August of 1990 R told me that he anticipated getting called up. They could feel that it was coming- the news, the build up, etc. Sure enough, the call came. We married early winter while he was preparing to ship out. We stayed in a summer resort hotel right on the beach. Being off season, it was practically deserted expect for our party. We slept in, ate out, walked the pier and a tiny strip of the beach, among other things. The Atlantic calmed by winter was breathtaking, beautiful and calming.

Monday morning we moved quietly around, neither of us saying much. The ride into Jacksonville was hushed. The town appeared to have been neatly tucked in, lulled into comfortable sleep by knowledge of faithful protectors nearby. A guard at the gate let us pass and we drove over to the barracks. R pulled into a parking spot and turned the key. We hugged for an eternity of minutes. After an exchange of love and encouragement for the coming separation, he got out and turned to smile for me as I drove off. Every breath I took while passing out of town seemed purposed and labored. I don't remember getting back to the hotel, but I do recall lying on the polyester paisley bedspread. I stared at the ceiling for a long time before falling alseep.

A few months later, R deep in the heart of Saudi Arabia, and E growing in the depths of my womb, some circumstance found me hearing the Star Spangled Banner again. For a few seconds, I stood there, fighting myself, resisting what I felt coming. I pressed my fingernails into the palms of my hands and took shallow breaths. I looked around me at the kids talking while waiting for the event to begin, wanting to slap them, to shake them. I saw disinterested teachers mouthing the words while casually leaning against a doorjamb. I wanted to thump their heads and tell them to stand up! Pay attention! Mostly, I saw the face of my beloved R, the words of his letters flashing like subtitles on the screen of my memory. Suddenly this song became more than a half-hearted attempt at patriotism. Words had meaning; words had faces; words had progeny living inside my very body. The disrespect and disinterest became personal and the sacrifice of everyday comforts, of a college education, of time spent with a wife, of hearing the uterine heartbeat of his firstborn, were thoughtlessly stepped on like trash under the feet of spectators. No longer wrestling, I gave in and sang louder, stood taller, tears rolling down my face and neck, finally dissipating when they reached my heart.

"The land of the free and the home of the brave." Anyone can dissent. Anyone can complain. Anyone can argue. Anyone can protest. Not everyone will sacrifice their very life for the freedom of even one person. I feel so fortunate to know him and to be associated with one who can truly be counted as not only "one of the few, the proud," but the increasingly smaller number of the brave. Thank you, R. I love you so very much.

« Hide the rest of Not many will die for even a righteous man

God bless R. God bless all our men and women, who put their lives on the line for our country, and to impart the freedoms we enjoy to the oppressed. And God bless the families, and you, who wait and pray for their loved ones to come home safe and sound. May all their prayers be answered yes and amen.

Thank you, Heart. And I agree.

I had a similar experience with a song, only in my case it was "America The Beautiful." Before 9/11 I knew the words of this song, but the full impact of the line "Who more than self their country loved,/and mercy more than life" did not hit me until I thought of the firefighters who ran back into the second tower after the first had collapsed. That line continues to impact me as our troops (some of whom are my friends) go to Iraq to show that their love for not only our country, but theirs too, is worth more than their own lives.

BEAUTIFUL RAE! That was just beautiful!

I wrote this down and sent it to him. It was "our" assurance that no matter the outcome of the war, God was most assuredly looking after my husband, the friend of my friends; the Lover of My Soul was keeping the lover of my heart and body.

He did return home to me in April 1991. This time only my womb was swollen with the consummation of our love and commitment to one another. E became the assurance of God's desire for us to be together. The men had to stand in formation for a few minutes before being released to the bosoms of their loved ones. I stared at R, taking in his handsome face, tanned from the desert sun; his strong back that served him well in leading his men; his hands that honorably folded in prayer and around his weapon in defense of other Marines and in offense at eliminating the enemy; his legs that humped many miles for the freedom of the Kuwaiti people; his feet that he proudly stood on, walked on, ran on in desert sand and humbly shod with the Gospel of Jesus Christ. My heart was briefly impregnated again with faith, hope, love, and immeasureable gratitude to God that not only would I have the man I loved home again with me, but that we would be privileged together to bring up the child that was wiggling in my body- the fruit our love. I determined then that our child would know the story of her father's bravery and integrity, along with all those who honorably serve the United States and have and will continue to procur the freedom of this country and to defend the defenseless.

