Lockdown

My first night on lockdown at Fort Lewis brought back many memories of basic training and the ROTC Advanced Camp. I think I even ate in the same DFAC (dining facility) last night that I did in the summer of 1988. I stayed in Barracks that were built for WWII units for training and mobilization – buildings meant to last five years and intended for destruction for the last two decades, but now used for mobilizing units, again. Between the nylon shell mattresses making noise every time someone turned over, the rattling of lockers in the middle of the night as soldiers adjusted gear, and the din of battle as some played World of Warcraft or watched a war film, sleep was limited. My attempt to arise at 0500 to get a run in met with failure. The extra hour of sleep was invaluable, especially following the "spring forward" effect of daylight savings.

The biggest memory that was aroused was that of sheer loneliness amidst dozens of humans and the pain of separation from my family. This lockdown was unexpected. We had managed to go for two weeks here without the constraints of being forced into spending nights at Fort Lewis, leaving our POVs (privately owned vehicles) off-post or having to get a “pass” just to see our families. Apparently the powers that be did not see the sense of a local unit (most come in to mobilize from out of state) being able to go home at night. Troop training is not the concern, however: Liability is. What happens if one of them gets into a car accident? What if they don’t show up to formation? The mobilization command would get in trouble. We can’t have that. Thus, we make a broad-brush rule that paints everyone into a corner of suffering.

So I have desperately missed my family for the last roughly 20 hours. I broke the news of the lockdown to Cheri on Friday before I came home for a 36 hour pass. I broke the news to the kids Sunday morning before I left, trying to limit the damage by assuring them that we would have a couple more pass opportunities, including one for four to five days right before our departure. The tears still came and I could see the pain in their faces. When I called home last night, Juli was in bed with Cheri and her sorrow on the phone was painful to hear. I assured her that God never allows such suffering without planning something wonderful that will come out of it. While the days will pass and we will adjust to the separation, God will be working something in us that he could not otherwise do without our being apart for a time.

And while God is working this thing out for good for us, we still pray for the day when there will be no more war, no more crying, no more pain. Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus.