My Head is Spinning, Does That Mean I Am Living a Spiral?

When I look at this new picture my son Travis sent by email this week, my head spins. What happened to the quiet little curly headed boy who spent most of his time playing with Lego toys? And who is that man wearing goggles while strapped to a seat in a Blackhawk?

After Travis graduated from college, he joined the Air Force. "Good," I thought. "he will have good benefits and stable employment with a regular paycheck. He won't have to live on the street; there will always be a room in the barracks or a place in base housing." That was in 1992.

His superiors recognized leadership qualities in my son. They encouraged him to attend Officers' Training School. He completed the grueling course in 1994. I was happy for him and his family. An officer earns more money than an enlisted man. "They'll manage much better now," I thought.

North Dakota, New Jersey, The Azores (Lajes), South Carolina, Florida, Japan. Travis and his family have traveled, experiencing a variety of cultures. In the meantime, he has continued to move up through the ranks. First Lieutenant, Captain, Major . . .

I continued to be happy for him and proud of him. But it wasn't until September 11, 2001 that I understood how much I OWE him. When the Twin Towers fell, Travis was stationed in South Carolina. I lived in Louisiana. We watched the horrors and talked on our cell phones. Then the War On Terror began. Now people in the Air Force not only had steady jobs with regular income, they began to travel frequently to places with unfamiliar names.

Travis moved to MacDill AFB, Tampa, Florida. He worked with a group whose responsibilities included setting up tent cities in the deserts of several far away countries. He went TDY several times . . . to Afghanistan, to Saudi Arabia, to Iraq.

I realized at some point that Travis was not just my son in the Air Force. Travis had become, in a very real sense, my protector. He regularly laid his life on the line as he fulfilled his duties as an officer in the US Air Force. And he was laying his life on the line to protect my life. Not just my life, but the lives of all Americans. Because he is MY son, I take his work seriously. He took an oath to protect us. And I am part of that us, so he is MY PROTECTOR. Now I am not just proud of him; I am in his debt.

His time at MacDill came to an end; he and his family moved to Yokota AFB, near Tokyo, Japan. His job was at the base airport and involved few TDY's. In my mother-heart I relaxed a little. He would probably not be traveling to the "-stans" or worse places. I remembered an occasion when he had been to Afghanistan for several weeks. He was able to return home a few days before we expected him. Everyone knew he was coming home except me. He wanted to surprise me. One afternoon, my doorbell rang. There stood Travis, home early from Afghanistan. I couldn't breathe. I thought I was seeing a ghost. He grabbed me, hugging me tightly. I knew he was real, and really home. I sobbed. His being stationed in Japan would give us no cause to experience such anxiety, we thought. He has a calm job in a calm place.

Early one morning last spring, while I was dressing for work, my phone rang. Nobody calls me at that time of the day to chat. With apprehension, I answered. I heard Travis' voice.

"Mother," he said, seriously, "I have something to tell you. Can you talk for a minute?"

A mother always has time to talk with her son, especially when his voice has such grave overtones.

"I'm being deployed to Iraq."

With restraint, I questioned him while my heart was screaming, "NO!" My mind began to whirl. Easy job, calm place. No traveling to the "stans." Few tdys. What is happening here? All the while, my spirit was searching, searching, searching. Finally heart, mind and spirit united and I could speak.

"Son, wherever you go, you go in the palm of God's hand. He will guide you and protect you. I don't want this for you, but we are no different or better than the thousands of other families whose children, parents, siblings, or relatives are being deployed. If it is our lot to send you into the thick of the fray, then God be with us. I am at peace."

I heard Travis repeating my sentiments. The conversation was over. That was last spring. Today Travis is in Baghdad. I am still proud of him. I do not worry about him. I do realize that he has once again laid his life on the line to protect mine. Regardless of whether we agree with the reasoning behind the conflict, we are involved in the conflict. He is responsibly doing his job as assigned by his superiors. And I rest assured while he is protecting me, our God is holding him in the palm of His hand.

This thought makes my head spin. I think my relationship with Travis could be representative of all our relationships. We are all here for a purpose. And each of our purposes is part of a tightly woven web. We are here for each other. I am for Travis; Travis is for me; I am for you; you are for me.

Let your mind spiral around this idea for a while: God is for all of us and we are all for each other.

Thanks, Travis. I am indebted to you, and all the others like you who demonstrate selflessness while reflecting God's protective Hand in our lives.