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

I’ll never forget the day Elisha, not yet twenty-one years old, left for Iraq. Once he was on his way, I wrote these thoughts and prayer to the Lord, which I have continued to pray for each of my sons:

January 23, 2004

I watched Eli leave today, held him in my arms for the last time until we meet again, either in another year, or in our next life. He showed no fears, no worries, and only spoke to encourage me and lessen my fears. He has grown up so much, become a man in such a short time. I held my tears while saying goodbye, knowing that he was more worried about my feelings than his own, but inside, I felt those many months of separation looming and allowed each hug to settle deep in my memory.

I just sent my son off to war, to the danger of losing his life from an enemy who hates him and wants him dead, my blessed affectionate caring son.

Blessed Be Your Name, Lord

I trust you to walk alongside my soldier son, Elisha, as he heads to a battle, not of his own making.

Bless Elisha’s courage and stalwartness, as he continues to be more concerned about other’s feelings and fears than his own.

I ask you to protect Elisha’s heart, his mind, and his relationship with you. I ask you to be present with him on a daily basis.

Please allow Elisha to see you in the faces of all he meets, even those he fights against, and let him feel you beside him during times of danger and fear.

I entrust my son’s heart to you. I ask you to be the guardian of his emotional, spiritual, and physical state, and his eternal life with You.

For I believe you are his Savior, his Protector, his Tower of Strength and Refuge in times of trouble.

Lord, bring peace to the troubled region and peoples of Iraq, Afghanistan and Iran, and bring this soldier safely home.

Father, remind me to pray the spiritual health of my loved ones at least as often as I bring their physical hardships before you.

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you.” (Isaiah 41:10)

“No, no!” I cried, tears streaming down my face.

It was just a few weeks after Forrest’s death when my youngest son, Stephen, announced his desire to enlist. I was still reeling in grief for one son. Stephen’s decision absolutely floored me.

I experienced actual physical pain during any discussion of him joining up, but to no avail. He enlisted and left at the end of August 2006 six weeks after Forrest’s death and just two days before we found out my father had terminal liver cancer.

Devastated by Forrest’s loss, Stephen was driven to be part of the same thing that his big brother was. While he and the twins were always at odds growing up, in adulthood Stephen felt that Forrest was the only brother who really reached out to him during some of his hard times.

Watching all the attention given in the weeks after Forrest’s death, Stephen, who had been rather lackadaisical about school, jobs, his life in general, suddenly saw something bigger than himself that he wanted to be part of. He saw that Forrest had achieved something honorable and worthy, and that others recognized it. I think he reevaluated his life and saw that he wanted to achieve the same.

Stephen had been offered a position in the Old Guard at Arlington National Cemetery, but turned it down to do his part in Korea for one year. Recently, he transferred to Fort Lewis and is now close to home.

How I cried when he tried to talk to me about enlisting. My pain was too raw from just losing Forrest, and to think my youngest, with whom I shared an incredibly close relationship, would defy me and leave me after being dealt such a blow, was unfathomable to me. It took me months and still takes effort, to accept his decision.

Lord, show me how to echo David in Psalm 13 and rejoice in your salvation even as I have sorrow in my heart.

“How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart?… But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation.” (Psalm 13:2, 5)

All in all, it has been a growing and painful process for me to accept my sons’ decisions. If I had had my choice, my mother’s heart would have had them all out of harms way, in school, working, or doing their part in a less violent way. But I have to accept that they are grown men, and cannot be held back by their mother’s apron-strings. They must not live life with regret because they did not do something that they believe God would have them do. And so it is my part to somehow muster up enough strength and resolve to support them during these many upcoming years.

Sometimes I become angry that my children forced us to face more possibilities of injury and death. I look at the other families of fallen soldiers who I have come to know and see their living children rallying around them to support them… and yet my own head off into the same direction as their brother. Sometimes I question whether we were good parents. Are we not worthy of our children’s compassion and protection? Or do they simply think that we are strong enough to handle the emotional and heart-breaking risks of losing another child? Should I be honored, angry, hurt?

“You’re so brave,” people often tell me. “I could never do what you are doing.”

But where is the choice? Does not bravery mean you have chosen to do something to benefit others at the risk of your own harm? I have no choice in this matter, but have been forced to rely on God. Does that sound bad? The word “force” sounds like I think that is a poor choice, but I don’t. Isn’t it our human nature to rely on our own strength? In my case, I have been faced with my total weaknesses and inadequacies so sharply that I am forced to admit that without God, I would be a crumpled up little person in the absence of any hope. Presently and hopefully forever, I am content with relying upon God’s strength, and trust that he will carry me through anything I will face.

Lord God, arm me with strength and direct my steps until I pass through this trial.

“It is God who arms me with strength and makes my way perfect.” (Psalm 18:32)

When they handed me the envelope I felt my heart sink. It was my job to hand-carry the dead soldier’s personal affects as I escorted him to his final resting place. At that time I didn’t know that one particular soldier had crawled on his hands and knees through the Afghan dirt until he had found all but the wedding band. I didn’t know that this soldier knew exactly how much change the fallen soldier had in his pocket or that when he finally found his wooden cross it was hanging in a tree. I just knew that the package felt heavy and that the dead soldier was my twin brother.

When the funeral director opened the casket and left the room I didn’t know that my little brother Stephen would straighten his life out or that our childhood friend would give his life to Christ. I didn’t know that there was a soldier in Afghanistan so impacted by Forrest that he refocused his life for Christ before dying a month later. All I knew was that there was lint on his bronze star. I gently removed it.

When the final bugle note faded and the crowd dispersed I found myself in a place I had never been before a place of solitude before God. My twin brother, my constant companion, had gone on ahead of me to heaven. It was time for my faith to truly become my own in a way it hadn’t before.