A Letter on the Beauty of Not Yet
My Dearest Friend,
We find ourselves in a season of not yet. Not yet knowing where the next set of orders will take us. Not yet able to give a polished answer when asked, “So what’s next for you?” Not yet sure when the long-anticipated call will finally come. The “not yet” slips into our lives almost daily — in Bun’s hopeful guesses at the dinner table, in the bedtime whispers that stretch past lights-out, and in the way Beloved and I exchange that look which says, “Still no news?” without the need for words. Even little Bean, though too young to name it, senses the pause in the air of our home.
Waiting has its own rhythm, and it is rarely a graceful one. What makes this season more difficult is knowing the move itself is certain — by next summer we will leave. The clock is already ticking, though the destination remains concealed. Some days I grow restless, eager for answers. Other days I laugh and remark that our carefully chosen dream list almost guarantees the opposite result, and Beloved joins me, for humor helps make the waiting easier to bear.
The Everyday Steadiness
And still, life refuses to pause. School drop-offs must be made, dinners sometimes descend into a bit of chaos, board games end in laughter (and the occasional accusation of unfair play). Library visits and bedtime stories keep us anchored. These rituals remind me that even when the future feels unsettled, the present can still be steady. When Bun asks for the hundredth time where we might be moving, I smile — because even in the waiting, he invites me to imagine possibilities rather than dread them.
Making Anywhere Home
I have discovered that I can make anywhere work. I can make anywhere home for a season. Because ultimately, it has never been about the zip code — it has always been about the life and the family we are shaping wherever we land. That conviction has become its own kind of tradition for me, one that bends with each move but never breaks: trust the calling, trust the process, and trust that home can be made anywhere. Which is why the waiting, I’ve learned, is not only about delay — it is also about possibility.
The Lesson
Possibility is where hope stretches its legs. And hope, I have learned, is not a fragile thing — it is a muscle. The more we stretch it, the stronger it becomes.
Every PCS has asked me to use that muscle. Every time we packed boxes without knowing what would come next. Every deployment or TDY where the calendar only offered “sometime soon.” Hope carried me through — not because it erased the ache of waiting, but because it steadied me inside it. Some days, hope feels thin, but even then it will always carry me farther than fear ever will.
That is the gift of the not yet — it teaches us that possibility is still alive, even in the waiting.
To the Spouse Who Waits for Answers
So to the spouse waiting on orders, waiting on news, waiting for the future to finally take shape — I see you. This season is not easy, and you don’t have to love it to be living it well. The not yet can feel endless, but it is not wasted time. It is where resilience takes root. It is where hope grows stronger. It is where laughter, small rituals, and even weary jokes remind us that life is still being lived in the meantime. And it is proof that the story is still unfolding, with chapters ahead worth waiting for. When at last you do have an answer in hand, remember — you can make anywhere work, because you have been practicing strength and hope in the waiting all along.
