The Strait of Gibraltar is a significant marker in our sea journey. To sailors of old, it was the last marker of the known world. To the strategist, Gibraltar represents a rock or fortress that will not move when all else is a mess. To the insurance company Prudential, it spawned a slogan “Like a rock.” To the psalmist, the rock represents the Lord as a fortress and deliverer from whom faith can be launched, sustained, and secured.
When I see it—in actions, words, or formal presentation, it’s always a favorite combination . . . power with tenderness . . . When I first read Eric Blehm’s book on the life of Navy SEAL Adam Brown, "Fearless", I was struck by this description: “Known for his compassion, Adam was always the first to do something like break open a light stick for a baby to play with or give a candy bar to a terrified child. But he wasn’t the only one. In a group of men whose business is killing, the fury they release upon the enemy is rivaled only by the humanity they display for innocents caught in the crossfire.”
I remember sitting on the front porch of our new quarters –you know, the “townhouses” crammed side-by-side around a parking lot. Kids everywhere. I remember speaking the words, “What in the world am I doing here?” and hoping no one heard me (yea, right—neighbors were in ear-shot of everything!).
We do not want to miss this grace—this pure grace of God that gets us from the excitement-building, heart-racing, glee-producing “Welcome Home” moment . . . through the adjustments and transitions which characterize reintegration. Hebrews 12:15 reads, “See to it that no one misses the grace of God . . .”, and reintegration done well will validate that it is God’s grace, and grace alone, that smooths the return home. His greater grace takes you from "I can't do this anymore' to 'I can do all things through Him who strengthens me" (Philippians 4:13). Likewise the pure grace of God in reintegration takes us from “I didn’t expect homecoming to be anything but sweet” to “God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work” (2 Corinthians 9:8). This grace is so powerful, so cleansing, so redemptive that I can only call it “reintegrace.” Indeed, God can take the strain of deployment and the uncertainty of transition and fashion it to be good because of His pure grace and mercy (Psalm 119:68).
My husband and I had two similar conversations recently—one with a young sailor and the other with a young airman. Both are Christians, happily married, and growing in their faith. Both wanted to invite others (neighbors, friends at work) to attend a local marriage seminar our church was sponsoring. Both said the same thing to us, “It seems all of these folks are struggling in their marriages—I hear about it all the time!!—but they won’t come to the seminar. They’re not interested. They don’t want to hear anything about it!!”
On Memorial Day we honor many who died in service to our country . . . and thank the guards charged with keeping watch over the unknowns who represent the utmost bravery of our military service members.
How Jesus healed me from PTSD is truly a powerful redemptive work of grace in my life, but the recovery did not happen overnight. On my second deployment to Iraq (from August 2006 to October 2007) I served with the 1-26 Infantry Battalion, which sustained more casualties than any other military unit since Vietnam. We lost 35 soldiers and over 130 were wounded. Many of the wounded ended up as amputees. I conducted 24 memorial ceremonies for our fallen soldiers, provided over 200 hours of grief counseling, and was also wounded due to an IED blast. Before returning home I began experiencing what behavioral health experts call “burn out” and “compassion fatigue.”
We have much in common on board the ship. It wasn’t that long ago we left our friends, boyfriends/girlfriends, spouses, children, and the dog---thousands of miles behind. So, what now, Chaplain? I’m so glad you asked . . . . As a Chaplain, one prevailing question I hear and frequently consider is this: “Where is God during deployment?” “Does God’s presence exist on a warship or in the sand of Afghanistan?”
Have you ever PCSed and had the realtor tell you that the most important thing to consider in choosing a house is “location . . . location . . . location”? In his book, Dangerous Calling, Paul David Tripp says that phrase also refers to life. When I read that statement I was intrigued.
Several military wives, myself included, had crammed into an apartment living room for a book club meeting. As we chatted between bites of crackers and cheese, our conversation veered away from the book of the month when the hostess unleashed a bitter monologue concerning her husband’s frequent absences at sea and punctuated it with a booming, “I did not sign up to be a single parent!” With one toddler and another baby due soon, this woman was clearly frazzled. Unfortunately, her resentment over having to be solo spilled out of her like a toxin and threatened to poison the evening.