Hello all!
I’m writing to all of you to tell you of an experience I had last week. This is not spam and this is not a joke. This is not religious or political. This is a true story that happened to me last week – Friday, April 27, 2007 to be exact -- that changed my life forever. It is not a short story, but I hope that you will take a moment to read this and that you will be as moved as I was.
Yesterday I, along with 3 colleagues, was returning from home office in Chicago where we attended our company’s bi-annual Continuing Education Week. We arrived at O’Hare, tired and anxious to get on our scheduled flight that would take us back to our homes in and around the Atlanta area. On our way to the gate we happened to notice on the departures and arrivals monitor that our flight had been cancelled. With a sigh and a few muttered rumblings, we proceeded to the gate to see about having our flight re-scheduled. The gate agent informed us that due to extremely severe weather between Chicago and Atlanta there were currently no seats on any remaining flights that evening. What’s more, she said that it was doubtful that any flight on any airline would be leaving. As a few of my co-workers debated various alternatives with the agent, I called our company’s travel department to see if there was anything they could do to get us back home that night. After 20 minutes of passing messages from our travel department to the agent and back, discussing every possible scenario, it was decided that our only option was to spend the night at a nearby hotel and take the 9:40 AM flight to Atlanta the next morning. The agent made the arrangements and gave us our boarding passes for our new flight. Then she uttered a phrase that I never want to hear again – “You will not be able to get your luggage back.” In shock, we asked why. She stated that it was against regulations to return baggage that had already gone through security, unless there was medication in the luggage that the owner of the bag needed. Being the smart negotiators we are, we pounced, claiming that we all had medication that we had to have that evening. The agent, obviously skeptical, questioned each of us as to the description of each of our bags. She did some typing on her computer keyboard, and then announced that our bags would be pulled and that we could retrieve them on Baggage Carousel 10. Triumphant and relieved, we made our way to the baggage area.
When we reached the baggage area, we discovered that carousel 10 was closed for renovation. We stood, confused, trying to get our bearings and discuss where the bags could be. A helpful bystander overheard our discussion and told us that the airport was using carousel 4 in place of #10 during the renovation. We thanked her and headed to carousel 4. On our way, I noticed an area with a lot of baggage lined up in rows, as people stepped forward to claim it. I asked the attendant where we could locate our bags, and he motioned to two lines, one on either side of his appointed area. One line was about 50 people deep, while the other had about 20 in it. Not wanting to put our eggs all in one basket, we split up, with 2 of us heading to each line. While in line, I asked the agent at the desk if I was in the correct line to get my baggage back from canceled flight 4444, and she stated that I was in the correct line. I used my cell phone to call my co-workers that were standing in the other, longer line to come to join us. The line moved quicker than I expected and we were pleased to finally reach the counter. I explained that we needed to get our baggage back from our cancelled flight 4444. The agent looked up the flight and stated, “We cannot release your bags.” When, perturbed, we asked why, she pulled out a list of about 10 destination cities that the airline could not release baggage for. Apparently, this would be a security breach. Utterly defeated, not having the strength and energy to argue, we all made the long walk to the curbside waiting area for the shuttle to take us to our hotel. After checking in, we had dinner and drinks in a sports bar that was attached to the hotel. After dinner, 3 of us took the shuttle to Target, where we bought a few sample sized toiletries, new underwear, and new shirts to wear home on our flight the next day. Then, it was back to the hotel for a very restless nights sleep.
The next morning, we made our way to the airport bright and early. We checked to make sure that our flight was still scheduled to take off on time, which it was, and then had a leisurely breakfast. After breakfast we ambled towards the gate. I commented how, in spite of our ordeal, the fact that we seemed to be finally on our way to getting back home seemed to make us all more relaxed and content. Everyone agreed, as we shuffled calmly to the gate.
Just before the gate agent called for us to board the plane, the ladies I was with noticed a handsome, young soldier standing in the gate area. The usual chitchat that accompanies the discovery of an attractive man ensued. Then, as quickly as it had changed, the conversation turned back to previous discussions. We boarded the plane, and located our seats -- all in the very back 3 rows of the small, 18-row plane. I, of course, had what I believed to be the worst seat on the plane: the last row, right across the aisle from the bathroom. Of course, the ladies I was traveling with were quick to point out that, in their eyes, I had the best seat, as I was seated right next to the handsome, young soldier that had caught their fancy. At one point, while we were taxiing out to the runway, I asked the soldier if he was on his way home, or on his way out. He stated that he had been home since the 11th of April, and that he was on his way back to Iraq. He said that he didn’t expect to go back, but that he had just been informed that he was being sent back to Iraq for another year. I asked where he was stationed and he said the center of Baghdad. I said that I was sorry that he had to go back. He said that he was alright with going back, though it was hard when nobody really knows the good that is being done in Iraq. He said that they are making some real progress, even though it is moving slowly. He expressed his disappointment that you never see the good that is going on in Iraq, only the bad. He felt that the media will never show the good for several reasons: the Democrats hate Bush, and we’re nearing the election year, and that the media needs to report on the bad things going on in Iraq to sell papers.
