It was an oppressively lonely drive back to the post this afternoon.
A few hours ago, the car was full of life. Now, silence. I looked down at a bottle of tangerine-flavored water and would occasionally shake it, confirming each time that there was a few sips left in my wife's bottle. I could have thrown in out, but I didn't. I imagine Lindsey felt the same way when she decided to bring her flowers home with her, rather than throw them out. No more goodbyes, especially to tokens of our companionship.
Every so often, I would venture a look back toward the back seat, but that was even more painful. A baby's cries can grate on your nerves. The silence left in the wake of his departure can grate on your soul.
I could hear the echoes of the day before. The normal half full-half empty banter with my sweet wife: "We only have a day left." "Yes, but each of these days is a gift." Our light-hearted musings and playful banter occasionally interrupted by the plaintive cries of a baby who didn't like being sweaty in the Texas heat. "I hear ya, buddy," I would tell him (as if he could understand). "We'll get you out of here soon." I wish the reality of those remarks was not so encompassing. I wish "soon" had been later.
And finally the fog that has descended over many of my soldiers' hearts has descended over my own. My normal defense mechanisms and emotional deflections cannot keep this pain at bay, and that it good. I must feel the loss and strive eagerly for the gain that will come with my return. I can thank the Lord that such great love can dreg the depths of such great pain, revealing to me what I have in my best friend and precious boy.
I have often thought that the soldier's greatest sacrifice is putting himself in harm's way, but through my own experience and others, I no longer believe this to be the case. The greatest sacrifice is being put out of the way of those you love. I will not sit on a balcony and hold my wife's hand while we talk for a while, nor will I be able to prop my smiling baby upon my knees and play daddy-son games with him. But I will.
Do I regret, then, this great calling that God has placed upon my life? Can I share the hope of Jesus Christ with soldiers while walking through the shadow of death, even as I miss precious moments with my beloved family? To the very depth of my being, I am learning this simple truth: A baby's smile is worth protecting more than it is worth having.
The cannons have been emptied of their powder. The conductor's baton has been laid down. The orchestra stands silent. Together, they will unleash their fury in the days to come.
Today, I celebrate the One-Third of July. Today I take a holiday from the sweet embrace of my family and embrace a more uncertain future, known only to the sovereign and merciful mind of my God. With baited breath and constricted voice, I cry from the depths "In God I trust" and reach for the heights. I set my eyes on high, knowing that Christ reigns, and my life, together with my wife and boy, are hidden in Him forever.
