Filled With Grief and Gratitude

I was up late on Friday night. I'm not sure why, considering the incredible workload that this weekend entailed. My wife and I had our weekly date night, and she made me a Gin and tonic. She had gone to sleep, and I was still sipping at the G&T. I stared at the ceiling, and the lights became blurry. Something broke.

I began to speak with those phantom faces that have never left me.

“Dave, I am so sorry that I couldn’t save you. You were so excited for your life with Dana, starting a family, and growing in your faith. I wish I had followed up with you while I still had the chance.”

“Serpa, why didn’t you tell me you needed help? I would’ve traveled all night to see you, care for you, and talk you to about the past and future. Didn’t you realize how much your battle buddies would’ve done for you? How much they all miss you now?”

The faces faded, but in their wake, I was left with my tears and lonely thoughts.

I have friends--brothers and sisters in the Lord who have our back. On Saturday, one group of these friends manned a table at our Memorial Day Market, giving out free books and invitations to our Nature Camp to passersby. Another group, compiled in the nick of time, poured their time and sweat into building us a float for the Memorial Day parade. One couple spent 10 hours working on it on Saturday. Their diligence--without complaint--humbled me.

I traveled back and forth between the two groups. While at the market, I ran into a former marine. I asked him how he was doing. He was on 70% disability for injuries he sustained in the line of duty (hoping for 100%) and was grieving the loss of brothers in arms who had taken their own lives. Yet he was holding fast, getting the help he needed and growing with his wife, rather than turning on her. I let him know that I would be there for him day or night.

Toward the end of the day, I went back to our pastor's house to continue to work on the float alongside that tireless couple. As I primed a giant wooden frame, a neighbor saw my army shirt and continually thanked me for my service. At times, I find such comments embarrassing. But as I kept priming that wood, I thought "This man hasn't forgotten me, or the people we have lost."

On Sunday morning, we heard a wonderful sermon on Moses as he was told that he would never enter the Promise Land (Deut. 3). Instead, he would train up Joshua for the task. I cannot comprehend the grief of Moses in that moment, but was reminded of the surpassing greatness of the glory that awaited Moses. He labored for the earthly Promise Land, but he lived for the heavenly one. Oh, that God would grant me a similar heart!

This morning, I hosted a 5k run through my running club. I reminded all of the participants about those who no longer run, and the gratitude we should feel to have the freedom to run. I prayed for them, and I thanked the Lord in my heart.

I then joined our valiant volunteers in advertising our Nature Camp at the Memorial Day parade. I used my (declining, but still existent) energy to run from veteran to veteran in the crowd, offering them whatever I could in the way of love and support.

This afternoon, several of these tireless workers had my family over for a cookout (after all they had done for us!). We enjoyed conversations as my boy found his match in a (literally) punchy girl and my baby girl wailed over shoes that were too tight (that won't happen again).

Tonight, the old thought deluged my mind again. I watched the heartrending and encouraging video featuring Dana Lyon, widow of Dave (below). And I grieved...for Dave, for Serpa, and for every family that has an empty place at the table tonight. There are no "Thank you for your service" lines that will fill those seats.

I mentioned to my wife that I have felt the weight of this Memorial Day more than other since my deployment. She asked, matter-of-factly, "Isn't that because this town does more for it than you are used to?" She was right. I am reliving these memories because this town is honoring those memories.

I hold this community in my heat because they remember our soldiers. Now, I pray that they would remember our God who grants hope to us all through the live, death, and resurrection of His only beloved Son.

I feel grief and gratitude--in equal measure. I yearn for the day when the scales are tilted, the grief is gone, and the gratitude persists.

https://www.facebook.com/stephen.roberts.967