I asked if he was from Chicago, and he told me that he was from Cedar Rapids, Iowa. I noticed that he had closed the shade on the window, occasionally raising it ever so slightly to peek out to see what progress the plane was making. I asked if he didn’t like to fly, and he stated that he didn’t really mind, and as the plane began it’s race down the runway and we lifted into the air, he mapped out his journey from Chicago to Iraq for me. He described what it was like to fly on the two military planes that would carry him during the last two legs of his journey to Kuwait, where he would be shuttled to Baghdad. We talked about the tiny MP3 player that he had removed from his pocket, and how he loved music, but due to the slow connection speed, it took a long time to download a song in Baghdad. He told me of his desire to study Health Science and Nutrition, and how he hoped to be a personal trainer and nutritionist. He said that soldiers had the option to take classes while in Iraq, and though many of his friends were, he had decided not to, as he wanted to be able to focus on his schoolwork and do his best. This was something he didn’t think he could do with the daily distraction of his mission in Iraq. I asked when he would be finished and able to start school. He said that his new tour would end in June of 2008. He told me that when he returned from his tour, before he started classes, that he planned to visit some of his family in Connecticut, and then go on vacation in Florida. When I asked where in Florida he wanted to go, he said, ”Someplace with a beach, and with sand. Even though I see sand every day, it’s different sand. I want to go somewhere that I can stand in the sand and see the ocean. Somewhere where there’s beer, and girls!” A big smile came across his face. Our conversation continued until the captain announced that it was safe to use electronic devices. He put in his MP3 player earphones, turned on his music, laid his head back, and closed his eyes.
At some point in the flight I looked over and noticed that he had fallen asleep. His face was so serene, almost angelic. I was amazed at how someone who had been exposed to the horrors of wars, and was on their way back to face that horror once again, could be so calm, so relaxed and drift into sleep. Moved by the scene of this young soldier, facing an uncertain future, sleeping peacefully, I slowly and quietly reached into my computer case and took out my digital camera and took a few pictures of him sleeping, so serenely. One of the ladies I was traveling with noticed what I was doing and commented that she wanted a copy of the picture of the handsome man. While taking the pictures, I noticed the patch on his uniform that had his last name: Hansel. I thought it ironic that he shared his last name with the name of a boy from a child’s fairy tale – the storybook Hansel, an innocent who fought an evil force; this soldier Hansel, an innocent on his way to fight an evil force.
I settled back and scrolled through the photos I had taken of the soldier, hoping that I had captured this scene that had amazed me so. Suddenly it hit me that the very photos that I had just taken, the ones that I was looking at, could very well be the last photos ever taken of this young man. The thought was more than I could handle. Tears began to roll down my face and I was at that moment grateful that I was in the very last row of the plane, able to simply stand up and step a mere 2 feet across the narrow aisle into the bathroom. Trying to hold back the eruption of emotion I was feeling, I fumbled with the seatbelt, unable to unlatch it. I pulled and tugged at the belts’ mechanism, desperate to exit my seat and reach the solitude of the bathroom where I could unleash my emotion without being seen by any of the passengers. The seatbelt finally unlatched and I hurried across the aisle into the bathroom. My hands began shaking as I locked the door behind me. I collapsed onto the closed toilet lid and began sobbing. I cried harder than I ever have in my entire life. Here I was, a 40-year-old man who has seen my share of sorrow, my body convulsing in emotion, sobbing, unable to control my emotions. I let go and let the tears flow, body shaking, voice whimpering…
After what seemed like an eternity, afraid others were lined up outside, waiting to get into the bathroom, I managed to compose myself, and returned to my seat. I sank low into the seat, hiding my eyes with my hands, hoping no one would see me. The two of my travel partners that were sitting in front of me were carrying on a conversation with a woman across the aisle. She looked at me and, knowing that she could see the telltale signs of the tears I had shed, I hoped that she wouldn’t tip off my colleagues.
