Tag Archives: Soldier

Two Lives; Two Memories; Two Outcomes

Yesterday morning in worship a friend shared with us about her family’s own difficult journey of late. I have known Deb and her family for a long time. Her brother, Dan, was a high school classmate of mine. We were all in youth group together and, while a teenager, I hung out at their house on  frequent occasions.

Deb shared about her younger brother, Doug, who is in the VA hospital losing his battle with brain cancer. Deb shared that Doug was exposed to some nasty gas on the battlefield while serving in Desert Storm. I have followed Doug’s story from afar as I have followed the family’s Facebook posts for the past few years and have quietly kept them in my prayers.

As Deb shared yesterday, my heart and mind were awash in my own personal memories of Doug. He was just “a little kid” in that seemingly huge age gap when you’re sixteen and have to endure the presence of a ten year old. The bulk of my memories of Doug are of him and his friend, Jon, who were constantly dressed in camouflage and playing army. Doug followed his boyhood passion and grew up to be a good soldier. Now, the lingering consequences of what he encountered and endured on the battlefield are having their undesired, terminal effect.

I find it ironic that last night Wendy and I attended visitation for another soldier; A soldier who came home from World War II and lived a blessedly long life. My memories of this gentleman across the eleven or so years that I knew him were all of a gentle man, advanced in years, continuing to faithfully serve his community.

Two lives of service. Two very different sets of memories. Two very different outcomes.

This morning I’m praying for Doug and his family as they continue to praise God together despite the difficult path they’re walking. I pray for another family who bury their father and praise God for being blessed to have him in their lives for so long. In the midst of my own memories, I find my heart asking the same questions and mulling over the same thoughts as the author of Ecclesiastes.

However many years a man ay live, let him enjoy them all….”

featured photo: elphs_rule via Flickr

Warriors to Writers

American troops in an LCVP landing craft appro...
American troops in an LCVP landing craft approach Omaha Beach 6 June 1944. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The sons of Ulam were brave warriors who could handle the bow. They had many sons and grandsons—150 in all. 1 Chronicles 8:40 (NIV)

I remember well the conversations between boys on the playground of Woodlawn Elementary School. There is something God instilled in boys that we begin to measure one another by physical strength and prowess at a young age. When comparisons on the playground ended in some kind of dead heat, the arguing escalated to comparing fathers, grandfathers, and ancestors for bragging rights. Those bragging rights often rested on military service, especially those whose male ancestors fought in a war.

I admit that, at the time, I always feared this escalation of generational military comparison. My friend, Scott, had an actual saber from one of his forebears who served in the Civil War. That was the ultimate trump card. As far as I knew, there wasn’t too much of the warrior spirit to brag about on either side of the family. My uncle was a navy man in the Korean war, but being a cook on a landing craft wasn’t about to go over big with the boys on the playground. My maternal grandfather served in the Civil Defense during WWII, but having a helmet and billy club to defend Des Moines from the Imperial Forces of Japan wasn’t exactly the stuff of playground legend either. I still remember that billy club. It was made from a sawn off pool cue, but that didn’t compare to a Civil War saber.

As I’ve been reading through the genealogies of the tribes of Israel the past week, I’ve noticed that “mighty warriors” get called out quite often by the Chronicler. I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same. And, I get it. A few weeks ago our country celebrated Memorial Day followed by an apt commemoration of D-Day. We honored the warriors, both men and women, who put themselves on the front lines to defend our country, our culture, our freedom, and our values from those who have sought to take that away.

Around 450 B.C. when the scribe was first penning the genealogies of the book of Chronicles, I believe things were far more precarious than anything we know in America today. City states and villages were under constant threat of raids and attacks. The Chronicles were written after both Israel and Judah had suffered destruction and exile at the hands of Assyria and Babylon. “Mighty Warriors” who could defend a village, town, or tribe were honored because they were an every day insurance policy against being raided, pillaged, tortured and killed.

Everyone who knows me knows that I am passionate about the arts, but it is not lost on me that the freedom and affluence which affords me the luxury of being able to explore every medium of art was made possible by the blood sacrifice of warriors. I have always heard versions of the quote, “I was a soldier, so my son can be a farmer, so his son can be a poet.” I did a little digging to find the source of that quote and found it predicated on a letter our American founder, John Adams, wrote to his wife, Abigail:

I must study Politicks and War that my sons may have liberty to study Mathematicks and Philosophy.  My sons ought to study Mathematicks and Philosophy, Geography, natural History, Naval Architecture, navigation, Commerce, and Agriculture, in order to give their Children a right to study Painting, Poetry, Musick, Architecture, Statuary, Tapestry, and Porcelaine.
Letter to Abigail Adams, May 12, 1780

Today, I’m thankful for the warriors, leaders, farmers, teachers, and businesspeople who paved the way for writers, poets, musicians, artists, actors, and playwrights to work in peace and freedom.

Chapter-a-Day Romans 6

So, since we’re out from under the old tyranny, does that mean we can live any old way we want? Since we’re free in the freedom of God, can we do anything that comes to mind? Hardly. Romans 6:15 (MSG)

While I was in college, my roommate and I were asked to read a couple of patriotic pieces at a Veteran’s Day event. We arrived that morning at the VFW Hall. There was still plenty of time before the bus was to take us to the event and we were invited to sit down and enjoy the company of the many old soldiers who packed the hall.

I’ll never forget that morning as I listened to these grandfathers share their experiences of war. I will always remember the look in their eyes as they spoke of their brothers-in-arms who never made it back. Etched in my memory forever are the tears of one elderly soldier who sat on the bus and silently wept as his mind relived some distant memory.

That morning, this snot-nosed college boy put faces to my freedom. As I sat in the VFW hall and on that bus with those men and heard their stories, it finally clicked in a way it never had before. My freedom wasn’t free. It was bought with lives of men and women who sacrificed their lives so that I could enjoy mine in freedom and peace.

I find it an apt parallel to the Kingdom of God.  We are no longer shackled to our sinful appetites. We are graciously forgiven of the sin that had us on death row, and have been freed from our imprisonment. But our freedom wasn’t free. It cost God the life of His Son, Jesus, who gave Himself up for execution on our behalf.

Every time I use my freedom as a license to act disgracefully, I dishonor the One who died for that freedom.

Lord, have mercy on me.

Creative Commons photo courtesy of Flickr and USCGpress