A Mother's Heart in War . . . Day 274, March 7, 2005

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

Day 274, March 7, 2005

Noah is home. Really home.

What a combination of feelings we all felt last night at the airport!

In true Recon fashion, just as they left quietly without fanfare or ado, they returned quietly without ceremony or pomp.

We stood facing the gates, our eyes glued to any moving figure -- "Is it him?" -- we almost seemed like little kids with their faces pressed against the glass trying to see Santa. We had no less anticipation than those kids either.

Aimee talked about how fast her heart was beating and I realized mine was racing, too. I almost felt afraid to breathe lest I miss that first glimpse. Everyone waiting at the window remarked at how disappointed we must look to everyone who passed by who wasn't Noah. Then I saw him.

My thoughts then were the same as the first time I ever saw his face, not even fully born yet, I thought "He looks like my brother Chester!" Then when he looked at Aimee, the smile on his face was priceless. In that moment I wished I had broken my promise to him and brought the video camera anyway.

As we were waiting for him to walk through the security gate, Marie commented that she had been the first to cry and Emmie emphatically stated that she did not and was not going to cry. Just at that point, Noah came through the gate and Aimee and Noah fell into each other's arms. Emmie, with tears on her cheeks, said softly, "OK, now I'm gonna cry."

That night, sitting in the living room, listening to Noah tell stories and watching everyone around him laugh and have their attention riveted to him (as if he might be swept away again if we didn't), reminded me of the younger Noah telling stories.

What a sweet thing for a mother to be able to kiss all her children goodnight and to sleep the peaceful sleep of one who has seen with her own eyes that all is well.

The main thing I learned listening to Noah's stories was exactly how much our prayers were answered. For all the incidences we heard about we know there are thousands more that we will never know. The one thing it makes me want to do is to thank the Lord over and over for His unspeakable faithfulness.

A Mother's Heart in War . . . Day 273, March 6, 2005

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

Day 273, March 6, 2005

Noah is on American soil once again.

What a source of comfort to know my son once again breathes the sweet air of liberty and rests in a place where his freedoms are protected!

Yesterday Emmie and I walked around the neighborhood putting small yellow ribbons on all the lampposts. They are so small that I thought they might not be noticed, but before were were even through, calls started coming in asking if Noah was home.

In another six hours or so, Noah will really be home. The cheesecake is in the fridge and his Christmas stocking is full and hanging on the mantle. The minutes can't tick away fast enough!

How sweet to have all the children home and safe (Marie is on the way home, too!) It is something that makes a mother's heart sing.

Thanks to our Lord for His abundant faithfulness in all we ask.

A Mother's Heart in War . . . Day 269, March 2, 2005

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

Day 269, March 2, 2005

It is March now and we are down to mere days. The plane ticket has been purchased and we just wait.

We want to see Noah, to look into those blue-green eyes and see for ourselves that he is well. We wait to hold Noah and feel for ourselves that he is whole and strong. We wait to listen to Noah and to hear for ourselves that the experience of war has not embittered his spirit, that he can still laugh. We wait to have him home in the safety of this house where the only dangers are that he will sleep past the alarm or use up all the hot water in the shower. But Noah's safety, his "wholeness" has never been a matter of place, location or shelter. It has always been "of the Lord".

How many hundreds, thousands of prayers have been lifted up to our Father specifically for Noah while he has been deployed? The Scriptures tell us that the prayers of the saints are the incense around the throne of God. What a sweet smell must encircle His throne on behalf of our son. And all those prayers gloriously answered! I feel so indebted to so many. . .so many faithful ones who say "I've been praying for Noah." So many more who never say they are praying for him, but do. I will spend part of eternity thanking these kind souls because as yet I do not know all of to whom I am indebted.

In eternity, will I also know how many times an angel of the Lord stayed a bullet? Redirected a rocket? Caused an enemy misfire? Generated confusion in the enemy? I have to believe this happened over and over again and over and over again I thank our Lord for His marvelous supply -- His gracious answer to prayer and His merciful protection. He is worthy to be praised.

