I do it too…the forgetting. I want to close my eyes and pretend warriors do not die in battle. I want to forget that families sit stateside praying their husbands and wives and moms and dads and daughters and sons come home from overseas. I want to flip burgers and enjoy a day off in the sun and forget. I lose hope in the fight to remember sometimes, especially when the media vacillates so often between condemning our warriors and ignoring them altogether. No one likes war, and no one wants our warriors home more than the military community.

When we were stationed on the Marine base in Twentynine Palms, Fallujah was raging.  I would cry as the buses full of uniforms drove off the base. I knew where they were going, and I prayed they would be safe. I bawled every time the buses came back, even when I didn’t know a soul aboard, and I cried at the welcome back signs that lined the fences on both sides for a mile. “Welcome Home Tattooed Preacher!” ours read.  I heard the hushed whispers as various battalions reported losses.  “… lost two today… IED’s.” I braced myself in doorways as phones rang and prayed silent desperate prayers. Let them be ok. Protect them. Please. I would hear the howitzers boom during the night ops out at Camp Wilson, rattling over the desert sand and making our base house shudder. The booming was a strange comfort. I prayed for the mothers on the other side of the world who would hear the same booming and hold their babies tight, afraid. Let them be ok. Protect them. Please. I prayed for mercy on us all.

I heard the stories of those who returned—not the stories they tell on tv. I heard about a Naval chaplain who in the midst of an escalating civil conflict suggested handing out a truckload of bottled water to quench the thirst on all sides, bringing relief and avoiding blows. Could I offer the quiet wisdom of water in war?

Or I heard the story of a platoon that found a gymnasium full of people making children’s vests with linings sewed into them, designed to hold explosives. Designed to blow up beautiful, smiling children who would approach our troops with hopes of receiving candy or gifts. I gripped my seat and clenched my jaw as the Marine described it. I cannot grasp this kind of depravity. I don’t know that I could counter such evil.

Which is why we have warriors.

Which is why we remember.

Memorial Day is a day to remember those who have died in military service, and I grieve for our friends who have been lost. We are honored to have so many who work on our behalf to protect us daily—airmen, marines, sailors, soldiers, and I would include all our police, fire, and medical crews. They sweep in to help during our moments of greatest need. They face unimaginable danger, heartbreak, pain, and loss.

Today, I honor those who have died serving our country. I thank those who choose this warrior life, even when I don’t understand it. I hold tight to the families of warriors—to the children and spouses and moms and dads and other family members who support, love, encourage, and stay strong at home. And to our warriors abroad right now…we love you, we miss you terribly, and we remember. We won’t forget. Come home safe when your mission is complete.