I may be the only regular reader of this newsletter who has actually been to war. My guess is that most of our readers are following Debra, and, like her, are women. In general, especially these days in the States, men have more experience with war than women do. “My” war was Vietnam. All my older male relatives saw combat in one military operation or another. My dad and his brother fought in WWII. I had cousins and an uncle who fought in Korea. For generation after generation, war is what men “did” at least some of the time.
Although I was one of the lucky ones and wasn’t directly involved in much combat, I can tell you that war is no fun. At best, the least of your worries is learning to sleep with your boots on. At any time of day or night (almost always at night), you could hear a whistle, and someone would shout, “Incoming!” At that point—if you wren’t in the field–you needed to run to your designated bunker.
I was one of the lucky ones. I always had a bunker I could run to. Others weren’t so lucky and spent their time in “the field,” in actual combat. I always had a bunker to run to because I had a valuable skill: I could type. I had learned how to type in high school but didn’t fully appreciate the skill until I was in the Army. When we were asked in Basic Training, “Who here can type?” I held up my hand. From that time on, I spent most of my time in the Army typing, and that included my time in Vietnam. Not everyone was so lucky.
I suspect, however, that everyone has some unexpected, “extraordinary ways” that he or she has been influenced by the unfolding of life’s events. One of my friends from karate was selected for training as a Corpsman (medic in the Marines) in basically the same way I was selected to type reports in the Army. We had very different experiences in Vietnam. Whether such differences are simply “luck of the draw” or are part of a “grand design” that we are unable to see is a question I have asked myself with regularity: “why him and not me”?
An old saying with various attributions is, “There but for the Grace of God go I.” The supposed origin of that saying was a wealthy Londoner looking out the window of his townhouse and seeing a beggar on the sidewalk, points, and says to one of his companions, “There but for the Grace of God go I.” One of the great mysteries of life has always been, “Why?” Why is one person born healthy and another born with serious physical problems? Why is one person born into wealth, and other into poverty?
Do we get to choose the life we end up living, or is it simply a matter of “chance”? Or is it a life based on what we need to gain perspective or learn spiritual lessons? We like to think that some person we think of as “God” has a plan and that everything—including our lives—will unfold as it should. My sense is that humanity is slowly but surely making progress in a variety of ways. We have been doing what we can to reduce disease and conflict. It has, of course, remained an ongoing struggle, and my sense is that the struggle is far from over. I suspect we’ll be singing, “Aint goin’ to study war no more” for generations.
If you, like me, are hoping ours will be the last generation for whom this is a concern, do your best to “hold energy” for “peace, love, and brotherhood” and do what you can to promote policies that will move all of humanity in that direction.