A Lesson in Humility

I think that if more people had the opprounity to stand in some of the places that I stand the social climate in the United States would soar with support for our military.
I don't mean that in a look-at-all-I-sacrifice way. If you know me, you know that's not who I am.
I mean it in a I-am-so-humbled way.
So humbled.
I know what people think about the Army. I know what they think about the infantry. I see how the young men that we send to war are depicted in popular media. It's no secret that the respect and pride that our nation once felt for our military decreases significantly as decades pass. However, the sense of pride and dedication to one another and to our country that our soldiers have does not.
Tonight I stood in room full of soldiers. A room full of dress blues, class A's, stripes, bars, bow ties, shiny shoes, and fresh haircuts. There was a buzz of energy in the air. Laughter. Cheering. Toasting.
And then the toast came. The one where they said that names of those who were not standing in that room. You could have heard a pin drop. Humility washed over the room. They all stood there, solemn, remembering that it was not long ago that the whole of them were wearing multicams and body armor, five o'clock shadows and the dirt that never goes away, and that for some of them that would be the last thing they would ever wear.
No one standing in the room was untouched. I'm convinced that to have remained untouched was an impossibility.
It's easy to make a snap judgement based on the testimony of the friend of a friend of a friend whose brother was in the Army for two years, or based on the stories you hear in the popular media, but when you see their faces and hear their stories -- when you see their bond and stand them while they remember those that they have lost you cannot keep your heart from swelling with pride and admiration. The sense of humility is overwhelming.
I'm convinced that if more people had the opprotunity to stand in the room where I stood tonight they would be better for it. The long lost sense of pride and admiration would quickly return. That is, in a perfect world. In this world, I was the one standing there, and I am awed. And grateful. And humbled. So humbled.

Five Years

When G was still a tiny babe in arms I remember reading somewhere that parents only truly have the first five years of a childs life to teach them all the things that they will need to navigate the world. Sure, after that point you can teach them the details, but by five, it claimed, they were already who they were going to be.
I remember panicking at the thought that John and I had five short years with this boy to instill the things that he would need to hold in is heart to navigate the rest of his life.
No pressure.
Fast forward two blinks of an eye and our time is up. The first five years with Gunnar are gone.
Every parent knows that every parent who went before them always says "it goes by so quickly, cherish each moment", and we have. I remember the first thought that went through my head the moment I saw him. I know exactly where he was standing when he said his first word. I remember that he still couldn't walk when John took him on his first "boys only" hunting trip. I can remember each of the 13 times he has been the reason we were sitting in the ER. I remember the way he cried when the sonographer told him he was having another sister, and the way his eyes lit up the first time he held her. I remember the dance we did the first time he read the word "bus". I remember the prayer he said faithfully for each year of his life that his dad was in Afghanistan.
I have cherished each moment, snapped every picture possible, memorized each adorably mispronounced word.
But, having just tucked into bed, for the first time, my five year old son, I wonder if I've done enough. Have I taught him enough about the real Jesus? Does he know how far a smile will go? Does he know that the best way to stand out in a crowd is to be honest and selfless and serve others? Have I "trained up a child in the way that he should go" so that "when he is older he will not part from it?"
If I'm honest with myself the answer is that I don't know. I don't know if we have done enough with the first five years. I pray that we have, but even if we haven't, we can't have those five years back. So now we dig into the details and watch the rest unfold.
A few days ago John heard the song "He's Mine" by Rodney Atkins for the first time. We shared a laugh about the line that says "I'll take the blame and claim him everytime". This speaks so truly to Gunnar, we agreed, because our son is always the one doing either the extremely right thing or the extremely wrong thing. Occassionally catching him doing the extremely right thing renews my faith that the unfolding will be a joy because our first five years have been intense and productive, full of lessons in morals and character, regularly opening God's Word and submitting our petition to Him.
The first five years with Gunnar have been such an adventure, such a blessing, that I can't even begin to fathom what the coming years will bring. I would venture to say that the one thing that I know for sure is that the adventure of raising Gunnar will continue to be enough to keep us faithfully entering the throne room of God, usually with petitions for patience :)