booksbenji
10-18-07, 04:05 PM
:thumbup:
the return of Ben III (Trey)from the WOT:
Reflections: The homecoming from war, and the fight for freedom
by Carroll Weihrich
TEARS
One this scorching Texas summer day, I sit at a table waiting for a flight that will bring my son home to me. Along with one hundred or so others, I wait with baited expectations of seeing him step out of the International Baggage Claim area. People are milling around everywhere, some young women holding babies their husbands have yet to see. A look of concern passes across faces from time to time, worrying that loved ones missed the flight or something else just as ridiculous detains them from this much anticipated reunion. Common bonds are forged as individuals discuss their soldiers most are from Ft. Hood, in the dirty, hotter than Hades, central land of Texas. Yet, even the worst of Ft. Hood is preferable to the best of Iraq.
Before I left the hotel this morning to come here to this noisy airport, I saw on the news where, once again, sixty plus lives were claimed by a car bombing at a Shiite Mosque somewhere around Baghdad. Three more American soldiers will never see their flight back to the ones they love. Three more bodies will be draped with the Stars and Stripes, all for what? So that others in the world can experience the freedom we take for granted. Sometimes I'm not so sure I understand that need. Sometimes, I'm selfish and just want America to leave well enough alone so that we can live our lives in peace and not worry about the other people in the world.
Suddenly, I hear a roar of applause break out, and on looking up, I see the first group of soldiers from Iraq arrive through the doors. I try to be miffed because my son's flight preceded this one, but was waylaid in Ireland with a bum engine where repairs had to be made before the plane could continue. In reality, my son should have arrived first. However, I can't be miffed. I'm so proud of all these young men and women for saying that they will take on a difficult job that none of us want and they will do it for family, country, and world. So, my heart swells with pride as I witness the tears of joy falling down the faces of family members and soldiers alike as they find each other in the crowd.
Volunteers from a local business complex and area churches have formed an aisle, like Texan's do at high school football games. The cheers are wild and abundant as the flags wave, goodies are passed out, and every returning hero's hand is shook. I see tears of joy as wives, husbands, parents, etc. embrace our returning warriors, giving the fatigue-clad wonders gifts of love, joy, and happiness. I look into the faces of the young men and women as they pass through the corridor of these grateful few, and I see the babies they truly are.
Yet, when my penetrating gaze finds their eyes I observe a depth of knowledge and experience that only war can place within, a hardness required to do a job I'm afraid of doing myself. But, then each soldier smiles and the inner light of youth and innocence returns once again. That joy to be home among those who love them, who protect their hearts from fatal disarray their mothers, fathers, etc, and even the care of strangers all those who lift them to an almighty God put a rubber stamp on their duty in service to their country and ultimately to all mankind.
Then I notice the tears not only in the eyes of the father, who sees his newborn son for the very first time, but tears are flowing down my cheeks and I join in on the applause. These young men and women are returning to the bosom of the country that sent them to war America's people why, because we enjoy our freedom and want it to continue as it always has in the past.
The roar continues as the last of the 10:30 flight passes through the ranks of the faithful few, and then silence prevails. I linger, trying to read the novel I brought with me, trying to keep my mind occupied as I wait for my son to appear through the doors. I can't concentrate because I remember another soldier in the news several weeks ago, returning to the bosom of his loved ones, draped with a flag of red/white and blue. I remember a mother who waited as her heart told her this was the last time she would look upon her beloved child's face. I remember as he passed through the crowd, not unlike the one I have witnessed here today. However, no cheers blasted through silent air, and no joy pervaded the heat of the scorching Texas day. Flags were waved in silent respect as an entire town turned out to say goodbye to their fallen hero. A corridor of our country's Stars and Stripes is witnessed by children and adults alike, along a silent and reverent highway filled with his neighbors, as this young soldier, who will never see the face of his newborn son, travels to his final resting place.
I can't stop the flow of tears caused by the memory of this young man who gave his life for those who yell "foul" or spit in the face of the "infidel." My tears are on the verge of sobs as my anger grows concerning people in my own country who get behind a cause they know nothing about, shouting "Bush is a pig" and "We have no business in Iraq." My heart weeps for those too soon forgotten in twin towers brought to the ground. My son once told me that terrorism is an act of war and that is why we are in Iraq, and Afghanistan, and will be anywhere else innocent people are afflicted with the atrocities of the monsters of this world - monsters who seek power, money, and self-gratification.
Yes, I question why we have to continue in a war where so many of our youth are sacrificed for the benefit of others. But then I see the monster's face in my mind and know that if we don't go in search of him, he will come to us. I, for one, do not want to live in fear of what tomorrow may bring. I too enjoy freedom which allows me to be in this airport looking for the face of my son as he arrives home from a far away war.
My angry thoughts have taken me from my objective, but the volunteers' applause brings me back to reality and I once again search for my returning warrior. I'm so proud to be his mother and to be able to welcome him home oh, there he is tears once again adorn my cheeks as I reach out to embrace my son, my first born, my hero. Praise be unto God that he can still carry the weight of the red/white and blue upon his strong and able shoulders, and is not arriving draped in it. Praise be unto God that there are those willing to face the monsters in this world and say "Not this time, not in my home." Praise be unto God, my son is one of them.
