Bearing the Load

Stepping off the plane from Afghanistan into Kuwait, even though I still wore the uniform, still bore the weight of the IOTV (protective vest) and helmet, I felt weight come off of my shoulders. I remember this feeling from leaving Iraq, too. The compounding weight of each day in theater – the internal recognition that you’re a target, that there are people nearby that want to kill you, that you’re away from home and family, that you have responsibities that truly are life-and-death – slips from off of your chest. It was a great feeling.

There were still military inconveniences, such as the cattle-call style process of turning in equipment that you can’t take home, transportation to the LSA (life support area), long walks to get to chow or latrines, and hassles of trying to get a flight home. However, I was in a place where no mortars or rockets were about to splash nearby, no patrols were leaving the gates to lock horns with the enemy, and no IEDs awaited us on our route along the highways. It is an intangible that perhaps only cops and other emergency service workers can understand. Civilians don’t ever live it unless they are mugged or live in an area of high (even imminent) crime.

The load that heaps up on the soldier is insidious. It is forced upon us up front, but not all of it. Most of it comes in a day-by-day manner, almost as if one rock per day is added to your ruck sack. You don’t feel the weight added each day, but the strain increasingly pulls on the muscles, creating a growing tension that burdens body, mind and soul. The undetectable weight becomes obvious only when one takes the ruck sack off – or steps away from the war zone itself.
I suppose this is what PTSD is about – although often with a sudden weight thrust upon shoulders that have no hope of unburdening, even at the end of the war. Even the civilian carries weights around that are invisible to them, sometimes visible to good friends who try to help carry that weight, or better, to help them release the burden. Ultimately, however, the only One who is capable of removing the weight entirely, the only One who has the capacity for reaching into the very soul of the weary Atlas, is Christ Himself. “Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Mt.11:28-30)

19 NOV – Just jumped off the plane at DFW; another weight slips off the shoulders. Going from Kuwait to Shannon, Ireland (where I spent too much money on “Ireland” sweatshirts for the family) was awesome. Getting to the West was a beautiful thing. Irish accents are so cool, too. But it was NOT a Muslim country and it was not part of the CENTCOM Theater of Operations. It was genuinely peaceful. The flight to DFW was long, but just getting into US Airspace was a relief. If you know the feeling of a “runner’s high,” you’ll know the feeling I’m talking about. It is a feeling of being completely light in the chest and head, with no pressure on the temples or breastbone, no “thickness” of soul.

Landing at DFW is always a treat. Firetrucks assemble as our plane pulls into the gate area and they give us the “showers of affection” treatment, pumping a water jet all down the side of the plane as we roll through. Exiting the plane into the terminal, we go through a passage that overlooks some of the boarding gates through pane glass from a second floor causeway. The people below stand and applaud as the couple hundred of us make our way along the “display case.”

Then there is a quick briefing in customs and we are released to baggage claim to get our bags. I knew what was awaiting us, having been here before, but it still gets to me. Dozens of people standing alongside the aisle we enter, cheering us – Viet Nam, Korea nad WWII vets, families, volunteers, USO personnel, a group of elementary school children from a local Hebrew Academy. They shake our hands, give us candy and water, thank us and warmly welcome us home. You can see the young soldiers choking back tears and I have to work hard to keep my own composure. What good people. Sadly, as I sit at coffee with Mr. Brady (one of the organizers) and some of his friends, I learn that it is only Jewish and Christian schools that have their kids assist with the daily greetings of soldiers coming home from Iraq and Afghanistan. I wonder why the public schools don’t do this…

Mr. Brady wouldn’t let me buy my own coffee, of course – just like last time I came through when I couldn’t even buy my own lunch. I’ve always said that if the US goes a little crazy, I’m moving to Texas. I have to agree with that country song that declares: “God bless Texas.”
A Facebook post, a little chat with my wife online and an updated ticket, getting me in to Seattle 5 hours earlier and I am one happy dude. It’s great to be able to wear the uniform proudly here at DFW. I wish it were so in Seattle, but not everyone can avoid the narcissism of liberalism. We will continue to bear the load for them, though, because it’s the right thing to do. In the meantime, it’s nice to shed some of that load for a two week respite with my family. With too many gifts and a full heart, I head home.

Life is good. God is good. Thousands have died for my freedom. One has died for my soul. Millions bear the patriotic load that keeps this country the best option in a dark world. Enjoy your freedom. Literally billions of people out there do not enjoy such privilege as we Americans (and Westerners) share. I pray we have not become to weak to sustain it.