A friend posted this on FB tonight and I feel extremely compelled to share it:
Patriotism
by Tracy Hobelman Bowen on Monday, January 16, 2012 at 12:34pm
I have seen some swipes taken at our military and their families recently. I can’t get involved in every political discussion that pops up on FB or I would be posting constantly…and for some reason my boys feel that they have to eat and wear clean clothes every day. They are even audacious enough to think that I am the person who should provide these services.
Besides, people have the right to express their opinions. In that spirit I am going to do a little talking of my own.
Isn’t free speech grand?
Red, white, and blue runs through my veins. I am a born and bred small town girl from the mountains of South Carolina, and I don’t mean to suggest that Southerners are the only citizens who are truly patriotic, but we do have our own unique version of love of the motherland.
We are in your face about it. From the way we talk about our country in everyday conversation to the way that we have no problem, quickly and no-holes-barred, confronting anyone who would dare demean it. From the large American flags that fly proudly in the back of our pick-up trucks to the full scale celebrations of our national holidays. In the South the Fourth of July is as big as Christmas. Shoot, it might be bigger. The carnival doesn’t come to town at Christmas.
All the men in my family have been in the military. My Grandpa Hobelman fought in World War II and my brother, Greg, has had the pleasure of an all expense paid trip to Afghanistan…twice. I have seen an up-close and personal view of a hut on Bagram Air Base courtesy of Skype. I have anxiously followed news reports from the Middle East. I have felt the nerves kick in when word came of a casualty, and I have had relieved conversations with my mom when we found out that my brother was okay.
The Stars and Stripes fly boldly in front of my house. I have a yellow ribbon on my mailbox.
With my proud Southern roots, my family’s service record, and my outward show of loyalty I thought I knew what patriotism really was.
Until this past summer.
In August, 2011 I sat in the memorial service for Navy Seal Aaron Carson Vaughn, the very first military funeral I have ever attended, and I thought, “So this is what sacrifice really looks like.”
Somehow, in spite of my brothers involvement, I had been able to keep some form of emotional distance from the war. In many ways it felt so far removed from my everyday reality. Afghanistan is a long way from the football games, school work, doctor’s appointments, grocery stores, and endless piles of laundry that consume my world as a wife and a mother to four boys.
That distance began to be bridged as I sat in Aaron’s service and listened to his family and friends tell the story of a truly extraordinary man. The war had come home.
In a casket.
My heart bled in the beautifully awful moment when his mother was presented with a Gold Star. So much pain. So much pride.
Something began to shift inside of me that day.
It is still shifting.
Suddenly, I had to know everything I could about the American soldier. Not the surface stuff…the nitty-gritty. What makes a person willing to lay their life on the line? What kind of training do they go through? What is it really like to go to war? To stare death in the face? To lose your best friend on the battlefield?
If they had to endure these experiences it seemed that the very least that I could do was learn everything that I could about them. My book list became about all things military. Want to know anything about the training of a Special Ops warrior? Read pretty much anything by Dick Couch. I was completely mesmerized by everything that these men do to prepare themselves to fight the enemy.
And then I read “Lone Survivor” by Marcus Luttrell. The book gutted me. Completely gutted me. Through the words of Mr. Luttrell, and the death of Aaron, the war was given a face and emotions. It no longer felt far away. It felt personal.
Because there is nothing more personal than someone’s life blood being shed. For a fellow soldier. For the God-given right to live free. For the just cause of eradicating terrorism. For me.
I have come to realize that I did not have a clue about the true meaning of patriotism. But I am catching on.
It looks like Billy and Karen Vaughn. Salt-of-the-earth, genuine people who raised an incredible young man and shared him with their country in his life, and continue to share him with us in his death. Their faith is deep and calls us all to the realization that God is trustworthy even when life deals you the most difficult of blows.
It looks like Kimberly Vaughn, who is channeling her grief to urge us all to a deeper love of God and country. And to ensure that the memory of Aaron as a “warrior for Christ” is kept alive for their children.
I can’t take away all of the rhetoric that is being thrown around. I can’t take away the hurt that our men and women in the Armed Forces, and their families, feel when they hear the verbal assaults against them.
To anyone who has ever laced up a pair of combat boots. To anyone who has ever left family and friends behind for a higher calling. To anyone who has tucked children in at night and then went to bed to cry alone because the pain of missing a spouse was so deep that it ripped at their very soul. To anyone who has cried out to God for the safety of a child on the battlefield. To anyone who has ever received "that call"...and heard the words that spun their world out of control. To anyone who has ever pounded a Trident into the unforgiving wood of a coffin.To anyone who has ever given one last salute to a fallen comrade.
Thank you.
Words are inadequate in the face of such noble actions, but sometimes they still need to be said.
Besides, people have the right to express their opinions. In that spirit I am going to do a little talking of my own.
Isn’t free speech grand?
Red, white, and blue runs through my veins. I am a born and bred small town girl from the mountains of South Carolina, and I don’t mean to suggest that Southerners are the only citizens who are truly patriotic, but we do have our own unique version of love of the motherland.
We are in your face about it. From the way we talk about our country in everyday conversation to the way that we have no problem, quickly and no-holes-barred, confronting anyone who would dare demean it. From the large American flags that fly proudly in the back of our pick-up trucks to the full scale celebrations of our national holidays. In the South the Fourth of July is as big as Christmas. Shoot, it might be bigger. The carnival doesn’t come to town at Christmas.
All the men in my family have been in the military. My Grandpa Hobelman fought in World War II and my brother, Greg, has had the pleasure of an all expense paid trip to Afghanistan…twice. I have seen an up-close and personal view of a hut on Bagram Air Base courtesy of Skype. I have anxiously followed news reports from the Middle East. I have felt the nerves kick in when word came of a casualty, and I have had relieved conversations with my mom when we found out that my brother was okay.
The Stars and Stripes fly boldly in front of my house. I have a yellow ribbon on my mailbox.
With my proud Southern roots, my family’s service record, and my outward show of loyalty I thought I knew what patriotism really was.
Until this past summer.
In August, 2011 I sat in the memorial service for Navy Seal Aaron Carson Vaughn, the very first military funeral I have ever attended, and I thought, “So this is what sacrifice really looks like.”
Somehow, in spite of my brothers involvement, I had been able to keep some form of emotional distance from the war. In many ways it felt so far removed from my everyday reality. Afghanistan is a long way from the football games, school work, doctor’s appointments, grocery stores, and endless piles of laundry that consume my world as a wife and a mother to four boys.
That distance began to be bridged as I sat in Aaron’s service and listened to his family and friends tell the story of a truly extraordinary man. The war had come home.
In a casket.
My heart bled in the beautifully awful moment when his mother was presented with a Gold Star. So much pain. So much pride.
Something began to shift inside of me that day.
It is still shifting.
Suddenly, I had to know everything I could about the American soldier. Not the surface stuff…the nitty-gritty. What makes a person willing to lay their life on the line? What kind of training do they go through? What is it really like to go to war? To stare death in the face? To lose your best friend on the battlefield?
If they had to endure these experiences it seemed that the very least that I could do was learn everything that I could about them. My book list became about all things military. Want to know anything about the training of a Special Ops warrior? Read pretty much anything by Dick Couch. I was completely mesmerized by everything that these men do to prepare themselves to fight the enemy.
And then I read “Lone Survivor” by Marcus Luttrell. The book gutted me. Completely gutted me. Through the words of Mr. Luttrell, and the death of Aaron, the war was given a face and emotions. It no longer felt far away. It felt personal.
Because there is nothing more personal than someone’s life blood being shed. For a fellow soldier. For the God-given right to live free. For the just cause of eradicating terrorism. For me.
I have come to realize that I did not have a clue about the true meaning of patriotism. But I am catching on.
It looks like Billy and Karen Vaughn. Salt-of-the-earth, genuine people who raised an incredible young man and shared him with their country in his life, and continue to share him with us in his death. Their faith is deep and calls us all to the realization that God is trustworthy even when life deals you the most difficult of blows.
It looks like Kimberly Vaughn, who is channeling her grief to urge us all to a deeper love of God and country. And to ensure that the memory of Aaron as a “warrior for Christ” is kept alive for their children.
I can’t take away all of the rhetoric that is being thrown around. I can’t take away the hurt that our men and women in the Armed Forces, and their families, feel when they hear the verbal assaults against them.
To anyone who has ever laced up a pair of combat boots. To anyone who has ever left family and friends behind for a higher calling. To anyone who has tucked children in at night and then went to bed to cry alone because the pain of missing a spouse was so deep that it ripped at their very soul. To anyone who has cried out to God for the safety of a child on the battlefield. To anyone who has ever received "that call"...and heard the words that spun their world out of control. To anyone who has ever pounded a Trident into the unforgiving wood of a coffin.To anyone who has ever given one last salute to a fallen comrade.
Thank you.
Words are inadequate in the face of such noble actions, but sometimes they still need to be said.
Tracey: I have had a similar experience with Aaron's passing. I met his mother at Kimberly's wedding shower and bonded immediately with Karen over our sons' ACL surgeries. I promised Billy at the wedding that our church in Bellville, TX would pray for Aaron as long as he was active duty (and we did). And I have loved my cousin Kimberly from the day she was born as more than a cousin.
ReplyDeleteThe pain of the loss and the sacrifice of these men and their families for strangers to have the right to protest about silly issues caused me pause. The memorial service, the funeral, the respect, honor and discipline I experienced brought me a newfound level of understanding as well as a quest for an even deeper comprehension of these men and their dedication to their country.
I pray for those who have served, are serving or will serve, for those who gave their lives or their loved ones so that my family can live free in the United States of America. We must never forget that freedom isn't free. As long as these people are not forgotten, they have not died in vain and live on in the memories of their loved ones and in our democracy. God bless them all.