The American Flag Through the Eyes of a Veteran

The phone call had surprised me. Jerry’s brother, Claude, was saying that he was passing through town on the way to his weekend guard duty. Could he come by and visit with us? “Sure, that would be fine, but Jerry is out of town, gone to a training class for his new job,” I answered. He said he would still like to come by to see the kids. I answered his knock at the door, and thought how much more he looked like his dad. Usually he looked so much more like Jerry, but age was favoring his dad now that he was over 40. Claude, Jr. was the oldest of the seven brothers and sisters. Jerry was in the middle somewhere.

The kids were clinging to his pants legs and he carried Gloria riding on his foot as he made his way to the sofa. He hadn’t been able to get here for Jerry’s retirement at the base. No one in the family had made it. It had been just the guys in the squadron and me. We wisely chose not to bring the girls and baby Lee. I had driven to the base by myself, and Jerry’s commander and I tried to talk him out of retirement and back into another tour of duty. The recent promotion to Sr. Master Sergeant had come with a remote tour overseas. Jerry was the most committed family man I had ever known, and he was not going to leave his family. I knew that I was not going to the island of Guam with a newborn and two little girls. Retirement was Jerry’s only option in his way of thinking. The only thing I remember from the ceremony was fighting back tears of regret for the shortened military career of a man who had never planned to retire less than Chief Master Sergeant. I knew that the regret would eat him alive from within and that I would be the reason for it. I vaguely remember seeing him receive the flag that had flown over the Capitol in Washington D.C., which was provided by our state representative. We sort of knew him because his right-hand-man was an active member of our church.

“Oh, I want to show you Jerry’s flag!” I said to Claude, as I rushed down the hallway to get it from the bedroom where it was mounted in a triangular display case. I took it out, and said, “It flew over the Capitol, you know.” As I turned to face Claude, he stood to his full height and reached his arms forward to receive the American flag. As I walked across the room toward him, there was a hollow ringing sound in my ears. I heard my voice, as if it were very far away. I didn’t have time to think about what I was saying. My eyes locked with those of my brother-in-law and the world blurred into slow motion. I watched his face as the flag slowly passed from my hands to his. I saw his eyes drop from my face to the stripes of red and white and stars on a field of blue. Somehow I knew that I would never see this man again. I swallowed hard, and I forced the dark, bitter-strong thought from my mind. He was beaming with pride and his eyes glistened as he looked at this precious symbol of the freedom he had fought for in Viet Nam. I was faint and nausea was rising in my throat as the brown carpet swirled at my feet.

Jerry came home that night and I made my voice light and unconcerned as I told him how Claude had played with the children, and that I hoped he didn’t mind that I had taken the flag out of the case to show it to his brother.  When the phone call came from their sister three days later, I was not even surprised. I drove out to the base, and I wept as I told Jerry that his big brother, Claude, had died. He didn’t seem to understand what I was saying at first, and then he put his hand on his forehead and sank back in the chair at this desk. I never told him of the slow-motion premonition. I don’t recall ever telling anyone at all.

We drove to the family hometown in north Alabama. It didn’t occur to us to drive over to the base where Claude had been serving weekend guard duty, although it was only a couple of hours from our house. When we arrived with all the children in tow, Grandpa’s house was full of family. As an only-child, this big family had taken some getting used to for me. We sat in the kitchen with the rest of the family trying to comfort their daddy. He was a man of very few words, and there were no words at all for this day. Someone finally said that he wanted his oldest boy brought home, and that it just wasn’t fair to have to wait a week for the funeral service. I didn’t fully understand, but I knew something was not happening the way it should be. Why would they wait a week to have the service? The sisters put together an explanation about the confusion that was delaying the body being shipped home. “See, Claude, Jr. was in the Army Guard, but they sent his troop to work at the Air Force Base in Florida,” the sisters explained. “The Army has no control over when the Air Force will release the body,” they continued, “and Daddy is upset about it.” 

I walked to the phone and said, “I need to make a few calls, ok?” Our church office had the phone number for our state representative’s right-hand-man. After thanking him for sending Jerry’s retirement flag, I told him about the circumstances we were facing. I explained that Jerry’s brother’s body was being held at the base at Eglin and the Air Force wouldn’t release it.” 

“Do you know where I am?” this friend-of-our-family asked. “And, do you know who is right here with me?” he continued. I had no idea that he and our state representative were at that very moment at Eglin Air Force Base. The number given to me by the church secretary had been forwarded to a meeting room directly across the street from the office where the decision would be made to release the body of my husband’s brother that same afternoon. 

How marvelous are His ways! We all acknowledged that God had indeed intervened to unravel the red tape on our behalf.

"O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways untraceable!" 

Romans 11:33

LORD, thank you for the riches you give us through your wisdom. You know what we need even before we experience the loss and sorrow of grief. Keep our tender hearts in your care always. In Jesus' name, Amen.

