Jane Cook - Stories of Faith and Courage from the War in Iraq and Afghanistan

“A man can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in his work. This too, I see, is from the hand of God.” (Ecclesiastes 2:24)

“Josh, Josh, wake up!” I screamed.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. My three-year-old son had lost consciousness.

It was July 4, 2007. Despite Dennis’ absence, I had been determined to celebrate Independence Day with our three children. The plan was to play in the morning, nap in the afternoon, and watch the fireworks that night.

After Josh’s nap, I noticed he was a little warm, but I didn’t think much of it. I decided to put him in bed with me and snuggled him close. Within minutes of lying down, his arms, and legs shook. His eyes rolled back, something he’d never done before. I was shocked and scared. I screamed out to my mom, who, by the grace of God, was visiting us that day. She’s an intensive care nurse. Her presence calmed me because I couldn’t believe what was happening. I hoped to God I wasn’t going to lose him.

We screamed his name over and over again. The seizure only lasted about thirty seconds, but it felt like hours. Joshua regained consciousness but moaned lethargically. I immediately called 911. An ambulance arrived within minutes. As they took us to the ER, I kept praying Josh would recover and for strength. I had to be strong. As the primary caretaker of three little ones, there was no room for crying. I cradled Josh in my arms, stroked his hair, and took in every detail of him, from the way he smelled to the feel of his hand in my hand, while we waited in the ER for the blood test results to come back.

Two hours later, we got the news. He had a febrile seizure, set off by the sudden temperature spike. They told me to keep an eye on him overnight and call the pediatrician for follow-up care such simple instructions compared to the myriad of problems he could have faced. Needless to say, we missed the fireworks, but thank God sweet Joshie was still with us.

“Am I really fit to do this?” I wondered for the thousandth time at my circumstances.

God reminded me that I was not alone. He provided my mom, the paramedics, and ER doctors. In that moment, he fulfilled my every need. For more than a decade, God had been growing and preparing me for Dennis’s deployment. God was my strength while my husband served his country.

Thank you God for your promise to be our strength when we are weak.

“For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Corinthians 12:10)

“RRRRIIIIIINNNGGG!”

The telephone’s sharp ringing interrupted a peaceful afternoon in 1999. Dennis and I were in the midst of planning our wedding that summer. On the phone was his commanding officer, who had called to notify Dennis of an involuntary deployment of Navy reservists for Kosovo. The news took my breath away.

Countless military families have dealt with a loved one’s mobilization, but not having been exposed to this before, I was frightened. A first generation American, I didn’t grow up in a military family. My parents left Taiwan for educational and employment opportunities in the United States. Although I grew up in Rockville and Bethesda, Maryland, neighbors to Washington D.C., I never knew anyone who had been deployed.

After that phone call, I wondered if I could live with such uncertainty. When Dennis and I started dating in 1997, he told me he was in the Naval Reserves, but had not been called up during his ten-year tenure. As a result, I hadn’t thought much about it. Ironically, if he hadn’t been in the reserves, we might not have met. I was pursuing my doctorate at the University of Virginia, and Dennis was working in Phoenix, Arizona, when he came to DC for a two-week Navy Reserves trip. We met randomly and unexpectedly one Friday night while playing volleyball with mutual friends.

He asked me to go sailing with him the next day. I was attracted to his confidence, strength, honesty, listening skills, and patience. It also helped that he was attractive and very tall six-foot-seven, especially compared to my petite height of five feet. We had a great date and maintained a long distance relationship until his day job transferred him to the East Coast.

But I will never forget that phone call in 1999. It was my first brush with the reality that Dennis could be called up. The thought of what he could face and what it could mean to our impending marriage was the most frightening possibility I had ever contemplated.

Thankfully, he was not involuntarily recalled then, giving me time to adjust my thinking. God was planting seeds for what was to come. Like Abraham, I had to move forward despite the uncertainty of mobilization in my marriage. Even though I didn’t know where the road would take us, I realized that faith was the best map for such an unknown journey as deployment.

Thank you for your promise to be with us where we or our loved ones may go.

“By faith Abraham… obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going.” (Hebrews 11:8)

I had driven by them many times those orderly white crosses gracing the grounds of Arlington National Cemetery. I had never attended a funeral there. September 11, 2001 changed that.

Dennis knew three who died. Two were Boeing contractor colleagues who were on the plane that crashed into the Pentagon. His third colleague, Commander Dan Shanower, was killed while on duty at the Pentagon. Dennis had met Shanower during a naval exercise years earlier. His unit supported Shanower’s.

While attending Shanower’s funeral at Arlington Cemetery, I felt an immense sadness for his death, but also deep gratitude for his military service. I couldn’t help but wonder, “What if this was Dennis and I was the grieving widow?” As I saw those white crosses, my breath was taken away again, just like the day the telephone rang in 1999 about Kosovo deployments.

After September 11, I knew Dennis could be mobilized, along with waves heading to Afghanistan. Sure enough, we received our second involuntary mobilization notification. The thought of having Dennis sent away during our young marriage was difficult, but we knew we would follow God’s plan.

Those white cross have a different meaning for me now than when I first saw them years ago. They represent the sacrifice of life for country, and to me, they also represent Christ’s death on the cross. My parents, originally from Taiwan, didn’t practice any religion when I was growing up. We exchanged Christmas gifts, but didn’t embrace its religious meaning. I had some great high school friends who turned out to be Christians. They encouraged me to attend their church. As a result, I accepted Christ as my savior when I was seventeen. I didn’t understand everything then, but God planted seeds of faith in me.

Dennis and I had been married a little over a year at the time of the September 11 attacks. We had found an amazing church that spurred our faith, helping us understand what it means to be “Jesus with skin on,” as our pastor says.

We built friendships, studied the Bible, and led small groups with other young married couples. Although Dennis wasn’t mobilized after September 11, God was working in our lives, growing a community of support that would later be a huge lifeline. Life often brings seasons for planting. This was our time to cultivate friendships, learn God’s word, and sew love for him.

Thank you for the meaning behind the cross. Thank you for preparing us for the crosses we will bear in the future.