I began thinking of 2 songs, both coincidentally by one of my favorite singers, Jann Arden. One of them, “Fighting For The World,” about a family waiting through Christmas, New Years, and Easter for their loved one to return from war, is a melodic, somber song, that has always made me cry. The other song, an upbeat remake of the 1971 Freda Payne anti-Vietnam War song, “Bring the Boys Home.” (I have attached a document with the lyrics to these songs to this email for those who are interested). I took out my I-Pod and listened to both. As I did, tears began to well up in my eyes again and I tried desperately to contain my emotion. One of the ladies I was traveling with turned around with a big smile. Her face fell into concern as she saw the tears rolling down my face. She mouthed the words, “Are you alright?” I slowly shook my head to show that I was not, and told her that I would explain when we got off the plane.
I managed to compose myself only a few minutes before our pilot announced our descent into Atlanta. The soldier awoke. He lifted the window shade a bit to see if he could get a view of the Atlanta skyline. I leaned over and asked him his name. “Cody,” he said. I asked him if I could ask a favor. He said that I could. I told him that while he was asleep that I had taken a photo of him, and explained how it amazed me to see someone who was going into war, be so calm and serene. I told him how you see the war on the news everyday, but you are distanced from it. With tears welling up, I told him that spending this time with him had truly changed my life. I told him that for me, the war now had a face. I tried to hold back my tears as I shook his hand and thanked him for what he was doing.
I asked if I could take another picture of him while he tried, for a moment, to forget where he was going and imagine that he was on the beach, in the sand, with the girls, and happy. He said, “Sure.” I took out my camera, aimed it and said, “Think of the beach. Think happy.” His face lit up and I snapped the photo. I thought to myself that if anything ever happened to this young man, that the last picture of him could now, possibly, be one of happiness and joy. I shook his hand again and wished him the best.
He told me that he was so surprised that he was able to sleep. He stated that he does not get a lot of sleep, as his workday is normally 16-20 hours long. He described how the human body can only go so far before it gives out. He told me how you can be marching one minute, and then wake up lying on the ground, your body having collapsed. He said described his small, meager living area, and how it was overcrowded, and noisy from the nearby airport in Baghdad. He told me that this is why he has the MP3 player – so that he can put in the earphones, listen to music to try and drown out the noise, and try and get a few hours of sleep. He mentioned that this trip to Baghdad would be 16 and a half hours in the air, but that he would get to see “three sunrises and 2 sunsets.” He described how beautiful it was to fly through a sunrise and sunset, watching the sun rise and fall. I was in awe that, once again, this young man was finding the beauty in what most would find an awful situation.
The plane landed and we all began laughing and joking with the soldier. As we exited the plane, he asked if we knew what area of the airport soldiers were supposed to report to. One of the ladies pointed him in the right direction. I shook his hand one more time and wished him a good trip. He thanked me and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
The four of us made our way to baggage claim and rejoiced out loud when we saw our bags waiting for us. We gathered them up and moved to our respective bathrooms to freshen up. As we regrouped outside the bathrooms, I recounted my experience to them and why I was so emotional on the plane. Once again I began to cry, but this time I was not alone. As I looked at the faces of my traveling companions, I saw that they shared my same emotion. We stood together and cried…and hugged.
On our way through the airport we began to notice soldiers everywhere. At one point, we stopped, frozen in our tracks, seeing a large group of about 40 young soldiers, lined up in formation, beginning their march through the airport towards an uncertain future…
I believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe that the reason that our flight was delayed, that we were without luggage, that we “suffered” through the night unexpectedly, was so that I could meet this soldier. It was so I could realize that all of the small stresses in my life are nothing in comparison to the life of this young man and the uncertainty, fear, courage, and strength that he has to muster everyday, just to survive. It gave me clarity as to what is important in life, and what is not. That the petty annoyances that we hold on to, are just that – petty. I realized that there is a world outside of my own, one where there are men and women that I have never met, that I will never meet, who have chosen to fight for me…for me…
I am not a political man. I have my opinions about the war and about our President. But what I experienced was beyond those opinions. Meeting this young soldier changed my life.
I want to ask anyone reading this email, regardless of your beliefs on the war, to take a moment to remember Sergeant Cody Hansel, as well as all of our soldiers, who are risking their lives on the other side of the globe, fighting for freedom, fighting for you and me, fighting for the world…
I’m writing to all of you to tell you of an experience I had last week. This is not spam and this is not a joke. This is not religious or political. This is a true story that happened to me last week – Friday, April 27, 2007 to be exact -- that changed my life forever. It is not a short story, but I hope that you will take a moment to read this and that you will be as moved as I was.
