In honor of Veteran's Day, I thought I
would repost an amazing personal experience I had while visiting the Vietnam
Veterans Memorial in Washington D.C.
The Wall
In 1999 my husband, James, and I
traveled to Baltimore for a medical meeting.
While there, we visited Washington, D.C.
One thing I’ve always wanted to see was the Vietnam Veterans Memorial or
“The Wall” as it is sometimes referred to.
I had no idea the effect that visit would have on my life and how God
would use it.
The very first day we visited The Wall,
it was overwhelming. I didn’t realize
how big it was or how many names were on it.
There were 58,169 names carved in that granite wall. My mind just couldn’t take it all in. There were letters and flowers and teddy
bears propped up against it; expressions of love and gratitude everywhere. People were taking pieces of paper and raking
a pencil across the engravings; a sketch
of the names would appear on their paper; they call it “name rubbing”. Everyone seemed to want a piece of it. The whole thing was just an enormous
emotional experience for me.
We went back to the hotel and I said to
James, “I wish I had thought to tell my brother we were coming here. I could’ve gotten a name from him and brought
him back a “rubbing”. But then I said,
“That’s okay, I’ll just pray and ask God to give me a name. Maybe He’ll want me to pray for someone who’s
still missing in action or family members of someone who died.” I somehow believed God would be faithful to
do that for me. As I began to pray about
this, the name “Tom” kept coming to my mind.
“Tom. Tom.” Later I said to James, “I think his name is
Tom.” James said, “Who?” I said, “The name God gave me, it’s
Tom.” “Hmm,” he mumbled, “Thomas.” I said “No, it’s not Thomas, it’s Tom.” Again James said, “Thomas.” Well by now, I’m starting to get a little
upset because this name had come to me from God and He was very specific; the
name was Tom – NOT Thomas! I said,
“Tomorrow, when we go back, I’m gonna find Tom’s name and get a name rubbing of
it.” James said, “Now there are over
58,000 names on that wall, how many Tom’s do you think there are?” I said, “I’m going to open one of those books
and the “Tom” God wants me to have is just gonna jump off that page; you’ll see!”
So, the next day we went back to The
Wall and I started on page one of the “big book". They have these big books on site that
includes every name that has been carved on the wall and exactly where on the
wall each name can be found. In a few
minutes James comes over to me and his face was almost as white as a
sheet. He looks at me with tears in his
eyes and he hands me a piece of paper.
Written on the paper was:
Tom Thomas Rank
– CPL Service – AR DOB 12/19/45 DOD 8/28/68
New Philadelphia, Ohio Panel 46W Line 54
I just began to sob. I picked up my sketch pad and followed James
as he began to look for Tom’s name on The Wall:
Panel 46W, Line 54. I handed
James the sketch pad. As he began
rubbing the pencil across the engraving, the name Tom M. Thomas appeared. We both just stood there. I didn’t know whether to shout for joy or
fall to my knees! It was a true “God
moment”.
About 3 ½ years later (6/3/03), an advertisement came
on TV for a website that would allow you to communicate with the veteran’s
loved ones. I was so excited, I couldn’t
wait to share what God had done with someone who knew and loved Tom. I went into the website and left the
following message:
“It was approximately 3 ½ years ago that I first visited The Wall; for
some reason, Tom’s name has stayed with me – I have been praying for your
family ever since. I have a ‘name
rubbing’ framed and hanging in my foyer for all to see – I ask others to pray
for you, too. I would love to have a
photo of Tom to hang with his ‘name rubbing’.
Please contact me…”
Five months later (11/9/02), I received
a response from a woman, named Marsha, who had been a friend to Tom’s
mother. Among other things, she wrote:
I didn’t know Tom very well because he
went into the Army shortly after I met him, but I knew his mother and family
for 30 years. His mother passed away a
couple of years ago…I can tell you that I was with his mother the morning the
Army Chaplain visited to tell her of Tom’s death…Tom’s sister-in-law was pregnant
at the time and on the day he was put to rest she had a boy and they named him
Tommy Michael Thomas – he looks just like him.”
Imagine how blessed I was! So I responded immediately with my own
story. Marsha then sent me a copy of
Tom’s memorial and an article that had appeared in the local newspaper. Tom had only been in the Army for 7 months
before he was killed; he was 22 years old.
His mother received the Bronze Star, a Purple Heart and 5 other medals
in his honor.
But that’s not the end of this story…
On March 8, 2004, two years later, I
received an email from an address I didn’t recognize. The subject line read: “Tom Michael Thomas”. For a moment, I think my heart stopped
beating. It had been 16 months since I
had received my first email regarding Tom.
