I feel like the beginning of any blog calls for a little introduction. So, hi! I’m Amber. Welcome. I’m well past the age of impulsive decisions (mostly), but not quite old enough to have arrived at that peaceful, all-knowing wisdom I once imagined came with time. I’m married to my wonderful husband, Bruce, and together we’re raising four amazing boys.

Growing up, I always knew I wanted to be a lawyer. Well, there was a short-lived season when I announced I wanted enough kids to fill a school bus (my poor father still chuckles at that one), and an even briefer flirtation with becoming a nurse—before I realized bodily fluids were my kryptonite. But from about age eight, it was law or bust. I worked hard to earn my undergraduate degree from Virginia Tech (H-O-K-I-E-S! Goooo Hokies!) and later my J.D. from Thomas Jefferson School of Law in San Diego.

Now, the law school bit is important—not because I’m currently practicing (I’m not), but because it’s how I met Bruce. In San Diego, one of my best friends was (and still is) married to one of Bruce’s best friends (shoutout to the Carrolls!), and that’s how our paths crossed. It wasn’t love at first sight, but over three years our friendship blossomed into something beautiful. My life plans took a major turn when Bruce, a Marine, proposed. Let’s just say military life and a traditional legal career don’t play super well together—what with needing a new license for each state. Still, I passed two state bar exams and continue to pay the fees every year… just in case. Maybe one day.

We got married and moved from sunny San Diego to Jacksonville, North Carolina. We were excited—young enough to take on a fixer-upper and crazy enough to do it ourselves. Right in the middle of remodeling our downstairs bathroom, Bruce got an offer for orders to Hawaii. Timing-wise? Not great. We politely declined. We had only been in NC for about a year and still had an upstairs bathroom to redo. Surely, Hawaii could wait.

Or not.

One ordinary day, I was driving home from work (again, not lawyering) when Bruce called. “Welp,” he said, “we’re going to Hawaii. We leave in two months.”

Awesome.

We had two pups at the time, and getting them cleared to avoid quarantine in Honolulu was a whole ordeal. We sprinted to finish the bathroom, scrambled through vet appointments, and listed our house for rent—because we had zero equity and selling wasn’t even close to an option. Renting it out was… an experience. Let’s just leave it at that.

Off we went to the land of palm trees, sunshine, and rainbows. And honestly? I’d say yes to those orders again, no matter the notice.

Now, I promise this is all leading to the title—The Call—just hang in there. Fittingly, I’m writing this on the beach at Waikiki, back for the first time in over ten years, reflecting on where our calling first began.

We landed in Hawaii after what felt like an eternal flight, grabbed some food, and promptly passed out. The next morning, we woke up in what would become one of our most treasured duty stations.

Not long after settling in, I started (gently, lovingly) nudging Bruce to think about life after the Marine Corps. He had about 11 years in at that point, and retirement wasn’t too far off. Over the next few months, he explored everything—chemistry, aeronautical engineering, business, even med school. He looked at all the options… until one day he came home and said something totally unexpected:

“I think I’m being called to be a military chaplain.”

Say what now?

I grew up in church, was saved as a little girl, and Bruce and I had served in ministry together almost our entire marriage. But this? This was not what I saw coming. It felt so far removed from anything he’d ever done. I was skeptical—but I began to pray.

A few weeks passed. He applied to Liberty University. He may have even been accepted by then. Still, I kept praying for clarity—for both of us. It just seemed like such a massive departure from everything we’d ever pictured. And then… God started showing up.

Suddenly, chaplains were everywhere on base. Now, we’d been around the military a while—he’d served, I’d grown up as a military brat—and we’d rarely interacted with chaplains. Suddenly, they were popping up left and right. One even walked into Bruce’s shop needing a qualification. Another time, we were heading out for dinner and saw a couple running near the back gate. The wife rolled her ankle, so we pulled over and offered a ride. Turns out? He was a chaplain. Of course he was.

It was then that I surrendered my doubts and got fully behind Bruce’s calling. None of those interactions were huge by themselves, but taken together? They were unmistakable.

Bruce began pursuing a degree in psychology. Not long after, I found out I was expecting our first rainbow baby—appropriately in the Rainbow State.

As our time in Hawaii wound down, Bruce began pursuing the Marine Security Guard program, dreaming of seeing the world through embassy duty. He made it to the final interview—only to find out that sleep apnea was a disqualifier. The dream ended before it began. But in hindsight, we can see God’s hand. Had he been selected, we wouldn’t have been eligible for the brand-new (at the time) Career Intermission Program—a game-changer.

This program allowed Bruce to step away from active duty without breaking service, giving him two years to pursue seminary. He’d still receive full medical benefits and just enough pay to keep him technically “on the books” (I think it was something like $100/month). It was exactly what we needed.

He was accepted. We began job hunting. I thought I’d have no trouble picking up work as a lawyer. We had one child and two dogs. But… nothing. No jobs for either of us. A month before we were set to leave the island, I had a minor surgery that went sideways. My incision site became infected with MRSA and pseudomonas. I landed in the hospital for a week and needed six weeks of IV antibiotics.

Cue panic.

We’d already turned in the keys to our house. We bounced from cabins at K-Bay to the Navy Lodge to finally base lodging at the BOQ. With no clear end in sight and no jobs lined up, it was hard not to feel discouraged. We were bleeding savings and hope.

But then—God showed up again.

A kind SATO rep helped rebook our flights for the umpteenth time and asked Bruce why we were still on the island. Bruce explained, and this man made some calls. The military ended up covering our entire stay—from when we turned in our keys to the day we left—including a per diem for each of us. We were reimbursed for more than we’d spent. Our savings? Still intact—and even a little bigger. God’s provision is wild like that.

Eventually, my doctor cleared me to fly—though I was still far from healed—and we made plans to head to the East Coast so I could continue treatment at Fort Belvoir. We didn’t know where we were going, exactly. We were just… going. Our plan was to stay with my parents until God showed us the next step.

One of my dearest friends in Hawaii once told me our journey reminded her of Abraham’s—how God called him not to a specific place, but simply to go (Genesis 12:1). That reminder would become an anchor for me in the years ahead.

So after all the waiting, we left.

Come back soon for Part Two of our story, where I’ll share where we went, how God provided, and how He equipped us in ways we never could’ve imagined.

Mahalo for being here!