Yesterday I, along with 3 colleagues, was returning from home office in Chicago where we attended our company’s bi-annual Continuing Education Week. We arrived at O’Hare, tired and anxious to get on our scheduled flight that would take us back to our homes in and around the Atlanta area. On our way to the gate we happened to notice on the departures and arrivals monitor that our flight had been cancelled. With a sigh and a few muttered rumblings, we proceeded to the gate to see about having our flight re-scheduled. The gate agent informed us that due to extremely severe weather between Chicago and Atlanta there were currently no seats on any remaining flights that evening. What’s more, she said that it was doubtful that any flight on any airline would be leaving. As a few of my co-workers debated various alternatives with the agent, I called our company’s travel department to see if there was anything they could do to get us back home that night. After 20 minutes of passing messages from our travel department to the agent and back, discussing every possible scenario, it was decided that our only option was to spend the night at a nearby hotel and take the 9:40 AM flight to Atlanta the next morning. The agent made the arrangements and gave us our boarding passes for our new flight. Then she uttered a phrase that I never want to hear again – “You will not be able to get your luggage back.” In shock, we asked why. She stated that it was against regulations to return baggage that had already gone through security, unless there was medication in the luggage that the owner of the bag needed. Being the smart negotiators we are, we pounced, claiming that we all had medication that we had to have that evening. The agent, obviously skeptical, questioned each of us as to the description of each of our bags. She did some typing on her computer keyboard, and then announced that our bags would be pulled and that we could retrieve them on Baggage Carousel 10. Triumphant and relieved, we made our way to the baggage area.
When we reached the baggage area, we discovered that carousel 10 was closed for renovation. We stood, confused, trying to get our bearings and discuss where the bags could be. A helpful bystander overheard our discussion and told us that the airport was using carousel 4 in place of #10 during the renovation. We thanked her and headed to carousel 4. On our way, I noticed an area with a lot of baggage lined up in rows, as people stepped forward to claim it. I asked the attendant where we could locate our bags, and he motioned to two lines, one on either side of his appointed area. One line was about 50 people deep, while the other had about 20 in it. Not wanting to put our eggs all in one basket, we split up, with 2 of us heading to each line. While in line, I asked the agent at the desk if I was in the correct line to get my baggage back from canceled flight 4444, and she stated that I was in the correct line. I used my cell phone to call my co-workers that were standing in the other, longer line to come to join us. The line moved quicker than I expected and we were pleased to finally reach the counter. I explained that we needed to get our baggage back from our cancelled flight 4444. The agent looked up the flight and stated, “We cannot release your bags.” When, perturbed, we asked why, she pulled out a list of about 10 destination cities that the airline could not release baggage for. Apparently, this would be a security breach. Utterly defeated, not having the strength and energy to argue, we all made the long walk to the curbside waiting area for the shuttle to take us to our hotel. After checking in, we had dinner and drinks in a sports bar that was attached to the hotel. After dinner, 3 of us took the shuttle to Target, where we bought a few sample sized toiletries, new underwear, and new shirts to wear home on our flight the next day. Then, it was back to the hotel for a very restless nights sleep.
The next morning, we made our way to the airport bright and early. We checked to make sure that our flight was still scheduled to take off on time, which it was, and then had a leisurely breakfast. After breakfast we ambled towards the gate. I commented how, in spite of our ordeal, the fact that we seemed to be finally on our way to getting back home seemed to make us all more relaxed and content. Everyone agreed, as we shuffled calmly to the gate.
Just before the gate agent called for us to board the plane, the ladies I was with noticed a handsome, young soldier standing in the gate area. The usual chitchat that accompanies the discovery of an attractive man ensued. Then, as quickly as it had changed, the conversation turned back to previous discussions. We boarded the plane, and located our seats -- all in the very back 3 rows of the small, 18-row plane. I, of course, had what I believed to be the worst seat on the plane: the last row, right across the aisle from the bathroom. Of course, the ladies I was traveling with were quick to point out that, in their eyes, I had the best seat, as I was seated right next to the handsome, young soldier that had caught their fancy. At one point, while we were taxiing out to the runway, I asked the soldier if he was on his way home, or on his way out. He stated that he had been home since the 11th of April, and that he was on his way back to Iraq. He said that he didn’t expect to go back, but that he had just been informed that he was being sent back to Iraq for another year. I asked where he was stationed and he said the center of Baghdad. I said that I was sorry that he had to go back. He said that he was alright with going back, though it was hard when nobody really knows the good that is being done in Iraq. He said that they are making some real progress, even though it is moving slowly. He expressed his disappointment that you never see the good that is going on in Iraq, only the bad. He felt that the media will never show the good for several reasons: the Democrats hate Bush, and we’re nearing the election year, and that the media needs to report on the bad things going on in Iraq to sell papers.
