I wrote this in 2007 with much love and affection. This came to my heart and mind as my son fought in the surge in Baqubah Iraq and buried more friends in a year than any young man ought to. The Lord has been faithful and good. My son’s heart has been broken, but not hardened. That has been my faithful prayer.
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I am willing to bet most folks believe there are no blessing to be found by the mother of a soldier during a time of war. I am of the mindset that there is something we are obligated to learn regardless of our circumstances. Suffering in this life is inevitable, but learning and growing is optional. What can a mother learn, or perhaps remember in a new light, about her soldier when he is at war? This is a good place to start if you are searching for blessings.
She may look through photo albums and compare his younger pictures to his most recent one. She may try and remember at exactly what point in his life did he become a soldier? I know the technical answer is after the successful completion of Basic Combat Training, but I mean when did his mind, heart and soul begin to realize that duty is a good thing, and protecting the innocent is a life that is worth living and a life worth giving?
She will learn in time that he is a grown man. He is more grown than she was willing to admit before. He is competent, brave and possesses a work ethic that outshines his civilian counterparts. She may remember his cross country races in High School. She will remember his coach telling her that for his build he should not be able to run like he does. “He has a heart for it!”
Yes, indeed he does.
She may get a rare glimpse into the hopes that are buried deep in his heart, but hopes he can not quite bring himself to speak of at this moment. Hopes for a family of his own some day. Hopes for coming home from this war and resting in the knowledge that he did good work, and he was able to complete his mission. She may remember his hopes from childhood that were based on boyhood fantasies.
His hopes today sound more like the same hopes she had at that age.
If she listens closely on the phone she will hear exhaustion, fear, paranoia and other deep stresses that he tries to protect her from. She knows him too well to not notice the intensity and fatigue in his voice. She sits in relative safety as he stands in the midst of deadly conflict, and yet, he is still sensitive to her worries. It is reminiscent of conversations from years past, when he used the phrase “Mom, I hate to bug you, but I need to talk.”
One day when he is a father he will know that it is never an imposition to listen, but rather it is a blessing to support your child.
Reading may become her new obsession. She won’t read novels about romance or home décor. She will read all she can about the place her son will call home for the next 15 or more months. She will remember getting to know the parents of his friends when he was much younger, so that her mind could rest when he was with them.
This time, though, she will not find any peace in the knowledge she gains. Instead it will haunt her until he is home for good.
When my oldest son, Mike, was in Middle and High School there were a couple of incidents that I remember most vividly. The first incident in my memory took place in his 7th grade year. His first real dance was announced and he was excited to go. He is a pretty handsome guy, and he was also fairly popular in school. When he showed up at the dance there were a few friends already there waiting for him. There was also a young boy who was labeled “Educable Mentally Retarded.” That is the professional term, but to make it easy just think “high functioning retardation.”
Mike had felt protective of this young kid from the first day of school. His name was John, and he picked up on Mike’s sense of understanding and empathy right away. John followed him around quite a bit, but Mike didn’t mind. John found Mike at the dance and hung around the safe parameter of his new found friend. When the dance music started playing, John decided he wanted to dance. It didn’t matter to him that he did not have a dance partner. It should not have mattered to anyone else either, but some people became hurtful and they shamed John off of the dance floor with remarks, morbid mocking, and cruel names.
Mike was furious. He stood up to his friends and reminded them that they were, after all, at a dance! “John is the only one dancing! You are all standing here acting like jerks. Now, leave him alone!” Yes, even back then he was not afraid to speak his mind. Mike stayed until John’s mom got there to pick him up and then he called me to come and get him. Even though Mike was furious when this happened he kept his composure and dealt with the matter at hand. Nothing more, nothing less.
I think he was becoming a soldier then, but I just didn’t know it.
I also think he was becoming a soldier the day that a buddy of his jumped on him jokingly before 1st period in Middle School. When his friend knocked him to the ground he accidentally broke Mike’s shoulder. Mike had a huge test in his 1st period computer class. He forced a smile, hobbled to class, sat at his desk, and took that test. He had an obligation to fulfill, and he was going to do it come rain, shine, or high water!
After answering the final question on the test, he went up to his teacher and said “I need my mom to come and get me. I am pretty sure I broke my shoulder.” His teacher was both mortified and very proud of him. I took him to the doctor’s immediately, and through x-ray examination it was evident that the child had taken his test with a very bad break. I can now clearly see that he had another characteristic of being a soldier instilled in him that day too.
I could tell you several stories about Mike standing up to bullies, fulfilling his obligations, and yes some stories of him being imperfect and not doing those things too. He’s human. I could tell you of his very strong convictions around justice, and his deep sense of loyalty.
I can point to many things that molded him into someone who can make a difference in the world at a time when a difference is desperately needed. Blessings abound when you stop and think back on all of the things your soldier did while he was growing up that was evidence of an inner-being developing into a servant, a leader, and a soldier.
I like to think that the way his cradle was rocked had a little something to do with it too:
The Hand That Rocks The Cradle
William Ross Wallace (1819-1881)
Blessings on the hand of women!
Angels guard its strength and grace,
In the palace, cottage, hovel,
Oh, no matter where the place;
Would that never storms assailed it,
Rainbows ever gently curled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.
Infancy’s the tender fountain,
Power may with beauty flow,
Mother’s first to guide the streamlets,
From them souls unresting grow-
Grow on for the good or evil,
Sunshine streamed or evil hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.
Woman, how divine your mission
Here upon our natal sod!
Keep, oh, keep the young heart open
Always to the breath of God!
All true trophies of the ages
Are from mother-love impearled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.
Blessings on the hand of women!
Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,
And the sacred song is mingled
With the worship in the sky-
Mingles where no tempest darkens,
Rainbows evermore are hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.
