t a completely inaccurate description of the situation. George arrived quickly, and I was prepared for his disappointment and frustration with me. But it never came. He told me to leave the vehicle and Anna with him, take his SUV and get where I needed to go. 

Seeing my tear-stained face, he even stopped to give me a comforting hug and told me to, “Let it all go and breathe.” I allowed him to fold me into his chest - I inhaled and let it go. Later, when we discussed the morning’s occurrence, the realization that it was my fear of his reaction, and not my fear of missing the first day of student teaching, that had caused the lion’s share of my anxiety weighed heavily on him. He admitted, “I should never have made you feel like you can’t call me for anything.” I saw a reemergence of the man who had been my partner and support system in those early days. 

Committed Companions

With the ink still wet on my Texas teaching certificate, the Army packed us off to Oklahoma in January of 2018. George began to develop severe back and nerve pain that completely derailed his active lifestyle. He usually ran four to five miles a day, but he quickly deteriorated to barely walking. He couldn’t sit, stand, or even lay down without debilitating pain. His work schedule was usually early mornings and later evenings, but his rhythm changed to include a lot of physical therapy, medical imaging, and trips to the pharmacy. Work began to come home with him, and he would be up late to make up for many appointments that now occupied his days. After five agonizing months, the doctors discovered he had degenerative disc disease in the vertebrae of his lower back. The x-rays showed that the cartilage in his lower spine had essentially worn away to nothing, explaining the pain and numbness that plagued his days. His only recourse was a surgery that would fuse together three of the joints in his back. We wondered, is his military career over? The doctors didn’t hold out much hope for him to remain in the Army.

My mother flew in the day before the surgery. George had done all the necessary preoperative appointments, and we all prayed for a successful operation. We weren’t sure whether to lay our fears for his career before the Lord because his safety was paramount in all our minds. When the day came, my mother drove Anna to preschool, and I took my husband to the hospital. We waited together, anticipation and fear mounting with every passing moment - and those moments were many and unbelievably long. Hand in hand, we stared at the walls. Unsure of what to do…other than simply wait. At long last, they were ready for him. He gave me a final hug, and they wheeled him away in the hospital bed. My heart pounded in my chest while I watched until he disappeared around the corner. 

Out in the waiting room, my mother waited for me. I was so grateful to have her by my side as I spent the long hours in worry and prayer for the man I loved. We chatted absently. She told me all about the things going on back at home, while I prattled on about the funny things a four-year-old does. Neither of us mentioned what was happening somewhere deeper in the hospital inside an operating room. Too soon, it was time for school to let out, and Mom went to collect my daughter and wait for news. And so, I was alone. I conversed with God. It felt unfamiliar. My usual prayers were short and shallow - but today…Lord, please protect my husband. Guide the surgeon's hands. Let the nurses be vigilant. Keep him safe. Make him whole. Alone with only God and my thoughts, I was terrified. If…no, when he got through this, how would life be different?

An eon went by before my name was called over the waiting room loudspeaker, and I moved to the consultation room. Now I would finally know, or at least have some idea, of how George was doing. Another eternity passed before the surgeon made his way into the consultation room. I got the best news I could have hoped for.

 “Everything went as expected,” barely escaped the exhausted physician's lips when I let out a massive sigh of relief. I felt a knot in my neck loosen as I thanked him profusely. 

“When can I see him?” I asked immediately after expressing my gratitude. He smiled and directed me to the room where George would stay for the next few days, indicating that it shouldn’t be too long before they brought him to me. Anxious to see my George, to know that he was truly ok, I hastened off to the hospital room. Before long, nurses were wheeling him inside in what looked like the same bed he had left me in. I talked to the nurses while they settled him in the room. George was still sleeping, but as soon as he heard the sound of my voice, his eyes fluttered, and he weakly called out to me.

 “Kate?”

Just eight weeks later, George was standing on a chair in my very first classroom hanging alphabet posters. 

“Babe, you should probably get down,” I said in concern. 

“If the Army says I’m fit for duty, I can certainly hang some posters, Love,” was his quick reply. The speed of his recovery completely shocked me, but he wasn’t at one hundred percent. He still didn’t have total feeling or control in one of his feet, and never would, but overall, he was doing incredibly well. In the week before he went back to work, he helped to rearrange and decorate my kindergarten classroom. We moved shelves, arranged learning centers, and decorated student cubbies together. He took my direction and helped me turn my practically blank slate into almost the classroom I had envisioned when I took my first teaching class. But teaching was a hard transition for me. I was up early, in the classroom, setting up for my students. I was there late, too - cleaning up, making copies, and perfecting lesson plans. I was often in the classroom on weekends too, just trying to keep from sinking beneath the waves of the workload. My students’ behavior was also more challenging than I had anticipated. 

One morning, I led my rowdy bunch of barely five-year-olds down the hallway to my classroom, but one of my kids just couldn’t seem to act like a child that day. Instead, he was crawling on his hands and knees and barking at passers-by. The worst of it though was that he was licking the other students. My body tensed with rookie teacher anxiety, sensing the judgmental stares of the more seasoned teachers who passed while I desperately tried to reason with this canine-sapien. The children he licked squealed in disgust, and the principal eventually came over to see what was causing all the commotion.

