The Middle of the Night

Twenty years ago, I met a veteran in Colorado Springs, right after my discharge from the service. Regrettably, I don’t remember his name. He came down out of the Rocky Mountains one day each week to work at the engineering laboratory where I was employed as a new intern. He was a thin man with a long, braided beard. Being somewhat disheveled in appearance and out of place, he had his own corner of the lab. Undisturbed, he shared this corner with an old computer screen, its green glow at times highlighting the deep wrinkles on his face. Most employees at the job ignored him like he was a prehistoric fixture in the corner, but I didn’t. He was a fellow veteran, and though I’m somewhat reserved, I’ve never been afraid of opening my mouth when the need arises.

One afternoon, I made my way over and asked him, “How do you like living in the mountains? It seems like kind of a lonely life.”

Looking up from his computer with a hint of surprise, he answered, “I like it. It’s very peaceful and quiet, and the view is always great. But sometimes on the darkest of nights … I can see them in the trees.” His eyes dimmed. He meant enemy soldiers.

My eyes snap open. The clock on the nightstand reads 3:04 a.m. Oh boy, here I go again. My innermost thoughts have seized control of my serenity. Jolted by the clamor of unrestrained memories, my heart is pounding, and I can’t slow it down.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) can be debilitating, if you let it. Behind the mask of shame, we all have it to some degree or another. This world is a battlefield, after all. An ancient struggle between light and darkness. Some have it worse than others. It’s our mind’s intricate balance of love versus pain.

With my worn leather journal in hand, it’s time to dance, yet again, with my pen, paper, and the past. 

Love is when someone owns an irreplaceable piece of your heart. That’s the singular definition, I think. When they are gone, nothing else can fill that void. Strangely enough, not even God. There is an emptiness that seems unresolvable though I’ve tried a million times. How many pieces can I lose and still have a heart? I hope that’s an answer I never have to find out.

Watching someone’s life journey come to an end is a terrible event. God never wanted us to experience such a dreadful thing. He loves us so much, and yet we chose to wander where we shouldn’t go. Now they’ve fallen, and there is a stillness and a silence occupying the spaces where they once stood. From the recesses of our heart we call out to them, but we get nothing in return. Thank God our remembrances fade with age. No one could relive those vivid memories day after day and remain sane. Adrift on a cloud of ancient memories, the absence they have left on our hearts just never goes away. 

Yet, for some, key memories have an untimely flash of fidelity, a not-so-distant echo, at times. A frozen moment in history, like yesterday’s nightmare.

The smile, the laugh, the hearty hug. The words, the songs, the look in their eyes as they seemed to peer into your soul. The inability to hide the fondness you had for them. You radiated it like a lamp, even when you didn’t want to. A heart is like a delicate jewel, very fragile to the touch. It needs to be protected; and that’s what I tried to do and failed. They were my family, my close buddies, friends, and even my pets. The dearest things I dare remember. Such precious memories that made them so special and unique that I cannot forget. Those are the golden moments in time that I miss the most. The ridiculous sense of humor. The volleyball game we won that we should have lost. The goofy smile from beneath his helmet as deadly tracers passed over our heads. That final promise, “You’ll be fine, I’ve got you covered.” Mom’s Sunday morning pancakes. Her kiss on my cheek. Her presence at my bedside all night as I struggled to breathe.

Flashes in time.

Missing them, I’ve look for a reprieve; but there is no way to fill the emptiness they have left. They were each unique gifts from God. So many others go unspoken. Leaning on Jesus for strength, guidance, and faith is the only safe path ahead. Only He can save a soul and guide him home where they will be. 

Fortunately, my journey without them is not a lonely one, because the love of others provides a needed shelter along the way. Through the wind and the rain they are there, bringing comfort and warmth. So I place one foot in front of the other and try not to look back, but the dreams come anyway. I try to remember that it is impossible to walk straight ahead while our eyes are focused behind us. There is silence back there, like holes in time. Those dear voices are gone, except in the stillness of the night. 

So like the old veteran in the lab, I’m ruffled and wounded, but not the least bit afraid, because the dawn approaches in a few hours. And as Jesus appears in glory and carries me off the battlefield, He will proclaim, “I promise, you’re gonna be okay, brother; because I’ve got you covered.”

Pen down. Journal closed. 4:17 a.m. My heart rate is back to normal. Calmness settles on a withered heart. I’m going back to bed. Good night.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” Psalm 23:4