Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Nic's speech

Nicole was asked to speak at a church Sunday for Memorial Day weekend.  It just so happened that it was the anniversary of Doug's death when he was KIA in Baghdad, Iraq 8 years ago.

This is her speech from her blog www.nicsrevelations.com
I know I talk about her all the time (you can read my thoughts on Memorial Day here; their story impacted me greatly.)  I am sorry if you are tired of hearing about it, but her speech ties in to any loss or grief you bear and how God will make it right.

Memorial Day obviously means a lot to me. Memorial Day is about those who have given their lives for this country so that we can be free.  My husband Doug was one of those people.  He was killed in action 8 years ago by an IED in Baghdad.  But not only does Memorial Day mean a lot to me, but Memorial Day Weekend also has special significance.  Memorial Day Weekend is the weekend two notifying officers knocked on my door to tell me my husband was never coming home.  To me Memorial Weekend is not just a weekend to honor the fallen, it is the weekend my husband was killed.  The exact date of his death?  May 25th.  Today is May 25th.
We were stationed in Germany when the news came, so I was told I had to leave fairly quickly. I not only had to leave my house, I had to leave my friends.  My belongings were packed up, my memories were in boxes.  When I boarded the plane to the states, my life, as I knew it, was no more. After arriving in the states, I didn’t expect anything else to happen.  Adjusting to my new life was bad enough.  I was in a borrowed home, in a strange city, surrounded by things not my own, driving a car not my own, and living a life I did not want to live.  Nothing was recognizable.  Not even me.  The tears hadn’t ceased.   And my dreams were gone.  A month after arriving in the states, I got a phone call.  “Nic, more of Doug has been identified.  More of him is coming in urn number two.”
At this point in time I wasn’t normal by any stretch of the imagination, but that phone call set back to day one.   My things still not arrived from Germany. My car was still on a barge across the ocean.  My friends were gone.  My days were filled with tears . And now I had two urns – and questions.  Was his head attached to his body?  Were his hands?  His feet?  What part of Doug was in urn number one?  And what was coming in urn number two?  Those questions were extremely important to me.  My plan at the time was to scatter some of Doug’s ashes on top of a mountain and keep some to be buried with me.  If I wanted his feet on the mountain which urn did I scatter?  If I wanted his hands with me, which urn did I keep?
Six months after the nightmare began, I received another phone call.  “Nic, are you sitting down.”  Of course, I instantly knew what they had called to tell me.  Urn number three was on its way.   With each urn, you relive their death, over and over and over.  Doug died three times that year.  Each and every year, he dies again, on Memorial Day Weekend.
Why three urns?   If found out later the IED that hit Doug was the most powerful explosion his men had ever seen.  It went off right beside his door severing him in two.  His lower half was in tack as if nothing had happened.  His entire upper half was gone. Nothing was whole.  Nothing recognizable.  They were picking off little bits and pieces of him from the doors, from the streets, and from his men.  His head wasn’t there.  His arms weren’t there.  His chest wasn’t there.  Only bits and pieces.  My husband was everywhere.  8 years ago today.
That is the cost of freedom.  Memorial Day.  That is what it is about.  Remembering the fallen.  Remember the cost.  And my story is only one story.  I am not special – they are.  Because freedom isn’t free.
Jesus knows the cost of freedom.  He paid for ours with holes in his hands and feet, thorns in his brow, and spear in his side.
But there is a question isn’t there?  If God is good, how can he allow this?  Why does he allow IED’s in Bagdad, or babies to die in utero, or parents to die of cancer?  How can he look down on our pain and allow it? I’ll tell you the answer, but I have to go back to the beginning.
The night the notifying officers told me my husband was never coming home my friends surrounded me.  When they finally left it was about 3 o’clock in the morning.   I laid on the couch and broke.  The tears would not stop falling, but one thought kept popping into my head.  Doug is not dead, because Jesus is not dead.  That is the point of the cross.
2 Corinthians 3:17 says this: “Now the Lord is Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”
When Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life” He meant it.  He is the life.  If you believe in Him, He says not a hair on your head will perish (Luke 21:18).  He says, “He who believes in Me will live even if he dies.”
