I make a point to never fly into Denver or Chicago, especially in winter. On Monday I flew into both. There was freezing rain in Chicago but that didn't hinder my exit. Stephan was waiting for me in Richmond. He drove me around to see all the Christmas lights, in my car.

"I'm surprised you came back," one fellow commented, after my second day back on the job.

"Me, too," I said.

Events like what Tim and I just went through often crystalize priorities. Nobody expected me to return to North Carolina. To a job, for pity's sake.

Not even me.

A couple of you even wrote in to tell me that this was a sign that Tim and I needed to spend more time together.

I appreciated those notes and the concern that they relayed to me.

I learned some things about myself, about Tim and me, and about our kids through this event.

First, I learned that I can marshall events from 3,000 miles away in event of an emergency. The result of being a Staff Sgt.'s daughter, no doubt.

I learned, too, that in the midst of a crises, Tim and I really do cling to each other and to the faith that we've built this marriage upon. I learned that the kids have made that faith their own, too. One is never sure exactly how they'll respond when the wrecking ball drops, as it inevitablly does. I was glad to see we responded prayerfully, thoughtfully, and with hope.

When it came time to make a decision about returning to the job it came down to this. Tim and I both prayed for clarity. God isn't a riddle-maker. When we got word that he had a brain tumor, I called work and told them that I would be gone 6 months at least, since he couldn't drive and would need surgery, etc.

I asked if I could continue to write for them throughout the week as it gave me something constructive to do in an harried time. So I did. I wrote opeds and my column.

On Friday, after I learned Tim didn't have  a brain tumor, I notified my work. I expected them to say, thanks, but we've eliminated your position. I did not qualify under the family medical leave act since I have not been on the job long enough.

But instead, they asked, "When can you be back here?"

I had prayed that God would make it crystal clear to me. If you want me back in NC then let them ask when I'll be back. But if you don't, then I'm good with that too. Just let me know, either way.

"What about the seizures?" my brother asked.

"They think they are the result of Tim being dehydrated,"  I said.

"I hope you're right about that," he replied.

"Me, too," I said.

Nothing about any of this has been what I would have expected of myself. I expected to fall apart. I am, after all, the family's hysterical child.

I expected that I would not come back to North Carolina. How could I up and leave Tim after a scare like that?

I expected that I would spend my mornings sleeping in.

Instead I was on a plane on Monday, flying back to a city where I don' t even have a bed.

Ten years ago I never would have left Tim. I would have been scared to death to have him away from me for 20 minutes, much less 3,000 miles.

But something has changed in the past 10 years. I'm not that woman I was.

And it isn't that I love Tim less, or him me, less. If anything we value each other all the more.

It's just this thing -- about not living in fear -- has rooted itself deep inside of me now.

It's not that I don't have fears. I do. Lots of them.

The difference is that 10 years ago, the decisions I made came from a place of fear.

And now they come from a place of trust.

I know that God is directing our paths. That Tim is in His care. And so am I.

I also know that for whatever reason, whatever purpose that I can't possibly see or understand, I am supposed to be here. For a season.

I don't always like it.

I don't even begin to understand it.

But I do completely and totally trust that God is directing our paths, even when they meander off in different directions.

There's no frenzy in this.

Just a sense of peace to it all, as senseless as it all may seem to us and to you all.

Tim says he feels fine. He is not driving. Coaches are giving him rides. We continue to do the happy jig, thankful to be in this place, albeit in separate places.