I haven’t spent much of my life around people in the military. My dad served during Vietnam and both of my grandfathers served during World War II. But we didn’t talk about it too often. It was in the past. Maybe there were too many searing memories that seemed better left in the dark.
I’ve always respected people in the military, but I’m more of a put your gun down kinda gal in most situations. Then I moved to Oahu.
Here on the island we have bases for all the major branches of the military: Army, Navy, Coast Guard, Air Force and Marines.
The military is now in my backyard.
I know people who serve. I’ve high-fived their kids. I have shared meals with them, prayed with them, sang worship songs with them, laughed with them and lived life with them. I’ve heard the pain in their wives’ voices as their husbands leave for overseas.
So this morning, when I saw a news story about two Marine helicopters colliding on the North Shore, my heart sank. I know a helicopter pilot and his face immediately came to mind. He’s safe, but there are still 12 people missing.
Twelve people. Twelve people with families and friends.
Winter waves of 30 and 40 feet are making the search as hard as it could be. And so, even though I don’t know the people who are being tossed in that ocean right now, I feel for them in a new way.
I’ve seen the oil still bubbling up from the U.S.S. Arizona with my own eyes and tried to imagine what it felt like to have bombs rain down on December 11, 1941 as Pearl Harbor was attacked.
In all of it, I’m thankful. I’m thankful for their service, but more than that, I’m thankful for the people they are. I’m thankful I have the opportunity to know them, because now, the military isn’t just an idea to me. It’s real. The people fighting for our freedom are real. I know some of their names. I can picture their faces.
It has helped me understand in a fresh way why it’s so important to know people’s stories. What if instead of keeping the people we don’t understand at a distance we got to know them?
What if we heard laughed at their jokes, shared their grief and dared to love them for who they are, for who God created them to be?
Here’s where I’m making a jump. It’s a rather big one so stick with me.
What if, instead of crossing the street to avoid that homeless man, we smiled at him and shook his hand? What if we took the time to look in his eyes and hear his story? Wouldn’t that make our world a better place? Isn’t that what Jesus would want us to do?
Now please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not trying to compare military personnel directly to people who have been pushed to the margins (although there are far too many veterans who end up homeless). What I am saying is that names, faces and stories matter. They help us not only understand the world around us, but ourselves better.
Names and faces give us compassion, something our world is in desperate need of.
Jessica Ivaska 