Waking Up in Afghanistan

Talked to my son yesterday via Skype. It was incredible to see him and hear his voice. He’s been “in country,” as they say, for about a month. He’s a Marine, and his battalion is in Afghanistan. I couldn’t help but be reminded of my oldest brother in his Vietnam pictures.   But rather than having my brother’s actual features, it was more the Vietnam Era my son reminded me of. His in-country mustache was well underway and it gave him that very definite hippy-era war-time appearance. He looked good, healthy and strong.  He loves being a Marine, and we are very proud of him.

This morning as I sit drinking my coffee in a quiet house in a safe community contemplating my day, I’m thinking of my son in Afghanistan. What’s it like waking up in Afghanistan? I can hardly believe he’s there. Truly, it’s still a bit surreal to me. This morning he woke up in a sleeping bag, on the ground, in the middle of the desert, on the other side of the world from this house--pretty amazing. 

Why? What do “they” want “us” to do there? Honestly, I don’t understand it all. I don’t know his exact location. I don’t know exactly what his platoon is doing today. I don’t know because he can’t tell us. However, I do know that terrorism and its threat to peace-loving people is real. I do know that there are people around the world being suppressed into living behind a curtain of ignorance of basic personal freedoms that we take for granted every day. I do know there are children being taught to hate and treat those different from themselves with contempt. At the preschool where I work, we teach the children to love your neighbor and to treat one another the way you want to be treated. I’m struck with the realization that we, as Americans, even take this teaching for granted. There is a counter-doctrine of fear and hate being spread by terrorists who use it to keep an oppressed people funding a mission of terror.  I know that a major source of terrorist funding comes from drugs sold worldwide and produced from poppies grown on farms in Afghanistan. I know that at least some of these farmers are too oppressed and fearful to try other crop options, and some do not even realize there are other options. I do believe that if we don’t contend with this problem at its source, it’ll be to contend with it on our own streets. 

Yes, we get tired of “policing” the globe. Yes, it’s expensive. No, I don’t agree with everything our leaders do, and we don’t always make the right choices to get involved for the right reasons, at the right times, but I do see the benefit of my son being where he is this morning. If his “waking up in Afghanistan” only enlightens a handful of children to the realities of different cultures and to the fact that there are certain personal freedoms and options that should be available to them, it’s worth it.

The other day, not long after he first arrived in Afghanistan, I was talking to him on the phone. He was telling me about a visual he got not far out from the main base where they originally landed. He said he saw a sheep herder. The surrounding environment that he described evoked, at least in me, a mental picture that resembled something I’d picture from a Bible story--clothes, sandals, terrain, etc. Then overhead flew a plane, fairly low I gathered, as it was most likely coming or going from the nearby allied base. He said it caused him to see, right there, for that second, the meshing of two worlds and to contemplate the pros and cons of that.  I love that he actually sees the world around him. I love that he stops to contemplate and shares these things with me. This makes me smile.  This makes me so proud of my son.

Memorial Day is fast approaching. As you drive through Duluth and see the flags, I wonder if you'll think about the stories that those memorials might represent--about those who have died on foreign soil, come home broken, spent time as POWs, and those who have come home with memories too painful to share. These are the stories from the men and women who have made our country what it is. They are the ones who have given us quiet mornings with hot coffee and peaceful sleep at night. They position themselves on a wall for our benefit. They have guarded the basic personal freedoms that we take for granted every day. Think about that. Not in passing or lightly…but seriously. 

And as you do, don't forget to give thanks. Thanks to our God for blessing America with willing souls who have done this job throughout its history and thanks also for those who are today…waking up in Afghanistan. 

This Mother covets those prayers.