Wednesday, May 7, 2014

My Baghdad Shoes

Bloody boots lie somewhere unseen, but the young American soldier in the hospital bed cannot hide from view.  He sleeps and may never awaken.

The Iraqi soldier's feet are bare when he arrives unconscious, his critically wounded body rests fitfully.

In the Baghdad Army Hospital, my physician husband stands between the beds of these two men, alert to the needs of each patient.  His staff struggles.  The American could be their brother, lover, or self, but the insurgent is the enemy.

Dennis answers their unspoken fear, "Here there are no sides, only wounded men, who love their countries, believe their religion, and deserve our best care.  Here we have one task.  We are the Samaritans.  We must care for these men equally, without judgement or preference."

At home, the children and I wait and pray for his safe return.  The stress is palpable, but normal life must proceed.  One day I buy shoes.  On the way home Gabriel, who is 12, asks gently if I meant to buy five pairs of shoes for myself.  I am stunned.  I did not.  A day later, I stack the boxes on the store counter.  I return home with one different box.  Are they the running shoes I need, to alleviate my worry?  No, they are beautiful stilettos in orange tweed.  I think of my Bosnian friend, from the year when Dennis was deployed to the Balkans.  She says what people do in war makes no sense and should be forgotten.
                                                         
                                                               *          *          *        

I still wear these shoes, a decade later and I have not forgotten the way my husband walked in his dusty boots in Baghdad.  He cared well for those entrusted to him, all children, created in God's image.  He wept and prayed over Americans and Iraqis.

Gabriel is 22 now.  In a day he will leave the Middle Eastern country in which he has been for four months.   Dennis leads the way, walking hard roads, and caring well for the faces before him.  It is my prayer that our eight children will walk in the footsteps of their dad.  I hope they will journey individually, but in the same way, respecting the dignity of men, no matter the path they choose, following the One who equips us to love our enemies.

1 comment: