Dear Marine

It's September here in Missouri, still hot but with a hint of Autumn in the air today. I walked out to get the mail this afternoon and couldn't resist the hammock in the shade of the peach tree on the trip back to the house. I laid across it, just for a few minutes, as I sorted through today's bills and flyers. There was a sweet thank you note from a friend who had left for college for the first time only 3 weeks ago. I recognized her big round letters and smiled before I even opened it, knowing that the small package I had sent had brought a tiny moment of joy into her exciting, new and homesick world. Then my thoughts turned to you, my faraway friend.

I remember the first time you went off to Iraq. You had no idea what to expect. I barely knew you then except through your mom. She was so upset when you enlisted but she also recognized that you had been having difficulty finding your place in life and prayed that the Marines would fill the hunger in you. You were so young and fresh and eager then.

I talked to your mom for a long time the other night. She didn't cry this time. You have just deployed for your third tour of Iraq. The fear inside her still fills her up for she, too, has lost her innocence. But she has had to learn to trust you and your instincts and your comrades... and God. There were times when I didn't think she would survive Iraq but she is a survivor. You get that from her.

As I lay in the hammock with that hint of late summer in the air...a few lone cicadas buzzing their constant circular song with a gentle breeze rustling the pages in my lap, I remember that you are over there. I send up a silent prayer, as I do every time you cross my mind, and wonder how you are faring. Your mom told me how, when you phoned last week, you told her about the new guys who jumped at the sound of mortars each time and were astounded at you guys who never even flinched. She chuckled.

Once upon a time the mortars frightened you something awful but you learned that most of them don't hit anyone. One time one hit right near you and your buddy and you never even blinked, you'd become so accustomed to them and perhaps to death, too, by then. But then you realized after that your hands were shaking. Yes, Marine, you are still alive, amazingly and gratefully, still alive.

So, you are probably one of the old men in your platoon this time, at 22 isn't it? Respected for your battle scars perhaps, even though they can't be seen. Are you able to sleep yet, friend? Do the nightmares still come? Can you put them aside and rest? Can you be a leader and a role model to these young men that look up to you and teach them the battle skills that they will need to survive the horror you will see out there?

The weight is heavy. I know that most of your buddies didn't survive the 2nd tour. I know that some of those that did are out now and that it was hard for you to see them escape, even as you rejoiced for them. I know that the memories haunt you. But I also know how strong you have become and how beautiful you still are. When you get through this next journey you will have learned some things that some people, most people, never know.

You will know how to rejoice in every day and in every person around you for you know how fragile life is. You won't take anything or anyone for granted the way the rest of us often do. You will have learned that human beings are capable of things that we can't imagine, both great and horrible. You will know that one can survive anything as long as there is hope. You will learn to hope again. You will learn to push aside the most awful of things your memory tries to show you but you will retain it in the back your mind to make you into a kinder more aware person. You will have learned to trust God in all things and give your burdens to him.

It was a beautiful day here. My prayer for you today is that you find a small piece of beauty there and share it with someone else.

Go with God.