May 27 is Memorial Day. Were it not for the services I attend at Jamestown’s Park Lawn Cemetery and Rocky Glen Cemetery in Adamsville, I might think of this day merely as a tantalizing taste of summer.
In the midst of devilled eggs, cheeseburgers, and chips, it’s a jolt to remember Memorial Day honors those who gave their lives in service to America. But let’s leave the picnic for a moment.
Come away with me to another place. Imagine a young man lying on his stomach at night on a jungle floor, an M16 pressed to his shoulder. He’s praying the infernal thing won’t malfunction. His olive drab uniform is drenched in sweat. He hears twigs snapping and leaves rustling. And then – men’s voices. Not American voices. Enemy voices. He shoots. The men fire back in the darkness.
Days later a man strides up a sidewalk and knocks on a door. A mother glances through her window and sees a dress blue uniform and gleaming black shoes.
And her life is changed forever. A Vietnamese soldier didn’t just kill her son; he shot a hole through her heart.
I have a thirteen-year-old son. We’re very close. He’s a strong Christian and knows Bible stories by heart. He’s a hard worker who never complains about mowing the yard with the driving mower or balks at push mowing the bank in front of our house. And let me tell you, this is men’s work. That bank’s a killer. But my son never grumbles.
He loves to work. Nothing brings him more joy than repairing his go-kart. He’s actually happy when it breaks down, because then he can diagnose and fix the problem, often with his Papa’s help.
So on Memorial Day, I can place myself at my kitchen door, staring in horror at the man in an impressive uniform about to tell me what I prayed I’d never, ever hear: My baby died on a jungle floor. I’ll never see him again this side of heaven.
From that moment on, every time I look at the grassy bank, I’ll wish I could watch him wrangle our push mower. When I see a kid on a go-kart, I’ll remember him streaking by at a breakneck speed, gouging a racetrack out of our yard. I’ll kick myself for ever complaining about him marring the grass. Years will pass before I recover, if I ever recover.
Grief would shift to anger at some point. Anger is a natural response to loss. It’s one of the stages of grieving, in fact. If I faced that soldier in dress blues, I’d be angry. I’d be furious at the enemy soldier who killed my son. I’d be livid with the army for sending him there, and with the government for starting a conflict that put my son in danger. And I’d probably be mad at God for taking him.
One of my church’s former pastors gave me a piece of unforgettable advice about anger. She said it’s okay to get mad at God; he can take it.
I’d never thought of it that way, but it makes sense. Think about it: God knows our every thought, word, and action. Everything. God’s our security camera. We’re always being watched by a loving Being. He knows when we’re mad at him. There’s no use pretending everything’s okay when it isn’t. A serene attitude might trick some people, but it won’t fool an all-knowing God.
There’s a passage in Isaiah that addresses this issue. “Good people pass away; the godly often die before their time. But no one seems to care or wonder why. No one seems to understand that God is protecting them from the evil to come. For those who follow godly paths will rest in peace when they die.” (Isaiah 57:1-2 NLT)
When babies, children, or young adults pass away it pierces our hearts. Not that their lives are more valuable than a 40-year-old’s or an 80-year-old’s, but their deaths feel tragic. They had their whole lives ahead of them, and now their future is gone. What might have been will never be.
But what if God is doing exactly as Isaiah wrote more than 2,500 years ago? What if he took them to heaven to shield them from an evil world, to bless them for their goodness?
Perhaps some of our military dead left the world young because God wanted to reward their obedience. Maybe, just maybe, God plucked that young man from the dark jungle, embraced him in brilliant light, and said, “Well done, good and faithful servant. Welcome home.”
If you lost a loved one in war or in peace, especially a young person, take comfort in the knowledge that God might have taken him or her to heaven as protection from evil that was to come. And maybe you can remind yourself that while you grieve, even years later, your beloved one lives in eternal bliss.
All God’s blessings to you this week.