How can God look down on pain? Because He knows the future.  Although Doug’s not here.  Doug’s not dead.   My God has planned a reunion . . . one day there will be the blast of the shofar and the dead in Christ will rise.  I have decided to keep all of Doug’s ashes, because I am not going to miss those ashes taken to the sky.  Can you imagine the day?   Can you imagine seeing my joy?  How can God allow this?  Because He can see the end.  I have a plaque sitting by my sink and it says, “God makes happy endings.  If it is not happy, then it’s not the end.”
How can God allow you to have a miscarriage? Because He can see the day you are reunited with that child.  How can he allow someone to be a paraplegic?  Because He can see the day that someone will get up and dance.  God is like a Father on Christmas morning, waiting for His children to run into the living room and see the gifts He has for them.  “Wait,” God is saying, “it is not the end.”
We get so focused on this grain of sand – on this life – that we fail to remember that God has an ocean awaiting us with unending grains of sand.  Just trust me in this grain of sand, He says – no matter what – through IED’s, cancer, and death – because I have the ocean for you.  Because He is the life.  If you choose Him, you choose life.  And when you die, you will live. Heaven is not clouds, harps and haloes.  According to Joel 2:3 it is Eden.  According to Isaiah 65 we are building houses there.  We are planting vineyard.  Wolfs will lie down with lambs.  Lions will eat straw like the ox.  We are living, because He is the life.  In the end, we are walking into the beginning.  We are walking into freedom.
Because where the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.
Listen to the beginning of 1 Peter 5:10 NCV version.  ”And after you have suffered for a short time, God, who gives all grace, will make everything right . . .”
I need you to hear me with all that you are and all that you will be – God will make everything right.   Because in the end, wrongs will be righted and this grain of sand will be the ocean and the pain we feel now, will be washed away by life – by Him.  Because where His spirit is – there is freedom.  Jesus said, “You will know the truth and the truth will set you free.”  Who is the truth – He is the truth – what is the truth – eternal life.  That truth, faithful friends, should set you free.  For no matter what  – not a hair on your head will perish.
But there was a cost.  There was the cross.  Freedom isn’t free.
This country is standing because of the cost of freedom.  The revolutionary war brought an unknown amount of casualties.  World War 2 brought almost 300,000 American dead.  There are a 109 faces hanging in the Hall of Heroes on Fort Benning, my husband among them, because eight years ago today his blood was shed for freedom.  Freedom isn’t free.
I was driving down Double Churches after Easter and there was a church with an Easter sign out front that wasn’t the normal “Happy Easter” or “He has risen” – It said “He Got Up.”
America has always gotten up because America understands the cost of freedom.  Why? Because America was founded on Christian values.  The flag waves because of Christian values.  Because we know in this country without His Spirit, freedom can’t exist. That is why America is always on the front lines, standing tall against a rising darkness.  Those men and women whom we honor today, who gave the ultimate sacrifice, were on those front lines.  They stood for the flag, they stood for the constitution, and they stood for freedom.
If anyone should understand the cost of freedom – it is the people who have been given freedom through the cross.
So today, on this Memorial Day, I’m asking you to get up.  We need to fight for the memory of the fallen, which means fighting for the freedoms America stands for.  It means fighting for the freedom this country was founded on.  It means fighting for the Spirit of the Lord to be alive in America.
Our freedoms are being compromised every day.  Get up.  Our constitution is being criticized every day.  Get up.  Starting today, you need to get up.   Those men and women whom we honor today “got up” so that we could be free.  Their blood was spilled; the cost was high.  We cannot let that cost be for nothing.
Are you willing to get up? Jesus did.  It cost him his life.  My husband did.  It cost him his life.  But freedom is worth fighting for.  Because this country is worth fighting for.  And my God is worth fighting for.
God makes happy endings.  If it is not happy, then it’s not the end.  But until the time He makes everything right, we have to get up.  Because if we want God’s spirit in America, freedom must remain.
Starting today, Christian soldiers.  Get up.  Fight for freedom.
Thank you.
nic
Here is another link to her story:
http://www.krissycollins.com/blog/2014/5/22/nics-story