The Homecoming Prayer

I don’t remember if she was in the hospital when we arrived for the Labor Day Weekend festivities, but suddenly we were at the hospital. She was weak and thin, and seemed more frail than anyone I had ever seen. Jerry and I waited in the hallway of the ICU.

The feeling of nausea was familiar, but seemed out of place now that I was past the second trimester of my first pregnancy. The nagging pain in my heart contrasted sharply with the butterfly kicks of the fetus within. “She will be fine,” I told myself as I prayed that this child would get to meet her great-grandmother. 



I knew that Mama Rene would want to see her only grandchild’s baby more than anything else in the world. I saw my mother standing a few feet away from the bed when they waved me into the private room. I was glad that she had stepped away to give me a few minutes with Mama Rene. Someone had combed her hair and helped her apply fresh lipstick. She smiled that serene smile that had comforted me all my life as she said, “It’s time for me to go home now.”

“Well, good,” I said. “I’m so glad you are getting to come home.” She really looked so much better than earlier that afternoon. Her eyes were shining and the color in her cheeks had returned. Her sweet smile did not betray the true meaning of her words. “I have to go home now, Sweetheart. I am so happy about going home, and I want you to be happy, too.” She asked me to give her a kiss, and I teased her that I would be giving her a great big kiss just as soon as we got her back in her own bed at home.

How odd it seemed that she should close her eyes. She didn’t laugh at my teasing and her smile faded as her face relaxed. Suddenly the nurses were entering the room. Jerry was pushing me out into the hallway, and my mother was sobbing, “No, no.”

Oh, that “home!”  She did not mean her earthly home, but the home of her precious Lord Jesus. She knew she was going to a glorious home that she could not describe. She was happy to go, and I knew that she had wanted us to let her go as peacefully as possible.

Later than night, Jerry and I slept in her bed. There were only two bedrooms in her house where I had spent most of my childhood. The hardwood floors were smooth and worn, and the walls were the same soft green that I had always known. My parents were in the other bedroom. I didn’t think I could sleep there, but somehow I had fallen into a deep sleep. The dream began immediately as if there were only a few minutes to accomplish a night’s work. The creamy green mixed with clouds of white. A misty wind blew gently around me as I floated up and up and up. I was aware that someone above me was watching intently as I ascended. There was nothing to fear. I felt relaxed as if I were sleeping peacefully in my own bed.

She could see the unborn baby through the flesh of my abdomen, and she was beaming with pride. I couldn’t see her clearly, but I knew the familiar look of unconditional love that had always favored me. She was rejoicing at the miracle of seeing her great-grandchild for the first time. I could feel the presence of His hand pushing gently into my body. There was no pain, just a feeling of awe as I realized that His unseen hand was holding the tiniest foot. Slowly, my baby’s foot was lifted up. There was an odd static unrest in the air above me. I could hear whispered words, but not clearly enough to understand what she was saying. She had been allowed to see something that was still hidden from my view. His other hand slowly covered the toes and wrapped around the fingers that held my baby’s foot. It took only a second, and then things were back to normal. I was waking up as the dim morning light made soft shadows on the creamy green walls.

I remember waking Jerry, but I didn’t tell him about the dream. I just cried quietly in his arms. He comforted me in his easy way unaware of the wonderful dream. I’m sure he thought that facing the first day without my grandmother was reason enough for me to cry. With fingers of curiosity, I gently rubbed my stomach. The baby inside slept peacefully. When Candi was born months later, there was an odd little birthmark on the bottom of her foot just below the toes. The blue-pink marking was the only sign of the miracle that I held deep within my heart. She pranced upon those toes as she began walking. She danced on those toes in frilly pink costumes. She cheered and tumbled her way through high school and college on the foot that was healed by our Creator at the prayer of her great-grandmother on a miraculous night.

To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. At His side and in the familiar conversation of one who prayed continually, her request for healing was granted. She was home indeed! And I had witnessed the glory of it all in a beautiful dream. What joy to know that He had given her the desire of her heart on the day of her home coming. She would not have left this earth without seeing that baby born except to enter into His presence. He allowed her to see without any limitation, so clearly that she could see the tiny physical flaw. She saw beyond the timeless boundaries and spoke her request in faith to Him. He healed the child inside the womb based on the faith of this new celestial citizen. What compassion He shows us even in miraculous moments of peaceful sleep.

"We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord." 2 Corinthians 5:8

LORD, thank you for your promise to those who have chosen to accept your gift of salvation that we will be present with you when we leave this earth. The fear of leaving our human bodies cannot compare with the joy of being with you for all eternity. In Jesus' name, Amen.

My Little Samuel (as told to me by his mother)

“My Little Samuel,

My Little Samuel,

He’s a precious little tiny angel.

My Little Samuel.”

I sang this song to him over and again while we rocked! Samuel means “Asked of God” – that is exactly what I had done. Just like Hannah asked for her son in I Samuel 1:10, I had prayed for a child. God granted that gift with a wonderful 7 lb. 10 oz. baby boy – Samuel!

We had three and a half busy, happy years together before God took Samuel home to be with him. I felt such unimaginable grief, betrayal, anguish, abandonment, emptiness, injustice – “This can’t be – God didn’t really give me the desire of my heart only to take him back! I didn’t have long enough, I needed more time!” It was around midnight on a Saturday night when my life was changed forever – my little Samuel was gone tragically on Mother’s Day.

The day began like so many others, as I was cooking breakfast while Samuel played upstairs in the playroom. I heard him crying and I ran upstairs. He was holding a place on his chest. There was no blood to indicate a serious injury, but I held him until he quit crying. There was nothing but a tiny red dot on his chest. He wanted to show Daddy and put a Winnie the Pooh band-aid on it. A small accident was an all-too-familiar scene in the life of a three year old boy.

When the babysitter arrived, my husband and I went to work and all seemed well. When I got home from work, Samuel's babysitter said he had not felt good after a long nap. She took his shirt off and showed me the place he had hurt that morning. The tiny red dot had swollen like a mosquito bite. We went out to dinner with some friends and Samuel was just not himself. He didn’t want to eat or play.

At dinner, I noticed the place on his chest was bruising. Afterwards, we decided to take him to the emergency room just to make sure everything was okay. The nurse took his vital signs and he seemed to be fine although he did not want her to touch his chest. While we were going over the insurance information, my husband held Samuel in his arms. Suddenly, Samuel had a seizure that made his little body become stiff. The doctors and nurses were running everywhere. They made Ron put Samuel on a bed and immediately they ran us out of the room. The doctors and nurses worked on him for two hours trying to revive him. It was after midnight when the doctor told us there was nothing they could do. The doctor could not hide his own tears as he said that Samuel had bled internally all day. He said there was no way we could have known that anything was wrong. He said that he would not have even brought his own child in any sooner than we did. I later realized that it was Mother’s Day when Samuel was pronounced dead.

I felt as though my world had stopped when Samuel died. Life became very dark. I felt like it was the end of my hopes, the end of my dreams, and the end of the world that I lived for. The reality that he was gone was more than I could bear.

I thought of all the things I could never do again. I could never hold him again, rock him to sleep, kiss his tiny hurts, brush that baby fine hair, sing to him and teach him, watch cartoons or play outside, hear him call my name, see the sparkle in his eyes, comfort him when he was afraid, clean up his messes and pick up toys, wash his little clothes, give him a bath as he played with tub toys, sing with him while getting him dressed, praise him for “going potty,” or touch his soft skin, know his sweet love, go to birthday parties or day care, read bed time stories, or watch him participate in school programs.

I thought about not seeing him grow through kindergarten, elementary and high school, play soccer, walk across the stage at graduation, go to college, or even marry and have a family of his own.  My arms were empty, but even more the arms of my heart ached to hold him one more time – just once!  All that was left to remind us of Samuel were his toys and clothes, his room, his friends, his pictures, our memories, and his tiny hand-prints on the windows. I felt that all I really had left was the agony of empty arms.

This was the first time I had ever felt disappointed in God, thinking He had not taken care of me. I had given my life to the Lord when I was 6 years old, so I had always been confident that God was in me and with me taking care of me. Although I felt disappointed in God, the truth is that He never said that life would be fair. I felt cheated because the plans I had for my life were not His plans. There were no answers for my tormenting questions. We never really knew what caused Samuel’s death. When I could no longer answer my questions about who I was any more, what was my purpose for living was now, God answered them for me. I felt that I was at the end of my rope when I read Romans 8:26-27:

     In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know     what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will.

Indeed the Spirit had interceded for me when I was so emotionally exhausted that there were no words. Then I could finally say to God, “All that I am and all that is mine are Yours.” When I finally gave it all to Him, He began to renew my mind with His strength, His presence, compassion and grace. I had to be still and let Him overwhelm me with the reality that He is God. I had to be still and surrender my hopes and dreams to Him!

One year later, my Mom died after much suffering with cancer. I was numb from losing my baby and my Mama. Ironically, it was again on Mother’s Day – when I should have been celebrating with my Mom and being celebrated for being a Mom!  For me, it was gripping grief – nothing more.  As time passed, I sought healing and yielded to God’s sovereignty. I learned to celebrate the little things, to praise God for His purposes and plans, to cherish the time with loved ones, to give them to God in my heart, to try to see people and situations through God’s eyes, to know when God needs me to be his messenger of hope and peace. No, it has not been easy! But His mercies are new every morning!

Until He calls me home, and until I see Mama and Samuel again, I will trust Him to guide, sustain, comfort and provide. I can hardly wait to hear Him say, “Well Done!”

“My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him” (Psalm 62:1).

Lord, through our greatest sorrow and pain, your Holy Spirit provides comfort. We cannot understand, but we can rest assured that you know our hearts. God, the Father of our Lord Jesus, sacrificed His only Son so that we might have eternal life and perfect healing in Heaven. Thank you for the life of this precious child, Samuel, and for the peace you gave to his mother – a peace that is beyond human understanding. In Jesus' name, Amen.