A Mother's Heart in War . . . A Mother's Thanks

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

Day 268, March 1, 2005

A Mother's Thanks
(a note sent to all our family and friends)

My greatest fear during Noah's deployment was not for his safety. In the midst of the worst news reports, the Lord has given me such peace and a sense of assurance that my son was safe. So many people have told me that they pray daily for Noah. The magnitude of the answers of those prayers has just begun to dawn on me.

Noah once told us that they were continually shot at and even during his phone calls home, enemy fire was sometimes audible. How amazingly faithful is our God, that my son should return home alive and well. How can I ever thank all those who have at any point uttered a prayer upward on behalf of my son?

Noah is due to be back on American soil this time next week (Praise the Lord) and should be home within a couple weeks after that. I do not have the vocabulary to express what I feel in the way of thankfulness to you for your prayers. Please let a mother's feeble words and flowing tears, (which are there even if you cannot see them) express the heart that cannot be captured in language.

Your prayers for Noah are the greatest gift you could have ever given me. Thank you and thank you and thank you.

frannie

A Mother's Heart in War . . . Day 266, February 27, 2005

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

Day 266, February 27, 2005

Well, Christmas came and went.

We began our morning in prayer for Noah. We had packages to open from Noah, with Marie's help. At dinner we looked at pictures of Noah that I had placed on the table. I think he was more a part of our day than if he had been here with us!

After Christmas I was so disappointed in myself for only taking a minute or two of video - knowing full well that he wanted to see some of our Christmas morning. But somehow the camera got lost in all the trappings of the celebration of Christmas. Little did I know that the camera actually was still running!

When I looked at the video weeks later, I was shocked that even though we only had three or four good minutes of video, we had over twenty minutes of audio of us (along with twenty minutes of video of the side of the blue living room chair).

Emily and I had a good time adding amusing sub-titles to the video. We were full of anticipation for how Noah would respond to our jokes. As for us, the video was so much more about Noah than if we had done it the other way.

Then after Christmas we began to really anticipate Noah's return. To our great pleasure the date was much earlier than we had originally thought. All of a sudden what had seemed so far away, was actually so close.

I began to be overwhelmed with what I had not done. His Christmas presents were not yet wrapped, his quilt was not - and would not soon be - finished. His room was basically a storage unit, it was not ready to be a bedroom again.

Then, beside all the practical things I knew had to be tackled in such a short time, I began to think of all the emotional things. Would we be for Noah what he will need us to be? Will we make his homecoming what he wants it to be? Will we know when to be silent, when to speak, when to laugh, when to cry? Will it be more awkward than I have imagined, or will it be easier? Will things go smoothly between Noah & Aimee?

As I feel apprehension regarding Noah's homecoming, I realize it is because I have absolutely nothing in my past upon which to base this experience. His return from boot camp seems such a pale comparison. The Noah who came home from Parris Island was in so many ways different from the Noah who left.

Maybe that is what I dread.

I fear Noah may have crawled even deeper into a shell from which he can't be extracted. It is a hard thing for a mother to lose her little boy to the man he must inevitably become. It is harder still to lose him to such a strong knit band of brothers as the Marine Corps. I wonder what it is like to lose him to the smoky memories of war? Can the little boy smile ever escape past the memories of killing and death?

As anxious as I am to wrap these mother's ars around my son, I am curious as to the Noah that I will meet that day.

A Mother's Heart in War . . . Day 161, November 14, 2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

Day 161, November 14, 2004

The holidays are here.

Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away and the grocery list is already posted on the refrigerator door. Packages of Christmas candy are on their way to Iraq and more sit waiting to be packaged.

I think I have realized that is is important -- for all of us -- that Christmas be as "Christmasy" as possible. I can't replace Noah for the rest of my family. Who could possibly replace Noah's wit and humor or the sly smile with a twinkle in the eye? But I can make sure that the things within my control are as "normal" as possible.