I asked if he was from Chicago, and he told me that he was from Cedar Rapids, Iowa. I noticed that he had closed the shade on the window, occasionally raising it ever so slightly to peek out to see what progress the plane was making. I asked if he didn’t like to fly, and he stated that he didn’t really mind, and as the plane began it’s race down the runway and we lifted into the air, he mapped out his journey from Chicago to Iraq for me. He described what it was like to fly on the two military planes that would carry him during the last two legs of his journey to Kuwait, where he would be shuttled to Baghdad. We talked about the tiny MP3 player that he had removed from his pocket, and how he loved music, but due to the slow connection speed, it took a long time to download a song in Baghdad. He told me of his desire to study Health Science and Nutrition, and how he hoped to be a personal trainer and nutritionist. He said that soldiers had the option to take classes while in Iraq, and though many of his friends were, he had decided not to, as he wanted to be able to focus on his schoolwork and do his best. This was something he didn’t think he could do with the daily distraction of his mission in Iraq. I asked when he would be finished and able to start school. He said that his new tour would end in June of 2008. He told me that when he returned from his tour, before he started classes, that he planned to visit some of his family in Connecticut, and then go on vacation in Florida. When I asked where in Florida he wanted to go, he said, ”Someplace with a beach, and with sand. Even though I see sand every day, it’s different sand. I want to go somewhere that I can stand in the sand and see the ocean. Somewhere where there’s beer, and girls!” A big smile came across his face. Our conversation continued until the captain announced that it was safe to use electronic devices. He put in his MP3 player earphones, turned on his music, laid his head back, and closed his eyes.
At some point in the flight I looked over and noticed that he had fallen asleep. His face was so serene, almost angelic. I was amazed at how someone who had been exposed to the horrors of wars, and was on their way back to face that horror once again, could be so calm, so relaxed and drift into sleep. Moved by the scene of this young soldier, facing an uncertain future, sleeping peacefully, I slowly and quietly reached into my computer case and took out my digital camera and took a few pictures of him sleeping, so serenely. One of the ladies I was traveling with noticed what I was doing and commented that she wanted a copy of the picture of the handsome man. While taking the pictures, I noticed the patch on his uniform that had his last name: Hansel. I thought it ironic that he shared his last name with the name of a boy from a child’s fairy tale – the storybook Hansel, an innocent who fought an evil force; this soldier Hansel, an innocent on his way to fight an evil force.
I settled back and scrolled through the photos I had taken of the soldier, hoping that I had captured this scene that had amazed me so. Suddenly it hit me that the very photos that I had just taken, the ones that I was looking at, could very well be the last photos ever taken of this young man. The thought was more than I could handle. Tears began to roll down my face and I was at that moment grateful that I was in the very last row of the plane, able to simply stand up and step a mere 2 feet across the narrow aisle into the bathroom. Trying to hold back the eruption of emotion I was feeling, I fumbled with the seatbelt, unable to unlatch it. I pulled and tugged at the belts’ mechanism, desperate to exit my seat and reach the solitude of the bathroom where I could unleash my emotion without being seen by any of the passengers. The seatbelt finally unlatched and I hurried across the aisle into the bathroom. My hands began shaking as I locked the door behind me. I collapsed onto the closed toilet lid and began sobbing. I cried harder than I ever have in my entire life. Here I was, a 40-year-old man who has seen my share of sorrow, my body convulsing in emotion, sobbing, unable to control my emotions. I let go and let the tears flow, body shaking, voice whimpering…
After what seemed like an eternity, afraid others were lined up outside, waiting to get into the bathroom, I managed to compose myself, and returned to my seat. I sank low into the seat, hiding my eyes with my hands, hoping no one would see me. The two of my travel partners that were sitting in front of me were carrying on a conversation with a woman across the aisle. She looked at me and, knowing that she could see the telltale signs of the tears I had shed, I hoped that she wouldn’t tip off my colleagues.
