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There's a saying among military families: Home is where Uncle Sam sends you.

During my husband Rob's 24 years in the Air Force, "home" was in California or Florida or Colorado. For 17 of those years, we celebrated birthdays and holidays without the added joy of grandparents, aunts and uncles or cousins.

In the late '80s, "Uncle Sam" sent us to Turkey.

I didn't know the Air Force could do that until Rob told me we were heading to Turkey for two years. I didn't even know where Turkey was.

We ventured overseas with a 5-year-old, a 2-year-old, and a 3-month-old—and a ridiculous amount of suitcases, car seats and diaper bags. The 22-hour plane flight was a blur of nonstop nursing to calm my inconsolable baby. I landed on foreign soil—dehydrated, exhausted and homesick.

This was the farthest we'd ever been from family. Phone calls were expensive and unreliable. Mail was just as unreliable—and back then the Internet and e-mail were nonexistent.

I spent the first few weeks in Turkey enduring muggy August days. I trudged back and forth to the base post office, longing for a letter from home. With Amy in a snuggly, I pushed Katie Beth in a stroller while Josh trailed along behind me and complained about being hot, hot, hot.

Why didn't we buy a double stroller before we left the States?

While we waited for base housing, our temporary home-far-far-away-from-home was the base inn. Every few days, I walked to the commissary and stocked up on water bottles, apples and yogurt. One morning when homesickness overwhelmed me, I once again shopped for snacks and diapers. Afterwards, I found myself pacing back and forth along the curb. Despite repeated phone calls, the base taxi—or taksi in Turkish—never arrived. Surrounded by brown paper sacks of groceries, I tried to comfort Amy, who squalled louder and louder.

God, I'm stranded in Turkey. Help!!

As soon as my frantic prayer ended, the commissary doors swished open and a smiling woman walked over to me.

"Hi, I'm Francie. I saw you and your family at chapel last Sunday," she said. "Your baby sounds hungry. Why don't you sit in my van and feed her? I'll load your groceries and drive you back to the inn."

On the five-minute drive across base, Francie commented, "I've seen you walking around base with your kids. I have a double stroller I'm not using. Would you like to borrow it?"

Francie was a beautiful answer to prayer. She quickly became a friend—a friend who became family.

Within days of our meeting, she invited my children to a birthday party for one of her daughters. As Francie painted their faces with bright clown makeup, I felt myself relaxing for the first time. My children were making friends—and so were Rob and I.

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