The tree will still go up, with more yellow ribbons than ever before. The nutcrackers, of course, will grace the mantle with the Marine nutcracker leading the parade. For Emmie, the lights will go up outside this year. The presents for Noah will wait and when he comes home he can open them all and eat turkey to his heart's content.

I think I have realized that the holidays aren't merely a celebration . If that were so then Noah's being so far away could easily ruin them. No, the holidays are a declaration. A declaration that what the Lord as done in and through and to and for us is so great that it is worthy of the commemoration regardless of the circumstances.

God has proven Himself so very faithful even in this and we will seek this time of the year as a time to declare and affirm the Kingship of the babe in the manger, the faithfulness of the God of our forefathers and the blessings of the Lord who allows us to turn one more day of the calendar.

We will praise Him because He alone is worthy.

A Mother's Heart in War . . . Day 140, October 24, 2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

Day 140, October 24, 2004

The very beginning of the Christmas season is in the air. Decorations line the shelves of the stores, supplies for holiday baking have appeared at the grocery store and Emmie is deciding what to give everyone.

Usually this brightens my mood and lifts my spirits. . .but not this year.

I haven't actually dreaded a holiday season since Momma died, but that is exactly how I feel this year. Well, not exactly. The year Momma died, I knew she was in an infinitely more wonderful place and wouldn't have brought her back for even a second. My thoughts, too, were centered around my children and how I could possibly fill the void that the passing of Grandma Dot had left.

This year I feel sad because Noah won't be with us for the holidays, but it is so much more than that -- it is because Noah won't be with us for the holidays, and that is something very different. He is not in an infinitely more wonderful place and I would bring him back at the drop of a hat if I could. No, he is in an infinitely worse place and somewhat like that Christmas in 1997, I am unable to fill the void, unable to make it better.

So when my mind rushes ahead to contemplate the holiday celebrations, I know that part of my heart is on the other side of the world.

As that mythical green creature tries to remind us each year: "It came without ribbons! It came without tags! It came without packages, boxes or bags!" His realization in the snow is something we know in our heart all year through: "Maybe Christmas, doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas. . perhaps. . . means a little bit more!"

May this Christmas for Noah -- so unlike any other he has ever known -- draw him so close to the King in the manger -- may the Star of Bethlehem so light his heart -- that he will proclaim this to be his most wonderful, merriest Christmas ever.

And may he have. . .
. . .a "merry little Christmas now."

(I used to sing "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" to my children at night before they went to sleep.)

A Mother's Heart in War . . . Day 88, September 2, 2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

Image via Wikipedia

Day 88, September 2, 2004

Written on the card:

Happy Birthday Mom.
I love you.
Corporal Noah Davis

What a wonderful way to hear the news of Noah's promotion, flowers on my birthday!

I hadn't expected to hear from him at all but when Glen brought the flowers - with a teddy bear wearing a birthday cake as a hat -- I knew they must have been from someone who knew me well. As I read the card, my first reaction was to cry. My son on the other side of the world, fighting a war, remembered my birthday! Then I actually read the signature, Corporal Noah Davis. It was like a present on top of a present!

Then to talk to him later in the day was best of all. Each time he calls it is like a confirmation that the Lord is keeping him safe. And it is a miracle of modern technology that we could talk at all.

It is strange but I am less tempted to fear now than I was before. When Noah said that the enemy was firing mortar rounds at their base all the time, I was strangely comforted, because he also said the mortars were not hitting them. While Noah may attribute that to poor marksmanship, I attribute that to the mountains full of "chariots of fire" -- those angels encamped around that base protecting the 7th platoon.

It reminds me of the verse, "A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee. " That is my prayer for Noah: "it shall not come nigh thee."

A Mother's Heart in War . . . Day 81, August 26, 2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

Day 81, August 26, 2009

Years ago when Noah first went into the Marine Corps I was given great advice, "If he is deployed, don't listen to the news." These were truly words of wisdom spoken from a woman who had "been there".

