The First Annual MilBlog Conference
The Real Story Of The Conference

A Journey of a Thousand Miles

Subsunk again.

Was the Liberation of Iraq worth $300 Billion, 2500 Allied Men and Women's lives, and the lives of 35,000+ innocent Iraqi's? No one knows right now, and no one can tell you what the future holds. None can say, unless they already know that the liberation of Iraq was not worth one American's life or one American dollar. How cheaply is our freedom bought and paid for? And how much is it worth to us to keep it for ourselves and for our children?

Each of us has our own faith in what our country's current acts will bring in the near and the far future. Faith that can reasonably be related to the faith we all share in our Creator, or our children, or our spouse. It is nothing you can prove. It can only come from the heart, and be validated at our Life's end. But none of us can know for sure what will follow the acts of brave Americans in a strange land, who toil daily for our safety, and for our future.

But if this story is any indication, my faith in the correctness of this endeavor is not misplaced, not blind, and not wrong. An old Chinese proverb says even the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step. And this story is about one of God's footsteps on the Journey of a Thousand Miles.

Read the whole thing.

Via Instapundit

Friday, April 21, 2006
Dispatch from Iraq: A tiny bit of comfort

ARIC CATRON

A soldier sees and feels a wider variety of sights and emotions in a year than most people will experience in a lifetime. ...

In my short time in the military I have experienced more suffering than I could have imagined before joining up. I have held the hand of a dying Marine who had only one last wish: that someone would be with him and hold his hand as he passed on. So I sat there with a strange man, holding his hand, not saying a word, until he died. ...

I have watched grown men cry, and cried with them, as we stood in front of the traditional memorial of a rifle thrust bayonet-first into the ground with the fallen soldier's helmet and dog tags draped on the weapon. His empty boots stand at attention in the fore of this tableau.

My heart broke when I gazed upon a little girl, no older than my own 5-year-old, crying and begging in broken English for food and water. I have awoken from sleep in shock as it finally dawned on me how close I came to death on a recent patrol. I have lived in fear that I would never see my family again, or that my daughter would grow up without her daddy. ...

On one of those days in Iraq where I wasn't sure if I'd see my daughter again, I was working at a checkpoint near a small camp in the desert. ... The locals would gather around our checkpoints to try to sell us things, beg for food or water, or just hang around the soldiers.

On this particular day one of the locals had his little girl with him. She was shyly watching me from behind his legs. When I smiled and waved at her, she brazenly ran up to me with a big smile and held out her arms, expecting to be picked up. At first I was shocked at her sudden bravery, and it took me a second to reach down and pick her up. When I did, she immediately kissed me on my cheek and then nestled in as if she meant to stay a while.

I looked toward her father and he immediately began talking rapidly in Arabic and gesturing at me. Our translator quickly explained that he, the father, had been locked in a prison for most of the child's life. He had been sentenced to death for being a Shiite dissident traitor. The man went on to say that soldiers wearing the same patch on the shoulder as I was (the 101st Airborne Division) had freed him shortly after we began the liberation of Iraq. His daughter from then on believed that the famous Screaming Eagle patch of the 101st meant that we were angels sent to protect her family.

I sat in a little folding chair with that girl in my arms for well over 30 minutes. She trusted me so completely that she had fallen asleep with her head on my shoulder. All of my fears and worries faded as I held that little miracle. It had been so long since I had held my own daughter that this episode was even more healing for me than it was for her.

I have often wondered if, on that day when I missed my family so much, it wasn't a coincidence that she found me, of all soldiers. Maybe it was that innocent girl, and not me, that was the angel sent by God.

Subsunk, Out.

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