Pictures on a Wall

Thank you to everyone who prayed for me and my unit today. On the two hour drive to the unit, I prayed that the Lord would bring just three soldiers to the chapel service. Three soldiers attended the service. I preached on the man born blind from John 9 and answered a lot of questions afterward.

I was brought to my new office and was shocked to see a name tape on the wall "1LT Randy Croel." Randy was one of my good chaplain friends in my initial training for the Army in 2009. We would often go on runs together. In 2011, we attended the captain's course together as well. This would've been just after our initial training--when we were both young, uncertain chaplains launching our careers in God's grace. I experienced a wave of something like nostalgia.

In the hallway between a number of offices and the chow hall, seven photos and short write-ups rested neatly framed upon the wall. These were seven men from this unit who were killed in action during the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Four of them were lost to IEDs in Iraq in 2004--a brutal time for our soldiers. One of the men was a father of three. Another one was an elder at a Lutheran church who led Bible studies on the deployment until he was killed. This Bible study, the write-up mentioned, was a great source of strength to this soldier, according to many in the unit.

The final picture was of a soldier killed in 2011 in Afghanistan--two years before I deployed. He was just 22. Officially killed by "small arms fire."

My best exchange of the day came with an NCO with a Master's in Psychology who deployed with a segment of our unit in 2011. There was an edge to this soldier--a look I see sometimes in soldiers who have seen or experienced quite a bit downrange. Indeed, the segment of the unit he deployed with experienced IED blasts and small arms fire most every day. At times, the surrounding area experienced more concentrated action than at any point since WWII. The vast majority of the unit were awarded Purple Hearts (for those wounded in the line of duty).

This was also the unit where Justin Ross, the 22 year old soldier, was killed--by a sniper, not by small arms fire. The NCO still calls him "my soldier"--a poignant reminder of something special about the Army. No battle buddy killed in action in simply a picture on a wall, but "my soldier" to someone who will spend the rest of their life preserving that person's memory. In a sense, Dave Lyon was my soldier, which is why I'll speak of him until the day I die.

I found one comment made by this NCO particularly interesting. He said "I know it sounds weird--and don't take it the wrong way--but I think this soldier was the best person to die. His dad is a pastor and his family is very religious. Of all people, they are probably the ones who could most handle this."

I think I understand what he was saying. He wasn't diminishing the soldier's tragic loss, nor was he diminishing the pain felt by the family. He recognized that this pastor and his family had a hope that transcended death--that made it less bitter. For where, O grave, is thy victory? Where, O death, is thy sting? Please find more below on the life and death of Corporal Justin Ross and his family:

http://arlingtoncemetery.net/jdross.htm

http://www.wiscnews.com/article_b5b92579-edf1-5b07-baea-fbd088b718bc.html

https://www.facebook.com/ArmySpecialistJustinRossMemorialPage