I joined the Navy at 23 years old. The atmosphere suited me - organization, structure, challenges, the camaraderie; I loved it, and was convinced I would be the first female Chief of Naval Operations. I lived and breathed my uniform as an extension of me. One and a half years into my service, I embarked on another adventure, marrying Jason Springer, my best friend and a fellow shipmate. Jason and I had gone through two training schools together and were stationed on opposite sides of the country; he in San Diego, I in Winter Harbor, Maine. Only 74 days after we were married, Jason went overboard from the USS Kinkaid and was lost at sea in the Pacific Ocean, making me a widow one month shy of my 25th birthday. We had only been together for 8 days of our short marriage, and his death sent me into a tailspin. I looked for him in every uniform, and though my uniform still very much defined me, I changed so much over the course of the next year that I had a difficult time recognizing myself.
After serving four years, I took my uniform off for the last time to go to college and study psychology. I needed to understand how something like the death of a spouse could so fundamentally change a person. And even though leaving the Navy was my choice, it still felt like another death, like my identity was being stripped away. I cried the day they read me out for my clearance, and I turned in my military ID card. Life was not unfolding according to my plan, but God’s plan for me was bigger than what I could see. Proverbs 16:9 says it best: “In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.”
Each veteran’s service is as unique as the social fabric of America. I’ve met veterans from every state in the US, every territory, Africa, Europe, Asia, and the Middle East - from a white girl born in rural Arkansas to a Green Card holding Nigerian, from a black boy who grew up in the Bronx to a naturalized citizen from Lebanon.
What each veteran has in common is a love of our United States of America - a country like no other, where freedom reigns and hope is alive. And if anything else is universal among us, it is this - we find purpose in a cause greater than self. In the Navy, we are taught there is no “I” in team. One of the Air Force’s core values is “service before self,” something the Army calls “selfless service.” As inspirational as these are, the Bible says it even better in Philippians 2:3-4 when Paul said, “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.” Through Christ, we have inherited a heart of service and a mandate.
A few weeks ago, I went to a convening of veteran service organizations at the Bush Institute. One hundred twenty leaders from across the country, working on a broad spectrum of veterans' issues, spent two days collaborating and discussing the “Veteran Landscape.” Among our discussions were: education and career opportunities, suicide and mental health, and how to set veterans up for success when transitioning out of the service. There are so many issues facing veterans, but their most universal struggle relates to loss: loss of structure, loss of camaraderie, and loss of purpose.
Having lost Jason and my Navy identity, I can wholly relate to this. I needed to find myself - find my purpose. These experiences had to be useful, and Jason’s death could not be in vain. On the 3rd day after he went missing, and two days after the search for his remains was suspended, words could not describe my anguish. The pain is still vivid after 27 years. I thought I would die of dehydration from the tears that wouldn’t end. In the quiet of my room, I verbally cried out to God, “God, please take this away from me. I can’t do this anymore.” In Philippians 4:6-7, Paul writes, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” God met me in that moment, in the heaviness of that room, and calmed the storm. His palpable peace filled my lungs and mind, and in the greatest moment of clarity I’ve ever known, I looked at my desk and saw a brochure from the Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors, also known as TAPS. I called the number and that evening met a woman named Bonnie who would go on to become one of my dearest friends. In that first conversation, I made a commitment to “make it matter.” And through Jason’s death, I found my purpose, as I have worked for TAPS for 11 years now. In 2 Corinthians 1:3-4, Paul says, “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” This is my purpose.
When I speak with wives whose husbands have died by suicide, it can be gut-wrenching. When moms share their broken hearts, the mom in me cries with them. When I attend funerals of our fallen heroes, it takes me back to the day a uniformed officer placed Jason’s folded flag in my hands, and I heard the mournful “TAPS” played for the first time. Yes, sometimes it’s hard, but I had a recent conversation with General Martin Dempsey, the 18th Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, in which he said, “We have to do hard better than anyone else.” He was speaking about veterans, but this is relevant to us all as Christians. We draw on the strength of Jesus to lean into hard places, dark places. Jesus didn’t run from the broken. He didn’t shrink from pain. He calls us into the world, starting in our families and communities, to hold these difficult spaces.
In 1 Peter 3:13-15, Peter calls to us, “Who is going to harm you if you are eager to do good? But even if you should suffer for what is right, you are blessed. Do not fear their threats; do not be frightened. But in your hearts, revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” Our veterans might well live under this scripture, as they have since the inception of this great American experiment, sought to do good, often under threat, often afraid, and often suffering, sometimes even for years after their service, as I have seen, as many of us have seen.
Like these damaged and repaired flags, which have been gifted to us as a reminder, we each can point to our own scars and brokenness. But just as these flags have found new purpose, through the generosity of our scars and Christ’s wounds, by which we are healed, we can proclaim a new purpose. And with absolute certainty, we can give an account of where our hope comes from. As the old hymn goes:
My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness
I dare not trust the sweetest frame
But wholly lean on Jesus’ name
I have been married to my husband Arie for 25 years now. By the time he retired from the Navy in 2014, the total time he had been deployed away from me and our three kids was more than 5 years. Others who have served no doubt share similar experiences, and I recognize that you don’t have to be a veteran to understand struggle and sacrifice. Nonetheless, in recognition of this Veterans’ Day, to my fellow veterans and the families who have served alongside them through many sacrifices, I say thank you for doing hard better than anyone else. In the spirit of service, may we all continue to serve God by serving others, finding and renewing our purpose. And as we lean on Jesus’ name, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15:13)
