The Wall

In honor of Memorial Day, I thought I would share an amazing personal experience I had while visiting the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington D.C.

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 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

Tom Thomas

I will remember. 

The Simple Life

Because we home school, what was once my “home office” is now the “classroom”.  Label it home office or classroom, I have found that I flourish and am most creative and relaxed when I am surrounded by the things I love.  Much like the rest of my house, it is filled with collectibles, photographs, old books, etc.   On my desk is a calendar/blotter from the Susan Branch collection.  I love, love, love her whimsy, her artwork, the colors she uses, etc.  Loosely woven into her month of May calendar page are lines like, “Time began in the garden”, “If you’re happy & you know it, clap your hands” and “Won’t you come into our garden?  We would like our flowers to see you.”  But there is one quote that I’m particularly drawn to every time I sit down at my desk, “’Earth’s crammed with heaven & every common bush.’  Elizabeth Barrett Browning.”   My translation of this would be, “God can be found in all living things.”  Amen?  Amen!

When we found the property we now call home, it was completely wooded.  I told my husband I wanted him to carve out a winding road and put our house smack dab in the middle of the woods; and that’s exactly what he did.  We are completely surrounded by trees and all kinds of wildlife.  I love living in the woods; it’s quiet and peaceful and easy to find God in this setting.  As I look out of the classroom window, I see Pine, assorted Oaks, Yaupon, and what we not-so-lovingly call “scrub trees”.  The trees are particularly beautiful right now because we had a little rain a few days ago.  I also see dirt where grass cannot grow because of the shade the trees provide.  I see the family dog rolling in a patch of grass, birds at the feeders, and the cat asleep in the birdbath.  The sky is blue today and there’s a gentle breeze.  If we don’t stop long enough to enjoy these things, I guess I can see how easy it would be to miss God in all of this.

For me, the trees are not just trees; when I look at them I am reminded of the Garden of Eden, the place where Adam walked with God.  The place where Adam not only shared his most private thoughts with God, but he did so face-to-face.  How I long for the day when I can do the same.

The dirt is not just dirt.  It is the “stuff” of which God formed Adam.  The same stuff my kids trample through the house, the stuff that accumulates so quickly on the top of the coffee table, the TV cabinet, and the dresser – this dust, this dirt was used to create man.  This dirt also reminds me that I am nothing without God.

As I watch the animals, I am reminded of the many discussions I have had with my children about why God created mosquitoes, or gnats, or love bugs and how Adam managed to come up with all those names.

The clear blue sky and the gentle breeze remind me of the story in 1Kings 19.  We expect to find God in the bigger things/the bigger events in our lives; in fact, we look for Him there.   We’re relieved when He shows up and angry when we think He hasn’t.  But God was not found in the powerful wind, or the earthquake, or the fire; God was found in “the gentle whisper”.  I love that picture.

If anyone reading this has never watched at least one episode of The Waltons, shame on you!  It was (and still is) one of the best family-based television shows produced.  If you have seen it, you know that the series was built around a family consisting of 7 children, a mother AND a father, and a grandmother and grandfather – all living under the same roof during The Great Depression which began in 1929.

It’s not The Waltons that I specifically want to talk about here, but the lifestyle of people during that period.  Life was simple then.  You may say, “There was nothing about living through the depression that was simple!”  Absolutely, I get that.  I guess what I mean is, when you don’t have “things” to clutter your life/your space, and to occupy your mind, all you’re left with is – family.   Today we are in bondage to our schedules, our conveniences, our toys, our debt.

John Walton, Sr., and men like him during that time, wasn’t obsessed with his career and making money so he could buy more things.  He worked hard at any job he could get just to put food on the table for his family.   He had to be creative; He bartered for food, livestock, and services.  He taught his children how to use their hands and their minds in the same way by his own example.  The children had chores that included far more than just feeding the family dog.  They were expected to learn skills pertaining to jobs inside the home and out.  They were taught not just to work hard but to do a good job.  They learned that if they wanted something outside the definition of their basic needs, they would have to work or barter for it themselves.  This upbringing afforded each one of them the opportunity to learn and establish a good work ethic. 

I remember my grandmother, who was raised with 2 brothers, telling me how she used to have to herd cows with the rest of the boys/men on my great-grandfather’s ranch.  She told of how she had to get up before dawn, help with breakfast, do her own household chores, then head for the stables where she would ready herself and her horse for herding, branding, or whatever was on the agenda for the day.  At the end of the day, she would head for the kitchen to help her mother prepare the evening meal.  She would then help with dishes, complete any unfinished chores, then off to bed only to rise the next morning and repeat the same.

I’m sure she complained.  I’m sure she was tired.   I’m sure she dreamt of a different kind of life, maybe even living in the city, without the smell of livestock.  But this was her life.  It was all she knew.  It was how her family made a living.  In many ways, she was happy to be able to do her share.  I remember her as being an extremely hard worker, afraid of nothing and no one; she was strong physically and emotionally. 