Friday, May 23, 2014

Memorial Day, Part II

Those of you who haven't had a chance to read my Memorial Day Memoir, click here.  For some reason today, I'm getting a little choked up thinking about Captain Doug DiCenzo.  Maybe it's because I like to hang a flag on our door for Memorial Day, Veteran's Day, and 4th of July.  Anna asked me if I was hanging it for Father's Day, and I explained to her what Memorial Day is and reminded her about Captain Doug and Mrs. Nicole.  Many of you know the story.  Capt. Doug and Nicole lived below us in Germany.  We spent every day together.  Just thinking about their laughter and his bright presence walking into a room got me teared up. Even though it will be 8 years on Sunday since he was killed, my brain still can't make sense of it.  Hearing those words in my head again "Doug was killed" triggered something in me today, and back then it shattered that assumption that both of our husbands would come home and we would pick up life where we left off.
Last Memorial Day I was sobbing in church during the service as they have people stand who have lost family.  It really is a sacrifice.  I wish I were naïve to this side of life, but I also am thankful that we have a deep understanding.  I understand many people lose spouses and parents to car accidents and cancer, and those are all terrible things.  My heart grieves deeply for you.  It's a different realm to have some insight into the atrocities of war.  The true realization of evil in the world.  An Iraqi insurgent used a bomb to blow up Doug and his gunner.  You hope and pray they come home, but it happens so fast, there's no time to even pray they will get better.   Then Nicole's whole life changed.  We packed her up, had the service and she was on her way back to the United States to figure out what she would do next.
Some other things have gotten me thinking.  A few weeks ago we went to our local art museum, The Frist.  They have a Steve Mumford War Journals exhibit. http://fristcenter.org/calendar-exhibitions/detail/steve-mumfords-war-journals 

He used water color to show his observations while being imbedded among soldiers in Baghdad, Iraq.  I started going through the exhibit alone, and I couldn't believe my eyes when I came across this picture and description that tells a story I had heard about first hand.

Another soldier from Ramadi who Scott remembered
We were continents apart, but I remember Scott telling me about this incident and how many men, women, and children were affected.  He was thankful to be there, because he could help triage the children. Words cannot describe the strange, stunning, feelings while looking at a picture hanging in an art museum that Steve painted in a hospital in Baghdad to represent the story of what happened in Ramadi hours earlier--a moment in time in which my husband was one of the first to touch these people 7 years ago.  He painted the "after" while my husband was at the "before."
The week after seeing this exhibit, we traveled to Little Rock, Arkansas to see Scott's family.  Our sister-in-law's parents' house was damaged in the tornado the previous week.  (I wrote about this a little bit here).  We had only seen pictures online, but we chose to drive a little out of the way to see what Mayflower looked like now.  You are not allowed to drive through the neighborhoods, but we had talked to Scott's uncle who had been helping through Samaritan's Purse as they were going house by house to help clean up the extraordinary amount of debris piled up--there is a LOT of work to do.  These are the pictures from I-40 as we drove by.  They really don't show it well, but Scott said this truly is what a war-zone looks like (except for the tree stumps).  It's brown, almost looks burned out, and the only words to describe it are devastation and destruction.  This actually gave him some flash-backs.  I've always heard people describe scenarios as looking like a "war-zone" but the definition is true.  I am sad to think about the loss of life and rebuilding that people will continue to struggle with for awhile.

Thanks for bearing with me as I think aloud.  Sometimes this blog helps me record thoughts that have been in my head for awhile that I'd like to share, but it may not be significant to many others ;)  Although a storm caused this, may we remember and be grateful this is not what America looks like because of those who have protected our country and the ideals upon which our country was founded.  May we continue to reach out to those affected by this devastation and those who have lost family who were defending our safety.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Memorial Day

