"Send me..."

An interesting conversation with two Iraqi boys occured in my class today. They saw a picture of my son, father, and grandfather in my room. My father’s picture was of him in WWII, my grandfather in both World Wars, and my son in Iraq. “Mister, is that your son?” one asked. I told him it was. He then asked if that picture was taken in Iraq. It was either Iraq or just before when he was in Kuwait, it has the epic image of moonscape. It opened up the conversation about likes and dislikes.

One boy clearly didn’t want to talk about it. I think he had been asked the questions before and was tired of answering them. The other boy was wide open. The boy who didn’t want to talk said he liked Saddam. “He kept the lights on.” The other boy, he clearly hated him and said so. Saddam and his people tried to arrest his uncle for being friends with someone Saddam hated and had killed along with anyone who knew him. Both said they miss the part of their families who were still there. Neither wanted to go back. Both said things are worse there now because at least when Saddam was in power, the power was on. The boy who didn’t want to talk just said “You would be fine if you just kept quiet about the government. Don’t talk or comment about them and you should be fine.” Both were amazed about the fact they could even have this conversation without fear-limited fear- that I might report them to some hidden government agency about what we were talking about. Old habits die hard.

Imagine a life where fear was a part of your daily life. Not the fear of being blown up by some bomber but a fear that is secret. It creeps out at night and snatches your uncle, your cousin, your brother, never to be seen again. You don’t even know who took them or if they had fallen ill on the side of some road in the middle of that flat country my little boy was photographed in front of. “Just don’t say anything, and you can keep the lights on.”

So, today, as I write this, my little boy is leading a small team back into the throat of the Dragon for a second time. In the undisclosed location that will be his duty station, somewhere between Saudi Arabia and the Himalayas, he will try to teach a new mind set. “Freedom” without limits, “Freedom” without reprisal, “Freedom” without fear. A concept we lose sight of while standing in the checkout line with a grocery cart full of food, getting upset because it is taking way over five minutes for the person in front of us to ring up their coupons. We have, forgotten the cost. Yes, the cost. “Freedom” is never-ever free. But, by the love of a power beyond our imagination, we have been supplied with hearts, owned by some who said a simple line, quoted by a simple man named Isaiah a long long time ago.

Send me, Lord. Send me.

With a wink and a nod, a kiss for his new wife, loving mother, and sisters and brothers-in-laws, a hug and one long look into the eyes of his father, a little boy turned and climbed up the stairs to a waiting plane. “Once again, into the breach.”

Nope, we’ll never know the cost to keeping the lights on.