A Man in Uniform

"The LORD watches over you -- the LORD is your shade at your right hand; 

the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. 

The LORD will keep you from all harm. 

He will watch over your life. 

The LORD will watch over your coming and going 

both now and forevermore."

Psalm 121:5-8

Whenever I see a man in uniform, it just does something to me. I feel a surge of emotion -- a mixture of pride and sorrow. Pride at what he's doing. Not fighting for his country; that's such an over-used cliche. It's more like he's allowing himself to be a part of something bigger than himself. Sorrow because although I might see him today pumping gas or buying a drink at Walmart, tomorrow he might be given orders that will take him to some God-forsaken desert and he might die there.

That uniform...it means something. That simple piece of fabric that he wears represents us -- all of us -- no matter where he is in the world. True, many people out there don't like us and don't want us in their country. But those are arguments that need to be fought with our political leaders, most of whom have never had to wear that uniform. These guys, they're just following orders. They're doing their job. They're putting their lives on the line, facing people every day who sometimes hate them and very often try to kill them. They're leaving their families behind to do this job, missing out on holidays and birthdays and school plays and many times, births and funerals and graduations. 

And they're coming back in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes without a limb.  Some burned beyond recognition. Others return only to face emotional and psychological demons that will haunt them all the days of their lives. And still others never return at all. Their uniforms are black, zippered body bags draped in an American flag.

This past week my community has had a series of events leading up to the celebration of Veteran's Day, a holiday as venerated as Christmas and Thanksgiving by many families here. I took my kids to the parade and we watched several platoons marching along in their black and maroon-colored berets. We waved at the Vietnam Vets who never got a parade of their own when they returned from their own war so many years ago. 

Later we went to visit the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial wall, a piece of which travels throughout the country. I watched as an old gentleman, led by a younger relative and a volunteer, placed his hand above the name of one of his old buddies and started to cry. I observed another man simply sitting on the steps nearby, his face lost in thought, taken back to another time and another place, as tears silently slid down his wrinkled cheeks. He held a picture in his hand. A picture of three young guys, all in uniform.

Today, as my pastor preached about heroes in the Army, telling the tale of a Sargeant who had faced an almost un-winnable attack by Taliban rebels in order to protect his men, I watched as the twenty-something year old guy in front of me kept nodding his head, flexing his jaw, swallowing hard -- until he gave up the fight and just let the tears flow. Perhaps he had faced a similar situation. Perhaps he'd had a buddy who died in a similar battle. He could relate because he, too, wore that uniform.

It's easy for us living near army bases, or with family members who either serve or have served in the past, to see these things and take it personally. But many people out there haven't got a clue. Their lives are made up of things that are yellow and gray and blue. It  isn't touched by anything in Army green. And yet, it's precisely the men wearing these uniforms that give us the right to brag to the entire world that we are the strongest, that nobody should mess with us. It's those uniforms and the men and women who wear them that are behind the reputation we have as a global superpower. It's not because of the President, who sits in his safe little office a million miles away from anything dangerous, surrounded by luxuries and Secret Service, sleeping in his nice, warm bed. It's because of that twenty-year old kid whose office is a ditch somewhere in Kandahar, who sleeps on a tiny cot with his boots and Kevlar on, his M-16 strapped to his chest. That's his uniform. And while the President and Congress spend days debating over what to do with him, he's simply praying that tonight the sirens won't go off so he can get a few hours of sleep and dream about his pretty young wife whose expecting their first child in two months. 

Those are the things I think about when I see a man in uniform. The pride and the sorrow, all mixed up together in a way that doesn't allow you to see where one starts and the other ends. My throat gets tight, my eyes become hot and all I want to do is throw my arms around him and thank him for his sacrifices, as well as those of his family, and, like every mom does, tell him to take care of himself and to never forget that Jesus loves him. 

King David, one of the Bible's most beloved characters, was a soldier, too. Before he became King he was out there on the ground, fighting for his people, helping to ward off the enemy. He spent many a day sleeping in caves, on the cold, rocky ground, praying for deliverance, honest in his fear, but always pressing forward. David would understand the plight of our soldiers because he, too, wore that uniform. His might've been made differently, but he would've known what it stood for.

So the next time you see someone in uniform, be it a private's ACU's or an airman's olive-green jumpsuit, walk up to him, shake his hand, and thank him. Don't thank him for defending his country. Don't thank him for defending our freedom. Instead, thank him for all of the sacrifices that he's had to make in order to wear that uniform, and all the ones that have yet to come. Then tell him that Jesus loves him. That He really, really loves him.

Because you never know. 

He might be one of those uniforms that never comes back.


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The following song is by Mark Schultz and it's called Letters From War. As a former Army wife and mother, this song has always touched me, and even after hearing it a million times, it still makes me cry.