Growing up, I mostly thought of Memorial Day as a time to remember those we had lost, not necessarily only military veterans.  My grandparents passed away when I was 13 and 14, so we would sometimes make a trip to Kansas to put flowers at their grave.  It was always important to my mom that we have something there for Memorial Day.
I knew the holiday had military significance, but we did not discuss it that much.  Maybe it was because people thought of war in the past or maybe we didn't really know anyone personally who had lost a loved one in a war. (Desert Storm was going on, but it seemed very distant).  We would always sing patriotic hymns at church, and veterans would be recognized, but I did not fully grasp the meaning.  I do remember our junior high school was right next to a National Cemetery.  We would go place flags at each of the fallen soldiers' headstones the Thursday or Friday before Memorial Day weekend.  I was always in awe of the number of headstones right there in Little Rock and thought of the families who had lost their sons, brothers and husbands, many in the Civil War.
Little Rock National Cemetery
Little Rock National Cemetery
Courtesy of the Department of Veterans Affairs, National Cemetery Administration, History Program
Fast forward to 2001.  Scott and I spent Memorial Day weekend moving him to his new house in San Antonio as he began his military pediatric residency at Lackland Air Force Base and Fort Sam Houston.  I flew back to Little Rock by myself not knowing our future and the effect of the long distance.  We got engaged in August.  I was working at the Arkansas Capitol when 9/11 happened, and I sent Scott a page. He called me back; I was panicking--what did this mean for him since he was in the Army?  He said he was protected because he was in training.  My roommate picked me up from the airport a month later and told me we had gone to war.  I had a huge knot in my stomach, wondering how long would this war last?  Would it finish before Scott's three years of training were over?  What did it look like for someone to go to war today?
We got married Memorial Day weekend 2002.  It was nice that the church was decorated with the flags lining the drive, especially looking back in retrospect that I was becoming a military wife.  When I flew away by myself the previous Memorial Day, my heart was ripping out of my chest, but a year later, I was flying away to my honeymoon.
I returned from the honeymoon to go through inprocessing with my ID card and Tricare and power of attorney.  I learned what a Shoppette was and how to shop at the commissary and BX.  I took his BDU's (Battle Dress Uniform) to the cleaners, because they were awful to iron, and I thought he looked so handsome when he wore his Class A's to clinic (light green button down shirt with dark green pants).  At first I questioned, are the kids scared of you in your BDU's and combat boots?  only to stop myself and realize that their mommies and daddies were coming home in the same uniforms.
It was time for Scott to graduate residency in 2004.  The war was still going on.  We were given orders to Heidelberg, Germany, and once we arrived we were assured that no pediatrician had been deployed from that clinic.  In February, we received the word that Scott would deploy to Iraq with the First Armored Division for a year, beginning in November.  He would be a doctor to the soldiers and possibly civilians in Iraq.  Our friend Doug who lived below us helped Scott get his gear together for trainings and he transitioned over to the new ACU (Army Combat Uniform).
Scott ended up leaving in January 2006 and returning in February 2007.  It was a long time, people.  (Sidenote:  this hit me in a real, fresh way yesterday, and perhaps why I am writing today. Exactly 13 months ago, our moving truck unloaded us here in our new home in Nashville.  Yesterday I reflected on everything we had been a part of the past 13 months, the activities, trips, company, house projects--a lot has happened!  It was really hard for me to grasp in retrospect the amount of time we had endured apart during the deployment, another 13 months.  I couldn't believe we had made it that long apart!)
Back to Memorial Day.  While Scott was in Iraq, I got a surprise phone call on our anniversary, May 26, right before I left to go substitute at the high school.  I told him something wasn't right with Doug, and he reassured me he would figure out what was going on, because he had just seen him.  Of course, later that day I found out Doug had been killed by an IED blast.  Now Memorial Day is incredibly personal. (if you want to read my friend Nicole's story after losing Doug, click here).  After Memorial Day, Scott was in Ramadi until mid-February, and they lost a lot of soldiers out there.  I realize that it is nice to remember our loved ones who have passed way, unfortunately many due to tragedy or sickness that seem to have died too soon, but now that we have lost so many soldiers in recent years, it is an excruciating reminder of the sacrifice, and I regret that I did not fully grasp the loss of soldiers from WWI, WWII, Korean War, Civil War, Viet Nam War, Operation Desert Storm, Operation Iraqi Freedom, Operation Enduring Freedom and any other conflicts/operations.