:iwo:
the return of Ben III (Trey)from the WOT:
Reflections: The homecoming from war, and the fight for freedom
by Carroll Weihrich
TEARS
One this scorching Texas summer day, I sit at a table waiting for a flight that will bring my son home to me. Along with one hundred or so others, I wait with baited expectations of seeing him step out of the International Baggage Claim area. People are milling around everywhere, some young women holding babies their husbands have yet to see. A look of concern passes across faces from time to time, worrying that loved ones missed the flight or something else just as ridiculous detains them from this much anticipated reunion. Common bonds are forged as individuals discuss their soldiers most are from Ft. Hood, in the dirty, hotter than Hades, central land of Texas. Yet, even the worst of Ft. Hood is preferable to the best of Iraq.
Before I left the hotel this morning to come here to this noisy airport, I saw on the news where, once again, sixty plus lives were claimed by a car bombing at a Shiite Mosque somewhere around Baghdad. Three more American soldiers will never see their flight back to the ones they love. Three more bodies will be draped with the Stars and Stripes, all for what? So that others in the world can experience the freedom we take for granted. Sometimes I'm not so sure I understand that need. Sometimes, I'm selfish and just want America to leave well enough alone so that we can live our lives in peace and not worry about the other people in the world.
Suddenly, I hear a roar of applause break out, and on looking up, I see the first group of soldiers from Iraq arrive through the doors. I try to be miffed because my son's flight preceded this one, but was waylaid in Ireland with a bum engine where repairs had to be made before the plane could continue. In reality, my son should have arrived first. However, I can't be miffed. I'm so proud of all these young men and women for saying that they will take on a difficult job that none of us want and they will do it for family, country, and world. So, my heart swells with pride as I witness the tears of joy falling down the faces of family members and soldiers alike as they find each other in the crowd.
Volunteers from a local business complex and area churches have formed an aisle, like Texan's do at high school football games. The cheers are wild and abundant as the flags wave, goodies are passed out, and every returning hero's hand is shook. I see tears of joy as wives, husbands, parents, etc. embrace our returning warriors, giving the fatigue-clad wonders gifts of love, joy, and happiness. I look into the faces of the young men and women as they pass through the corridor of these grateful few, and I see the babies they truly are.
Yet, when my penetrating gaze finds their eyes I observe a depth of knowledge and experience that only war can place within, a hardness required to do a job I'm afraid of doing myself. But, then each soldier smiles and the inner light of youth and innocence returns once again. That joy to be home among those who love them, who protect their hearts from fatal disarray their mothers, fathers, etc, and even the care of strangers all those who lift them to an almighty God put a rubber stamp on their duty in service to their country and ultimately to all mankind.
Then I notice the tears not only in the eyes of the father, who sees his newborn son for the very first time, but tears are flowing down my cheeks and I join in on the applause. These young men and women are returning to the bosom of the country that sent them to war America's people why, because we enjoy our freedom and want it to continue as it always has in the past.
The roar continues as the last of the 10:30 flight passes through the ranks of the faithful few, and then silence prevails. I linger, trying to read the novel I brought with me, trying to keep my mind occupied as I wait for my son to appear through the doors. I can't concentrate because I remember another soldier in the news several weeks ago, returning to the bosom of his loved ones, draped with a flag of red/white and blue. I remember a mother who waited as her heart told her this was the last time she would look upon her beloved child's face. I remember as he passed through the crowd, not unlike the one I have witnessed here today. However, no cheers blasted through silent air, and no joy pervaded the heat of the scorching Texas day. Flags were waved in silent respect as an entire town turned out to say goodbye to their fallen hero. A corridor of our country's Stars and Stripes is witnessed by children and adults alike, along a silent and reverent highway filled with his neighbors, as this young soldier, who will never see the face of his newborn son, travels to his final resting place.
I can't stop the flow of tears caused by the memory of this young man who gave his life for those who yell "foul" or spit in the face of the "infidel." My tears are on the verge of sobs as my anger grows concerning people in my own country who get behind a cause they know nothing about, shouting "Bush is a pig" and "We have no business in Iraq." My heart weeps for those too soon forgotten in twin towers brought to the ground. My son once told me that terrorism is an act of war and that is why we are in Iraq, and Afghanistan, and will be anywhere else innocent people are afflicted with the atrocities of the monsters of this world - monsters who seek power, money, and self-gratification.
Yes, I question why we have to continue in a war where so many of our youth are sacrificed for the benefit of others. But then I see the monster's face in my mind and know that if we don't go in search of him, he will come to us. I, for one, do not want to live in fear of what tomorrow may bring. I too enjoy freedom which allows me to be in this airport looking for the face of my son as he arrives home from a far away war.
My angry thoughts have taken me from my objective, but the volunteers' applause brings me back to reality and I once again search for my returning warrior. I'm so proud to be his mother and to be able to welcome him home oh, there he is tears once again adorn my cheeks as I reach out to embrace my son, my first born, my hero. Praise be unto God that he can still carry the weight of the red/white and blue upon his strong and able shoulders, and is not arriving draped in it. Praise be unto God that there are those willing to face the monsters in this world and say "Not this time, not in my home." Praise be unto God, my son is one of them.
:iwo: