I opened my email one morning and read a message from a sweet military wife whose husband was in Afghanistan. She had been reading postings on Excellent or Praiseworthy, and was grateful for the encouragement. Then she closed her comment with, “I’m so thankful for America, a free country that allows me to know what true freedom is in Christ!”
What is it that you hope for? Perhaps it is the safety of your spouse, or for an easy transition after deployment, or for a certain assignment. Or could it be that you have been walking in difficulty for so long that you are finding it difficult to hope at all? If you find your faith giving way to doubt, you are not alone.
I think I’m like a lot of military professionals in that I pride myself in being able to make a good plan. After all, I’ve had over 20 years of training and practice in making plan after plan and having them tested, refined, tested again, criticized, tested again, refined and the final test of all, executed. We in the military should be good at making plans, and not just one plan either. We have Plan A, Plan B and Plan C, each of which have branches (contingency plans) and sequels (follow on plans) – all designed to ensure that when we set out to achieve our mission, our execution is robust and effective. The success of our plans in achieving a mission is where the rubber hits the road in the military. It can accelerate or decelerate our careers. It can lead to honor or to shame. Plans are pretty important, and I haven’t restricted my planning only to what I do in the military.
As a little girl when I spoke of my father as being “at sea,” I really had no notion of the dangers he faced—he had helped teach my sisters and me how to swim, and for all I knew that’s what they did out “at sea,” diving off the deck and swimming with dolphins. The water, as I knew it then, was all glee and shimmer and launching off of his shoulders in the deep end. It was not until later that I began to appreciate the grisly possibilities associated with his seafaring deployments.
I pay attention when I run across stories about platonic friendships which turn into inappropriate relationships. It’s so common . . . especially in these days of deployments. Loneliness can become the excuse for “hanging out” with someone of the opposite sex you thought was “safe.” Stressful marital situations can become the excuse for asking a fellow worker of the opposite sex an innocent question like “I’m going through a tough time in my marriage—help me understand my spouse better.” Uncertainty about your future can become the excuse for throwing caution to the wind with an attitude of “What the heck—all I’ve got is today and no one has to know.” But it’s the timing of it all, and what might cause us to turn our back on a flirtation at a less stressful point might lead to the desire for more at another point.
Do you ever feel like the burden and weight of deployment and separation are an affliction? May we be able to learn something from the prayer of Hannah in I Samuel 2:1-10 as she presents her son, Samuel to Eli, the priest, and offers him in service to the LORD.
Bedford is a small town in rural Virginia. Nestled in the Blue Ridge foothills, it’s a tranquil spot to visit and ponder the enormous price this community made in service to our country on June 6, 1944—D-Day. Upon this beautiful town fell proportionately the heaviest share of American losses on that day. For out of the thirty young men from Bedford who had joined the National Guard and were called into service in 1942, twenty-two were killed in the invasion. For the “Bedford Boys” who landed on Normandy’s Omaha Beach in 1944, their bonds meant just that—bonds.
Think back to your childhood for a moment. After doing something you would come to regret, were you ever told by your parents that you were “just askin’ for trouble” when you committed that stupid act? Perhaps your response, like mine, was, "I wasn’t asking for trouble . . . it just happened!” The book of Proverbs would agree with your parents—or whoever has spoken wisdom into your life. Most of the time that we get into trouble, we know better.
“I’m not there! What can I do about it?” If you’ve ever heard those words from a deployed service member, you know the frustration they offer up to the one at home having to deal with the troubling situation. If the situation regards the rearing of children, then the frustration can reach epic proportions. None of us wants that, right? So here are some thoughts to help—they’re so simple we call them the "ABCs" of long-distance parenting.
On the wall of my father-in-law’s office hangs a small piece of paper framed as an important document, yellowed with age. On this paper are these words: "You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you. In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other Fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free world . . ."