My soul grieves for those who are not greeted by the smile and embrace of their son; daughter; wife; husband; aunt; uncle; cousin; mother; father. Please continue to pray for the families who must bury their loved one. I pray also that they hold the assuring comfort of an eternal reunion someday.

« Hide the rest of Comfort, Consolation, and a Call to Spiritual Arms

That is one of the most beautiful things I have ever read. Truly.

Thank you, Nee :) By the way, pretty pic on Technorati :)

Remember the fine young men who die for you. They are the same ones who sweated and trained together in preparation for all of this and anything else that comes. Remember them, the young men from all over this land that are different than the rest. The ones who take the hard way. They know pain and discormfort well. They run when others walk or ride. They do without. They float on ship in every major sea in battalion strength every day of every year so they can land and defend you and any in need all over the world. They shoot straighter, they work harder, they are the few. They are the best. They are Marine Corps Infantry.

I have started my day by reading this wonderfull story. It gives me such a wonderful feeling inside. Thank you. Jim

Hi, JT. Welcome :)

Thank you. I am so glad that something I wrote made your day start out so pleasantly. And please come back often.

I encouraged R to do this, too. I asked if he would like for me to pray with him? "No, but thank you." So, he spent sometime last night praying for Dave and his unit; his family; the Marine's families. R understands the tight stitches sewn between the ventricles of family and duty as he served in Gulf War I. He, too, was separated from his family in service to his country and the people of Kuwait.

This afternoon I was driving and listening to NPR. They played a spot from the BBC News announcing that Marines in Fallujah had been involved in a two hour battle when terroists set up in a Mosque attacked them with anti-aircraft. One Marine was reported to have lost his life in the fighting and eight were wounded. Immediately my thoughts went to Dave. I hoped and pleaded with God for his life and then prayed for comfort for the fallen Marine's family, whoever he was. I then remebered last nights incident. Then recalling the time difference, I began to wonder the exact time of the attack.

Checking the Baghdad time, I was able to calculate that there is an 11 hour difference between my local time and Baghdad. The fighting took place shortly before noon (Baghdad time). If I count back 11 hours, from just before noon, I have midnight our time- only an hour earlier R was feeling restless.

I'd like to think that even if Dave wasn't engaged in the action today, that R's prayers weren't for naught. Marines in Fallujah benefitted from a brother submitting himself to the conviction of God to pray for them. God does, indeed, work in mysterious ways.

Dave, Marines, Airmen, Soldiers, and Sailors, we haven't and we won't stop praying for you.

« Hide the rest of Coincidence? Nahhhhh

I am ruined for life but I wouldn't trade it for almost anything. In support of this post I have comment. Dave is a brother-in-arms. I am nervous and have daily feelings of guilt. I am a trained infantryman and I am not there with my Marines. It pains me. I know that only the Few or those close to them can understand. I am very proud to know one of the best Marines that there is (Dave)and know he is capable to crush the enemy along with the other young Marines that are there with Him.

That's what we call a Godincidence.

Good word, Patrick- will be using it in the future.

R- I am forever grateful for your service to our country and in relieving the Kuwati people from Sadaam's tyrany. You have taught me much about the sacrifices made for the wearing of the uniform. Thank you and I love you.

We just found out that our son-in-law, who's currently in Japan will be going to Iraq. (The word is: Not IF, when.) *sigh* My daughter is sanguine about it, but there's a newborn baby in their house and -- well -- it's my job to worry.

It's what I do best.

*sigh*
(Thus the tiny, minor nervous breakdown.)

Oh, Emma! Yes, I'll worry with you for her.

Clarification: You and I can worry in place of your daughter. There, better said.