I opened it and read, “…I don’t have a photograph of Tom, but I was with
him to the end. I was his medic…”
In that moment, I was so crushed, so
blessed, so humbled all at once. I
imagined that one moment in time – Gary (the medic) cradling Tom in his arms
like a baby; Tom asking Gary to tell his mother how much he loved her. It was too much, too much…
All of a sudden my heart went out to
Gary. What a nightmare war must be! Gary was a medic; men were dying in his arms
almost daily. How helpless he must have
felt. Did he know Jesus? Did he feel His presence?
As I began to respond to his email I
struggled with whether I should make references to God or not. If he’s not a believer, I might loose him and
I wanted to get to know him better. I
wanted an opportunity to minister to him.
But then I thought, this might be my only opportunity – go for it!
And so I did…I told my story. But while I had Gary on the line, so to
speak, I took another opportunity…I wrote:
“Thank you, Gary Stolp, for all you did
for me in Vietnam. Thank you for your
courage. Thank you for your
sacrifice. God bless you! P.S.
Tell me more about yourself."
Gary and I corresponded a couple of
times that week. I want to share just a
little bit of our conversations with you.
Gary writes: “…Tom was an infantryman. He was a good guy; always willing to share
his rations. He died defending his
brothers in B Company out in the middle of nowhere on a hill overlooking a
valley…”
My response: “As I read your words, ‘He died…out in the
middle of nowhere…’ a great sadness came over me. Then I realized, he may have been ‘in the
middle of nowhere’ but he wasn’t alone.
You were there, ‘…with him to the end’.
Thank you for being there for Tom, Gary.
Thank you for being there for all those men. When they were hurting, when they were
frightened, you were there. What a
comfort that must have been to them all.
One month later, April 28, 2004, William
Thomas (Tom's brother) sent me a letter with 2 photos of Tom. In the
letter, William was grateful that Tom’s memory lives on; he worries that Tom
will be forgotten.
I imagine that is the fear of everyone
who has lost someone to war. The sad
truth is, we do forget.
At church yesterday,
all those who have ever served our country were asked to stand before the
congregation. As the 8 men from 3
generations stood humbly before us, we were asked to go forward and personally
thank them for their service and sacrifice.
There were hugs. There were
tears.
In the name of the freedoms we enjoy –
and take for granted – I ask you to do the same. Thank a veteran. Thank an active duty soldier. Thank a police officer, a firefighter, a
member of the Coast Guard, etc. - anyone who has served and sacrificed for you
to live and worship freely; anyone who is charged with keeping our homes and
our children safe. It will cost you
nothing but it will mean everything to them.
The medic who was with Tom Thomas when he
died sent me something he wrote for a reunion of the boys of B Company in May
of 1999. I sent him an email last night
asking him for permission to share it with you.
His reply: “I hope it
communicates some of the feelings medics have.”
Ode to a Fallen Grunt
by Gary (Doc) Stolp
The grief I feel for you my friends, I
never can fully let go.
You were there one day: and then you
were gone, and no one can really explain the why of it.
I loved you as a brother and more – oh
so much more.
You shared my loads; and I gave you the
affection I could.
But you, you gave your all for me and for the other
brothers there and here;
And for others who will never know nor
really appreciate the kind of brother willing to risk all –
To ultimately give all.
I feel so empty.
The times, the places, the faces, and
names are all being eroded by the sands of time.
I wish I were more so I could honor you
more.
You all deserve so much more than I can
ever give you.
If only I could remember better the
kindnesses you gave.
The times you switched rations, ‘cause
you knew I couldn’t eat ham and lima beans.
The times you carried part of my load
‘cause you saw I was ready to fall.
The time you told me: “Doc, you remind me of my Mom; she’s the only
one that cared for me like you do.”
You warmed my heart, when it was cold.
You made me feel like I was an intimate
part of your family, if only for a little while.
I withheld part of me while I knew you.
I was so afraid that I could not do my
job if I became too close.
And by being more distant, I now have
this big hole in my heart for you
Because I don’t know how to tell you
what the time we spent together means to me.
I can only tell you that I would never
trade it for the safety of staying home.
My Brothers, Fallen Brothers,
I carry a little bit of you with me
every day.
How can I ever let you go?
You would never let me go.
You watched my every step along the
way.
"Follow me! "
"Don’t step there Doc, it’s booby
trapped!"
"Walk in my steps, it’s safe
there."
You were so courageous my Brothers.
And I was always afraid that you would
find out the fears I carried around inside.
Fear that I could not do the things
that needed to be done.
Fear that I would let you down.
Fear that I would lose you,
More afraid of really living than
dying.
There’s a wall,
A wall with your name on it.
If only I could remember all those
things I should, I could meet you there.
But there’s another wall,
And behind that wall all brothers meet
together
In another time and another place.
And in that time and place,
We shall get to know one another again.
There’s a Father over all brothers.
His memory does not fade with the
changes of time
And He will heal all sorrows and wipe
away all tears.
I love you, Brothers, like a brother
And I miss you.
Doc
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Tom
Thomas
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I
will remember.
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