Since the summer before we became parents, until today, Keith and I have traveled to many amazing and enthralling places, but the ribbon of highway often takes us to battle fields where Americans who came before us died, because they stood for the conviction that all men should be free. Here are a few of the stories we heard and experienced, that forever changed us.
Among the rolling hills and along the Tennessee River and the Mississippi/Tennessee state line, stands Shiloh National Military Park. We visited there the summer we were expecting our first born child. White grave markers extend as far as the eye can see. Swords, bullets and cannon wounded or killed 23,746 Union and Confederate soldiers in two days. It is said that during rainy weather you can still smell the stench of bodies that lay in the heat on those late spring days, waiting to be buried. My feet touched where their blood spilled. I cried and begged God to stop hatred and war. He said, “Let it begin with you, don’t hate.”
Years later, on July 4th, 2001 (just weeks before 9/11) we took our daughters to York Town National Historical Park to watch fireworks over the James River. As we carried our blankets and picnic down a small ditch and up a short climb, then down and up again and again, we realized we were hiking the trenches men had dug to safeguard themselves against enemy fire. My heart stilled. This hallowed place was both a Revolutionary and Civil War battle field. As earth’s eternal spin hid the sun’s rays, and the stars began to shine on a perfect evening, a military choir serenaded us with many wonderful, patriotic choruses, but when they began God Bless America, I couldn’t breath. I held the hands of my children knowing the cost someone else paid for my privilege. I asked God to protect them from the storm clouds of dissension that could bring about another war and rob them of the blessings they enjoyed. God said, “Let it begin with you, teach them to love.”
In the same summer we traveled a small distance to Gettysburg, PA, a quaint town that has preserved our Civil War history beautifully. We viewed gunshot holes in bed posts and stepped into cellars were civilians hid. We journeyed across the battlefield, and made our way to the National Cemetery. It was my mistake to believe that only casualties of the war between the states were enshrined there. Keith quietly asked me to look down. I didn’t understand until he said, “Read the date.” I did, “December 7, 1941.” (Pearl Harbor) Then he said, “Do the math.” I did. The soldier was only 16 years old when he drew his last breath for me and mine. This young patriot lied about his age and joined the navy hoping his life would mean something more. It does, it means everything! I asked God to make life mean something better. He said, “Let it begin with you, be brave.”
Finally, I have been to Arlington. There are no words. Even as we gave our respect to those who were entombed there, new graves were preparing to receive those who deserve this honor and much more. I asked God to make me worthy. He said, “You are worthy, be honorable and noble.”
The ears I speak to will never hear my humble gratitude, but I say it anyway. “Thank you!” To those that gave their life so that I could bask in a freedom like no other on the face of the earth, “Thank you.”
Have a Blessed Weekend,
Gretchen