I began thinking of 2 songs, both coincidentally by one of my favorite singers, Jann Arden. One of them, “Fighting For The World,” about a family waiting through Christmas, New Years, and Easter for their loved one to return from war, is a melodic, somber song, that has always made me cry. The other song, an upbeat remake of the 1971 Freda Payne anti-Vietnam War song, “Bring the Boys Home.” (I have attached a document with the lyrics to these songs to this email for those who are interested). I took out my I-Pod and listened to both. As I did, tears began to well up in my eyes again and I tried desperately to contain my emotion. One of the ladies I was traveling with turned around with a big smile. Her face fell into concern as she saw the tears rolling down my face. She mouthed the words, “Are you alright?” I slowly shook my head to show that I was not, and told her that I would explain when we got off the plane.
I managed to compose myself only a few minutes before our pilot announced our descent into Atlanta. The soldier awoke. He lifted the window shade a bit to see if he could get a view of the Atlanta skyline. I leaned over and asked him his name. “Cody,” he said. I asked him if I could ask a favor. He said that I could. I told him that while he was asleep that I had taken a photo of him, and explained how it amazed me to see someone who was going into war, be so calm and serene. I told him how you see the war on the news everyday, but you are distanced from it. With tears welling up, I told him that spending this time with him had truly changed my life. I told him that for me, the war now had a face. I tried to hold back my tears as I shook his hand and thanked him for what he was doing.
I asked if I could take another picture of him while he tried, for a moment, to forget where he was going and imagine that he was on the beach, in the sand, with the girls, and happy. He said, “Sure.” I took out my camera, aimed it and said, “Think of the beach. Think happy.” His face lit up and I snapped the photo. I thought to myself that if anything ever happened to this young man, that the last picture of him could now, possibly, be one of happiness and joy. I shook his hand again and wished him the best.
He told me that he was so surprised that he was able to sleep. He stated that he does not get a lot of sleep, as his workday is normally 16-20 hours long. He described how the human body can only go so far before it gives out. He told me how you can be marching one minute, and then wake up lying on the ground, your body having collapsed. He said described his small, meager living area, and how it was overcrowded, and noisy from the nearby airport in Baghdad. He told me that this is why he has the MP3 player – so that he can put in the earphones, listen to music to try and drown out the noise, and try and get a few hours of sleep. He mentioned that this trip to Baghdad would be 16 and a half hours in the air, but that he would get to see “three sunrises and 2 sunsets.” He described how beautiful it was to fly through a sunrise and sunset, watching the sun rise and fall. I was in awe that, once again, this young man was finding the beauty in what most would find an awful situation.
The plane landed and we all began laughing and joking with the soldier. As we exited the plane, he asked if we knew what area of the airport soldiers were supposed to report to. One of the ladies pointed him in the right direction. I shook his hand one more time and wished him a good trip. He thanked me and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
The four of us made our way to baggage claim and rejoiced out loud when we saw our bags waiting for us. We gathered them up and moved to our respective bathrooms to freshen up. As we regrouped outside the bathrooms, I recounted my experience to them and why I was so emotional on the plane. Once again I began to cry, but this time I was not alone. As I looked at the faces of my traveling companions, I saw that they shared my same emotion. We stood together and cried…and hugged.
On our way through the airport we began to notice soldiers everywhere. At one point, we stopped, frozen in our tracks, seeing a large group of about 40 young soldiers, lined up in formation, beginning their march through the airport towards an uncertain future…
I believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe that the reason that our flight was delayed, that we were without luggage, that we “suffered” through the night unexpectedly, was so that I could meet this soldier. It was so I could realize that all of the small stresses in my life are nothing in comparison to the life of this young man and the uncertainty, fear, courage, and strength that he has to muster everyday, just to survive. It gave me clarity as to what is important in life, and what is not. That the petty annoyances that we hold on to, are just that – petty. I realized that there is a world outside of my own, one where there are men and women that I have never met, that I will never meet, who have chosen to fight for me…for me…
I am not a political man. I have my opinions about the war and about our President. But what I experienced was beyond those opinions. Meeting this young soldier changed my life.
I want to ask anyone reading this email, regardless of your beliefs on the war, to take a moment to remember Sergeant Cody Hansel, as well as all of our soldiers, who are risking their lives on the other side of the globe, fighting for freedom, fighting for you and me, fighting for the world…
*******************************************
The music that completes today's look is "Fighting For The World" by Jann Arden.
WOW. Lives are all about purpose, often in a completely unforseen way. Forgive me if I missed this explanation; but was this reprinted in the newspaper because Sargeant Hansel did indeed die? Did you keep in touch with him during his tour?
ReplyDelete