“You really shouldn’t have to speak any louder than a whisper to get their attention, you know,” she said snidely. “Come see me during your planning time.”  And she left, heels clicking on the tile floor. I finally managed to get my students to the classroom, and we began our morning. My stomach was clenched with fear for three hours until I dropped my students off in the gym and headed to the principal’s office. It was time for a “hard conversation” she said. My classroom management was abysmal, and my students needed a “total reset” if I had any hope of making it as a teacher.

I came through my front door late, as usual, but this time with my eyes overflowing in tears and a heavy heart. Earlier, I’d asked George to pick up Arby’s on the way home, which he had dutifully done. I grabbed for my bag, eager to just eat and get through the evening with my own five-year-old as best I could before falling into bed. But when I opened the bag, I found curly fries instead of the cheese sticks I wanted. I flew into a rage. “Can’t you just pay attention for once? You never care about anyone but yourself!” I shouted at George who stood there dumbstruck. I launched the bag into the trashcan and left, slamming the door on my way out. I take care of thirty children all day, I seethed. Couldn’t he take care of me just once? In the car, I floored it to Arby’s to order myself the all-important cheese sticks. Finally, the correct order was made, and I was on my way home again. I hungrily reached in the bag to find…curly fries. George slept on the sofa downstairs that night. 

Over the next several years, I did manage to get better at classroom management, but it was never my strong suit, which is why it came as such a blessing when I was asked to apply for a teaching position at a virtual charter school. The request came completely unbidden, and I believed God had opened a door that I was more than grateful to run through. Within two weeks, I was hired and began a new chapter working from home and homeschooling my second grader. God provided a way to fulfill my original dream for teaching - to work online and homeschool. Anna thrived at home with more time as a family. I thrived at work, being able to use my talents for personalized instruction. And my marriage thrived as well because we finally understood what we both needed to function peacefully.  

Epilogue

We all laughed as we came through our hotel room door, after a decadent German dinner at the Biergarten across the street. Anna, now eleven, grabbed her iPad and sat down to watch some videos. George grabbed his Nintendo Switch and settled in to play. I powered on my laptop and got ready to teach four hours of reading intervention classes. Anna and I had spent the day exploring the Christmas Market in the city of Regensburg, Germany, which was only a couple of hours from where George was stationed on temporary duty taking a class for his new position as a Space Operations Officer. I had gotten special permission from my virtual school to teach from overseas for the week. The next day was our last day in Germany, and Anna and I would be flying home while George would move on to Poland for a few days. 

I started class and greeted all my students by name. I shared the adventure I was having with them as they worked on decoding words with short vowel sounds. Just as I did at home, my main phrases in class began, “Which vowel do you see in that word? Do you remember its short sound? Ok, now read the word.” My kiddos energetically moved their virtual manipulatives and built words and summarized stories. All the while chatting about the story - a pigeon driving a sleigh. They did love that pigeon. Later my principal would observe the recording, and I would receive outstanding evaluation scores in every area of the lesson. 

Back at home in Kentucky, Anna and I were about to head out for church the first Sunday since we had come back from Germany. All showered and dressed to go, we climbed into my car. I pushed the start button and nothing happened. I tried again…and again, nothing, except this time I got a message on the dash, saying the key was not in the vehicle. I rifled through my oversized purse and unearthed the key from the bottom of the bag. I tried again, and I got the same message. My first instinct was to call George, but what could he do from Poland? I did the next logical thing and asked Google why my car was giving me the message that the key was not in the vehicle, when it most definitely was. Google said it was probably that the battery in the key was dead. I didn’t even know the key had a battery!

YouTube held the answer - a quick tutorial on how to change the battery. The trouble was that I didn’t have a button battery to put in it! Thankfully, there was a gas station just a mile down the road, so rather than heading to church, Anna went back into the house, and I changed into my sneakers and walked to the gas station. It was cold, but I had a fluffy, white coat and fuzzy gloves, so it wasn’t so bad. I made it to the gas station in about 20 minutes and found the button batteries. Absently, I also grabbed a mini lightbulb to change the burned-out bulb in our downstairs bathroom nightlight. I walked back quickly, ready to be done with the December wind. Once back in the car, I watched the YouTube video and changed the battery. The engine immediately roared to life when I pushed the button again. I did it! Anna and I were too late for church but not too late to grab lunch together. 

Later, George called while I was changing the nightlight bulb. He asked if we had gone to church, and I told him what had happened. “Babe, I’m so impressed!” he told me. 

       “Why?” I asked. “I just changed a battery.”

        “Yes, but you figured it out all by yourself. You’re so capable. I love that about you,” he answered. Inside, I felt warm and tingly. It may have been small, but it was nice to know he appreciated the little things. I saw the glow of the nightlight and remembered that day on the beach with my “tall, dark, and handsome” boyfriend. My heart still fluttered, but now it was with love for the strong, caring, and supportive husband God has blessed me with.