A Mother's Heart in War. . . 5-26-2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

May 26, 2004

Well, it came. Wrapped in plain brown paper, no stamps or insignias, just two plain white labels. It came, just the same, this package of information, speaking so matter of factly of my son's deployment. No marking on the envelope could begin to tell the importance of the information within.

I read the contents, looked over the checklists, read the advice with interest, but so little of it seemed to apply to me. Most of it was for spouses and children. There was nothing about how to send your only son to war, and even as I write these words, I am struck by the fact that there is One who has been where I am.

There is One who knowingly, even lovingly, sent His only Son to death. That sending, that death was the darkest moment in human history and yet was the most glorious event of all eternity.

Sometimes I wonder that I don't feel more fear -- surely the Lord can't make my heart this peaceful, but there is little fear there. I feel sadness, for a year is a long time to go without seeing your son -- and I think of all the family times that will be less joyful because he is not here. I feel sadness for the grief Emily will feel at being separated from the brother she adores. And I feel sadness for Aimee -- a year is a long time to an eighteen year-old girl.

I feel sadness for Noah, too. Sadness for the things he will miss, for the comforts he will do without, for the sights and sounds and memories he will forever try to erase from his mind. But as for his safety -- he belongs to the Lord, and he always has. I feel certain that the Lord knows that this is exactly what Noah needs to draw him closer to the Lord. I am sure that in the dark of night when bullets fly, Noah's heart will cry out to the only One who is his safety -- the Lord Jesus. And as always, He will be the Answer.