In Remembrance

                I peered through the glass in the dim room, into the makeshift headquarters from which Winston Churchill had conducted the affairs of his nation during WWII. The tables and chairs and maps, virtually untouched since they had been abandoned immediately after the war, looked as if at any minute Churchill and his advisors would return to discuss the latest movements of enemy troops. I continued down the hall, gazing somberly into makeshift bedrooms, allowing officials and military leaders and secretaries to remain on-call 24/7. The low ceilings and dimly lit rooms still exuded fear and tension. Stepping through them now, I suddenly felt the gut-wrenching fear and uncertainty that had gripped London decades before I was born. Each pin on the map signaled thousands of lives—thousands of mothers’ prayers, thousands of sleepless nights as young men dreamed of home. The uncertainty these soldiers and leaders felt weighed on my soul. And yet I sensed their sheer grit and determination in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.

A couple months later found me in the Hall of Remembrance in the WWII museum in Moscow. Case upon case of books line the walls of this long hall, each volume filled with the names of soldiers who lost their lives in that great struggle. As I gazed at the countless pages, I felt the solemnity of the sacrifice of these boys, no older than myself. They had left their hopes and dreams; some for a time, and some never to return. They, like so many before and after them, had been willing to set aside family, education, comfort, and safety to answer the call of duty; to do what others could not do for the common good. And I felt an inexpressible reverence in the presence of their memory.

                My experiences this summer in London and Russia—where WWII is still very much a part of daily life—in combination with this year being the 100th anniversary of the beginning of WWI and the 25th anniversary of the falling of the Berlin wall, have led to this being a particularly poignant Veteran’s Day for me. While I have been alive for relatively few years of the world’s history and while I have never firsthand experienced a war, I nevertheless recognize the deep debt of gratitude I owe to those who have fought—and continue to fight—the fight for liberty, for freedom, for country. I recognize the magnitude of their sacrifice, and I am filled with compassion as I think of the pain and suffering they underwent in the name of what is good. And for them—and for all those who are no longer present to hear my words—I express my reverent gratitude.