Back at the Walton’s, neighbors were there for each other.  If your barn burned down, they were there to help you put out the fire, clean up the mess, and raise it up again; you didn’t have to ask them, they would just show up.  Today, we not only don’t know our neighbors, we don’t want to know our neighbors.

The long and the short of it is this, when life was simpler it was all about family.  Everyone ate at the table together, everyone gathered around the radio together after supper, everyone went to church together and sat on the same pew.  It didn’t matter how much they had or didn’t have, they had each other.

No, I didn’t grow up during this time, but my grandmother did raise me so I suppose many of her “old ways” rubbed off on me.   Children these days are growing up in a society that espouses an “ALL ABOUT ME” mentality.  There is a sense of entitlement that is sickening on the part of adults and children alike.  There is no GOOD work ethic, especially among young men and boys.  Boys get everything they want so why should they get a summer job and unmarried men are still living at home with their parents.  Parents expect the church to teach their children and many share no spiritual relationship with their children at all.  That is so sad to me.  Some of the sweetest treasures God has given me have been through teaching and interacting with my children spiritually.  Families don’t sit together in church AND there’s no “church etiquette”.  We see food and drink in the sanctuary, people (adults and children) walk in front of the Pastor, as he’s speaking just to go to the bathroom, there is talking during the service instead of listening.  Fathers don’t know their role in the home; mothers don’t know their position in the family; children don’t know where they fit in and sometimes feel like they don’t fit in at all – SOMEBODY STOP ME!!

 We have always worshipped with our children.  My girls are grown and have families of their own now, but they are still in church with us.  My teenage son sits with us.  My grandchildren occasionally bless us by climbing into our laps during the worship service.  For us, church is a family affair and I think that’s the way God intended it.  There is a spiritual intimacy that binds you together when you worship as a family; a spiritual bond.

Oh, how I long for a simpler time, a simpler life!  A life where people are more important than things.  A life where families eat together and pray together and pull together.  A life where you not only know your neighbor’s name but you fellowship together, raise your children together. 

I heard James Dobson speak on women and depression once.   He said that years ago, women had fellowship together over coffee, over the clothesline, in the backyard with their kids; they saw each other daily, they were each other’s support system.  Today, women are isolated, so to speak, because of their jobs, their children’s activities, and their schedules.   Dobson said that women need other women in their everyday lives to grow, to nurture and be nurtured, to encourage, to strengthen.  I sooo believe this to be true.   I have needed it in my own life; especially when I was raising small children.   I have been blessed to disciple many women over the years and I can tell you that every one of them would have greatly benefitted from having another God-fearing woman to walk through life with. 

The simple life.  Will we ever see it again?

Only if God becomes the foundation of the home.  Only if moms are willing to trust God enough to stay at home with their children.   Only if dads will bow their knees and become the Priest in their homes.  Only if husbands pray with their wives and bathe them in the Word of the Lord.  Only if children respect their parents as the authority God has placed over them. 

Only if families come together under God, the Creator of all things.

Christians Weigh-In

 "Usama Bin Laden is dead."

As my husband and I were sitting in the living room watching television last night, our program was interrupted with this latest breaking news...

"the one responsible for so much tragedy in the world today..."

"the man the United States has been hunting since September 11, 2001..."

"the news we have all been waiting to hear since that fateful day..."

"Usama Bin Laden is dead."

I am going to be honest with you, as I always am - I really didn't know what to feel.  Even in this moment as I type these individual letters on my keyboard, I cannot put a name to what I am feeling.  After President Obama's speech, my husband and I quietly got up and began picking up the living room and getting ready for bed; neither of us said a word.  Finally I said to him, "As a Christian, I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about this."

Here's my conflict: 

Is it wrong to rejoice when people die? 

Am I betraying the ones who lost their lives on 9/11 and all those who have lost their lives on the battlefield since if I don't rejoice?

If you know my husband, you know that he is a true Believer; he loves God with his whole heart.  I look to him as my Priest in our home and I find his spiritual wisdom and knowledge invaluable.  But, he's also a patriot.  He loves his country; he's served his country. He has felt very passionate, as most Americans, about what happened on 9/11.  He is very outspoken about his political views and I honesty expected him to be jumping up and down with the rest of the country over this particular development.  Instead, he looked up from what he was doing and said, "I know what you mean.  Are we supposed to be rejoicing when a man dies and goes to hell?" 

I would love to be able to continue this post with some great words of wisdom, with some profound theological discussion that might obsolve us (as Christians) of any confusion or guilt we might be feeling, but I really am not capable in this moment of going there. 

So...

I'm asking you to weigh-in.  I would love to know what my brothers and sisters are feeling about this right now.  I especially would like to hear from you if you find yourself conflicted as I am.  Please, let me hear from you.  The instructions for replying to this post are here to help you with your comments.