Soldiers Sacrifice

I spent a little time this week in two airports, Chicago O’Hare and Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson.  As is usually the case when I’m in either of those bustling depots, there were soldiers in their “desert” uniforms, meaning they likely were on their way to Afghanistan or Iraq.

These guys put a little lump in my throat.  They are sacrificing much to defend my country.  And this Fourth of July, I’ll be thinking about two soldiers I saw as I wandered to and from my flights.  They were forced to conduct very personal moments in the midst of the airport crowds, but as I observed each one I had the sense that time and the rest of the world had stopped for them.

The first was in O’Hare.  The soldier looked to be in his late twenties.  He held both hands of a woman of about the same age.  There were tears on her cheeks and they embraced – then he turned to board our plane.  She walked away slowly.

The second was in Atlanta.  As I passed a small café on the way out of the airport a young couple sat holding hands across a baby carriage.  They looked at each other.  They looked at the baby.  And I knew that it was the last the soldier would look at the baby for a long time.

I’ll be spending my Fourth with friends and family, with lots of good food and fireworks in the city park.  I’ll be praying for those soldiers, they people who they love and who love them.  May God bless them and bring those young men home safe to their families.