The other day I was on the treadmill at the gym, surrounded by a bank of televisions, one which was on a news channel. I couldn't hear the narration and I wasn't really reading the closed captions, but the visions and images of desert cammie-clad soldiers walking along sandy streets made me think of my Marine and my eyes welled up with tears. For a few minutes it was a struggle to maintain control, but even though my emotions were in turmoil, my faith was sure.

"Behold, the Lord's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save; neither His ear heavy, that it cannot hear." Isaiah 59:1



". . .This sign shalt thou have of the Lord, that the Lord will do the thing that He hath spoken." 2 Kings 20:9


My son's safety is of the Lord and the Lord will work all these things for Noah's good, because, as for the Lord, His way is perfect.

A Mother's Heart in War . . . Day 77, August 22, 2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

Day 77, August 22, 2009

We "heard" from Noah last night. Email is a miraculous thing -- our son, thousands of miles away, writes us a letter and with one click and the speed of light and it is in our den. I wish our responses could be so quick. Oh, we both answered his email, but who knows how long it will be before he ha a chance to get online again.

Harder still is the fact that now we know of specific things he needs but it will be a month before he receives them. Even if we ran out right now and purchased the items and then broke into the Post Office to mail them, it would still be three weeks - or more - until he got it. I think that is the essence of what makes this so difficult, the total and complete lack of control, on his part as well as ours. But it causes us more and more to trust the One who has control, the One whose way is perfect, the One who is perfectly able to keep those things which we have committed unto Him - -our son. We can trust the Lord with full confidence that He never fails.

A Mother's Heart in War . . . Day 72, August 17, 2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

Day 72, August 17, 2009

August 17th.

How many times has that date been important in Noah's Marine career?

The first time was the evening when we signed those delayed entry program papers. I must admit I felt some trepidation signing my seventeen-year-old son into the Marine Corps. I wondered, "Will he hate me for this later?"

But so many things had happened to make us believe that this truly was the Lord's will, and what Noah wanted, too. Then nine months later, when we were at the recruiters office again, this time for Noah to leave for boot camp, we asked what the graduation date would be, expecting to hear August 24th, and we heard instead August 17th. We all looked at each other in wonder. A year since we had all signed those papers. Surely the Lord was in this to reassure us.

That blistering hot August 17th we sat sweltering on those bleachers watching one tall, straight Marine out of all the others. What a proud day! It makes my eyes well with tears remembering it now.

Three years later we received a late night call. Noah, and the rest of his platoon, had landed in Kuwait and in a couple of hours would be in Iraq. It wasn't until after we got off the phone we realized that while it was August 16th here, it was already the 17th there.

What a small thing for the Lord to do, but what a source of comfort for us -- that Noah would first step foot on the enemy's soil on his anniversary. It was as if the Lord was saying to us: "I am in control of where your son is today and everyday and I have him exactly where I need him to be, when I need him to be there."

"As for God, His way is perfect." Psalm 18:30

A Mother's Heart in War . . . Day 68, August 14, 2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

Day 69, August 14, 2004

Sometimes I think less information is better.

When I didn't know when or if Noah was leaving, then I could put aside thoughts that he was leaving. Knowing that today -- if Hurricane Charly permits, our son will be flying to Iraq, is uncomfortable knowledge.

I think of that commercial flight full of young, talented, highly trained Marines --
"Gentleman, please make sure your seats and grenade launchers are in their upright and locked positions"
-- being shipped overseas. What must that air feel like? So full of anticipation and dread, fear and excitement, planning and denial.

Perhaps in a much more intense way it must be how my patients approach labor -- they are so excited about seeing the baby and yet so scared of the pain. I know that these young men are so ready to do what they are being sent to do. They have trained and trained and trained. For all that, they are still barely out of boyhood, but how quickly hurled into manhood! How much of what they have done up to this point is still part of the "cops and robbers" they played as little boys, only now with a real attitude and real weapons. How quickly everything will change when the bullets are aimed at them by real enemies.

What thoughts will pass through their minds the first time they have to pull those triggers at another human and know for certain it was their hand that brought death. How do they, can they ever, erase those images from their minds?

We must pray that the Lord will protect their hearts in all this, that they will not become hardened to human suffering because they have seen, and perhaps even caused, so much of it.

Much like the nurse who must cause the young patient pain in order to heal, may these young men reign in their emotions when they need to and later pour them out to the Lord when they are alone.

I think I pray more for Noah's protection from the spiritual ravages of war than from the outward, physical damages. I know our Lord is faithful to protect both.

Dear Lord,
My son is your son too.
He is walking a path You have set out for him --keep him in it.
Let not his foot sway to the left or the right without your guidance.

Cause his heart to call out to you
before he calls out to any other.
Protect him -- body, soul and spirit.

Work Your perfect work in him through these days
and cause him to know beyond any doubt that
You are abundantly sufficient in all things.

Cause him to trust You before he trusts in himself
or his brother Marines.

Draw him to Yourself and reveal Yourself to him in every step.
May he know You as his Strength, his Peace,
his Shelter and his Safety.

Mostly, dear Father,
glorify Your Son in and through my son.

A Mother's Heart in War . . . Day 63, August 8, 2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

Day 63 August 8, 2004

Emotions are such a hard thing to keep in control. I was so determined that this time Noah would not see me cry as he left.

My advice was short, "Do what the Marine Corps has taught you and do what Mom and Dad have taught you."

I managed to get that out without tears. I told him I loved him and that I would be praying for him and that he would never be alone. Then he and Alan were in the car and pulling out of the driveway.

It wasn't until I turned back from walking in the house to wave goodbye that the tears came. But then I have to ask myself why I am crying. I feel such perfect peace inside regarding his safety. Perhaps I am crying because it will be so long before we see him again.

But we go long stretches without seeing Marie and I'm not crying over that. No, the tears involve the fact that everything which involves our son is not only out of our control but also out of our knowledge base. We aren't suppose to know when they are leaving the country or where they are going. As a matter of fact, most of the time he is gone we probably won't know where he is.

With Marie, if she needed help, we could be there with her in three or four hours. With Noah, we don't even know where he will be.

With Marie, we chat with her two or three times a week and stay updated on her life. With Noah, he will be involved in things of which we will never know.

With Marie, she can visit us whenever her work schedule and her wallet allows her to. With Noah, we just finished the last visit in a long while.

Yet, what a great honor to have son serve our country. In a movie I watched last night, a woman told a man whose five sons were serving in the war, "Sir, what a service you have done for your country."

And his reply? "Not nearly enough, ma'am." Not nearly enough.

Years ago, women lost husbands and sons and brothers in the same war. People did without so much to aid the war effort. Here we have given so little in comparison. But what a precious thing to give. As Glen said, even if Noah were given the opportunity to stay, he would not. He is going to do his job. He is going to do something he loves. He is going to do something the Lord has called him to do. Who am I to argue with the plans of a God whose ways are perfect?

So, my precious son, go with God and may He bless you abundantly above all that you could ask or think.

A Mother's Heart in War . . . Day 39, July 15, 2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

Day 39 July 15, 2004

Noah came home for July 4th! What a wonderful surprise -- to hear those keys clanking on the kitchen counter -- to see that handsome face and those laughing eyes! As it turned out, Aimee and Emmie were in on the surprise all along!

We had a wonderful time with Noah being home, but my favorite was when we all went bowling. Noah seemed so relaxed and free. I saw so much of the "old" Noah and it was very reassuring.

The good-bye again wasn't difficult. I think there were several reasons for that. First of all, it was five o'clock in the morning and we were all just too sleepy. Second, I was leaving for work myself a little after that and didn't have time to dwell on it. But the biggest reason is that Noah told us he would most likely be home for ten days at the end of the month. Now the goodbye at the end of that visit will be different! We will know then that he will soon be leaving the country and headed for war. Then our communication with him will be very slim indeed. Not that we have heardmuch from him since he went to Camp Lejuene. We have heard from Aimee that he has been working eighteen hour days in the field, so that accounts for why we haven't heard from him. But in the military, no news is good news.

Our trust is in the Lord, His way is perfect. Whether we hear from our son or not.

Yesterday, one of the doctors at work that we don't see very often asked me about Noah's picture on a button on my jacket. I told him where Noah was and where he was going, and that we were trusting the Lord to keep him safe. The doctor then told me that he would be praying for him (as many people do), but then he did something that really surprised me. He stared intently at the picture (as if he were memorizing the face) and closing his eys he stood perfectly still in front of me for many, many seconds. He said nothing, but I had the distinct impression he was praying for Noah right then.

I wish our servicemen had some clue how many people pray for them each day and support them.

A Mother's Heart in War . . . Day Fifteen June 22, 2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.



June 22, 2004

It has been two weeks now. In some ways it seems like it was just yesterday that Noah left and in others like it has been much, much longer.

It has been nice to get emails and calls from him, although they are very short, and he has even sent a few pictures. As nice as those things are, when you have someone like Noah -- who can make you laugh at every turn in the conversation -- you miss just sitting around and joking with him. There has always seemed to me something forced about a telephone conversation, as if you are trying to fill up every space with words lest you experience the awkwardness of dead air. When you are together, however, the silent spaces can be for reflecting or resting or thinking or perhaps looking at the same thing. Sometimes it can be for that silent communication that knows none nor needs no words.

I think this time is different too because we are not on the top of the "Noah" ladder. I am sure he is missing us, but he is really missing Aimee. It is a difficult place to take that step down in your child's life, but it is also so normal and so necessary.

I guess the thing that bothers me most is that I feel so totally helpless to do anything. I don't know what to send him while he is still here in the States and I don't know how often he reads his email. So I work on my "Noah quilt" each day knowing that the time I spend on that is for Noah.

The quilt has six sets of six colored stripes. At this point (as far as I know and most of my information is from Aimee), there are five men on Noah's team plus the leader. So there is a color for each man and each color is found in the Marine Corps flag. Noah is the light yellow. I guess because yellow is a happy, fun color. Maybe it is because Noah's first bedroom was a bright yellow. I just now I think of (and pray for) Noah when I see that color -- like the yellow ribbons on our doors and oak tree.

The red is for Alan. I think of Alan as a strong, good to the foundation kind of guy. Perhaps his dark hair complements the red color, but I think of Alan when I see the red.

The white is Jay. I don't know Jay, but I think he enjoys outdoor things like hunting and fishing and the white knit (like a polo shirt) material reminds me of a casual, outdoorsy guy. Too, I know his wife is pregnant and the white reminds me of a baby blanket. I try to remember to pray for her, too, when I pray for Jay.

I know little about the fourth and fifth men of team, so one is the gray-silver silk, sort of like a foggy cloud. The other is the black stripe, since I know absolutely nothing about him, not even a name.

The cream colored Asian pattern is Foster. He is the leader of the team. I assume that as leader he has more rank, more experience and more knowledge. So the rich feeling, textured and patterned material is his. It is also the most difficult to sew.

As I sew each color, I try to pray for the man (and his family) that color represents. The six colors represent things as well. They represent the six things I have chosen to be my main prayer for Noah and his team and his platoon: strength, wisdom, accuracy (not only regarding weaponry but also coordinates), endurance, integrity and faith.

I have decided on the center to quilt an Eagle, Globe and Anchor. Quilting the pattern won't be a challenge -- after all, I've quilted a china pattern before! But getting the pattern onto the quilt has proven to be a great challenge, especially when you consider all the different colored materials. So far I have the pattern of the eagle, so one third is done.

This is something else I can pray for Noah, that the things which he finds as unexpected challenges, he will know how to break into smaller parts and overcome and that through it all he will maintain a positive optimistic outlook, his integrity and and that his faith will be strengthened.

A Mother's Heart in War . . . Day Two June 8, 2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

Day Two, June 8, 2004

An empty plate and bowl full of lemons.

It was the sign of a man who cares deeply and needs to show it.

Marie had come home this morning and tonight we gathered at the table for dinner. There were five plates. One plate was empty, as was the glass, but beside the plate was a bowl full of sliced lemons. Anyone who knows Noah would recognize that as his plate. The bowl of lemons - the token that we will never forget, never stop praying, never stop counting the 366 day (or so his orders say) until he once again rests his feet under our table.

As I write this, I sit in his room with all his belongings stuffed into his closet as tightly as sardines in a can. I can look up and see his Dress Blues hanging from a hook on the ceiling or his cover on top of the shelves. The room is full of his smell on his clothes. I told Aimee tonight that she could come over anytime, if only to smell his smell on his clothes. . . something another girl would understand.

Then there was the joy of hearing his voice. But I didn't feel like I could talk -- to get too close is only to have to tear oneself away again. But I can pray, and I will pray.

I remember when Noah left for boot camp he asked me to pray for five things for him. I made a bracelet of beads representing those five things so that every time I would see it I would remember to pray. Yesterday, I made another bracelet, again with five parts. My prayers are for strength, endurance, integrity, wisdom and accuracy...and one more...faith.

My bracelet for boot camp lasted until the day we reached Parris Island. I intend this one to last until Noah pulls into our driveway next year. I pray I will be as faithful in supporting him this time as I tried to be during bootcamp. May the Lord show me what to do and when to do it.

A Mother's Heart in War . . . 5-30-2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

May 30, 2004

There is always some sense of excitement in preparing for a trip -- the planning, the preparing, the packing, checking and double-checking lists to make sure nothing is forgotten. But the stacks of drab olive green belongings in the living room speak of another trip. A trip of business, purpose: a trip of war.

As the days tick by it still seems so unreal, almost like he will be going off to one of those special forces schools, instead of going to some far away country. I remember the day he left for boot camp, a day when going without seeing him for three months seemed impossible to bear. But the Lord was faithful and carried us through the waiting. The Lord has not changed, His arm is not shortened. He will be and do what He has always been and done. . .Faithful and Abundantly Sufficient.

A Mother's Heart in War. . . 5-26-2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

May 26, 2004

Well, it came. Wrapped in plain brown paper, no stamps or insignias, just two plain white labels. It came, just the same, this package of information, speaking so matter of factly of my son's deployment. No marking on the envelope could begin to tell the importance of the information within.

I read the contents, looked over the checklists, read the advice with interest, but so little of it seemed to apply to me. Most of it was for spouses and children. There was nothing about how to send your only son to war, and even as I write these words, I am struck by the fact that there is One who has been where I am.

There is One who knowingly, even lovingly, sent His only Son to death. That sending, that death was the darkest moment in human history and yet was the most glorious event of all eternity.

Sometimes I wonder that I don't feel more fear -- surely the Lord can't make my heart this peaceful, but there is little fear there. I feel sadness, for a year is a long time to go without seeing your son -- and I think of all the family times that will be less joyful because he is not here. I feel sadness for the grief Emily will feel at being separated from the brother she adores. And I feel sadness for Aimee -- a year is a long time to an eighteen year-old girl.

I feel sadness for Noah, too. Sadness for the things he will miss, for the comforts he will do without, for the sights and sounds and memories he will forever try to erase from his mind. But as for his safety -- he belongs to the Lord, and he always has. I feel certain that the Lord knows that this is exactly what Noah needs to draw him closer to the Lord. I am sure that in the dark of night when bullets fly, Noah's heart will cry out to the only One who is his safety -- the Lord Jesus. And as always, He will be the Answer.

A Mother's Heart in War. . .4-19-2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

April 19, 2004

Noah is still home. But Noah is not home. The closer we get to his departure date (whatever it is, because we don't know), the more away from home he is. This is just a depository for his things. And even when he is here, I feel like he isn't here. There seems to be so little emotional attachment for him here that I wonder just how long it has been since I have touched the "real" Noah -- you know the one -- the tenderhearted, witty, laughing, Noah.

Does the prospect of war loom so heavily upon him that it oppresses his thoughts even now? Does the specter of separation from those he loves haunt him so much that he has already begun the separation himself? Is there some knowledge, some fear, some question that presses so hard and so heavily on him that he must keep a distance from those who love him so much? I have no answers for these questions, but one of my favorite pictures comes to mind.

In this picture I am sitting on the bedroom floor in the old house, doing something like putting on makeup. Around my neck is a pasta necklace, obviously a present crafted from little hands. Sitting next to me is a young Noah. In this picture it seems as if he is telling a story and I am listening while going about my activity. I love this little glimpse of life passed by when Noah loved to relate every detail of every event. He was such a wonderful storyteller -- no twist in the plot was left unveiled, no detail, no matter how trivial, was deleted. An oh, those marvelous little boy sound effects! How do little boys learn to mimic cars and boats and engines so well? You could always depend upon Noah's stories to somehow make you laugh. Not that the stories were always funny, mind you. It was just that he took so much joy in the telling of them and that joy would spill over into your own heart. Oh, to hear one more little boy story!

But that isn't what makes that picture so special. Nor is it because a little toddling Emmie is also in the picture. It is because in this picture Noah is sitting as close to me as possible. Our backs are propped up against the wall and our legs are outstretched and Noah is sitting close to his Momma. Ever since he was old enough to walk away from me, Noah loved to be physicially close. There could be an abundance of couches and chairs in a room, but Noah was going to choose to sit right next to you -- in your lap if at all possible. Even when he became a bigger boy, too big for lap sitting, he would edge his way as close as possible. But by this time he had learned to ask for a back scratch as well, and he usually got one!

I knew the day Noah left in that van for boot camp that my "little boy" was gone forever, but little did I know the tenderhearted laughing, loving son would be buried so deep beneath the Kevlar and cammies. These days Noah walks around with a sort of Rhett Butler-ish swagger that gives the world the impression he is saying the same thing that Rhett did, that "Frankly, Scarlett, . . ." Well, you know the rest.

I can only pray that one day Noah will take that turn in the road most young adults do and realize the people who love him most in the world are the ones who have prayed for him everyday of his life. Perhaps one day Noah will come in and sit close to me again, just for the sheer pleasure to sit next to his Momma. And you can be very sure he'll get a back scratch out of it, too!

A Mother's Heart in War. . .1-31-2004

The Friday entries of "The Powder Room" are currently from a journal which I started when we found out our son was going to be deployed with the United States Marine Corps to Iraq. The journal was not written with the intention that it would ever be read by anyone else, much less published in any way. There are feelings in the journal that are deep and true and I wasn't sure at first I wanted to share them. But there are many sons and daughters still serving in our armed forces and I think it might be good to share "a mother's heart" with you what those other mothers may be facing. The entries are shared as a tribute to my son and his service to our country, and to all those sons and daughters who continue to willingly place themselves in harm's way for the protection and preservation of liberty.

January 31, 2004

It is an odd thing, this specter of war which hangs over us. We do not really talk about it, but not a day goes by that it doesn't enter my mind. Then I think too, of what our son is trained to do. He doesn't repair military automobiles, he doesn't run the supply chain. he is part of the eyes and ears of the Corps. I think I would like it better if it was just "Recon". Something about adding that one little word, "Force".

Well, he is the Lord's and his safety is completely the Lord's. I pray that he will be ready for what he has been trained to do. Oh, I don't mean I pray that he has been trained enough, or I pray that his body is in good enough shape. No, I'll leave that up to the United States Marine Corps. What I mean is I pray his heart is ready. I pray that he isn't trusting in his own might and his own strength but in the Lord, I would want to hear that affirmation of faith from his lips and to know that his heart was at peace because his mind was because his mind was stayed on Him who is his real strength. I trust the Lord will use these days to work that in his heart.