“Mom I’m getting ready to leave the States,” Josey called to tell me.
“I’m in Germany,” was the next announcement.
And finally, “Mom, I’m in Iraq.”
With each phone call, I felt as though an elevator was slowly lowering me into the valley of the shadow of death. I would linger in that valley for many months to come.
Viewing the nightly news with its images of war and carnage, I would just shake my head. My son was in there somewhere, and I was absolutely powerless to help him. My total dependence came to be my faith in God; but oh how I wavered at times.
A couple of months later, the whole ordeal occurred again when my other son Jesse was deployed. This wasn’t fear of the unknown; it was sheer terror of the unknown!
Although I have always been healthy, my physical body began to break down during this time. I was seeing a doctor; there was no apparent reason for my symptoms other than internalized stress. It was suggested I get on medication to cope but I refused. Sleeping through the night had become a thing of the past. Naps became my way of life. Awakened every night, I would pray and pray that the angels would protect my sons.
Car lights shining down our street at night would make me hysterical. I would run to the window to see if it was a government vehicle with two Marines coming to deliver dreaded news. If so, which son would it be?
One day I received an email from a friend and fellow Marine mom in another state. Her son was serving with Josey. It read, “Two Marines in dress blues just left our home. Our son Joe was killed yesterday. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” I screamed aloud when I read it.
Lord, strengthen my faith in you so that when tragedy strikes I may still praise your name.
“The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised.” (Job 1:21b)