Sacrifice

Yesterday when I was visiting with my friend Jill (I described it in my blog), her friend received a phone call. I could tell by her tone that it was serious and after she hung up the phone, she told me and Jill that one of her friend's sons, Mark, had just died. He was in Iraq and their base was attacked and he was burned badly. He lived, though, and was airlifted to Germany and Texas where for two weeks he was in a coma and struggling with massive burns on his body. They were going to amputate his legs and fingers, and before they did that, he died from the exposure and trauma to his body. He was the firstborn of three sons, only 22 years old. He was a screwed up kid, apparently, until he joined the Marines, and found a purpose in his life. Now, his purpose is over and he leaves two brothers and two parents left to understand his sacrifice. Whether or not people agree with what our country is doing in Iraq doesn't diminish the fact that people ARE fighting, dying, and trying to believe they are bringing good and freedom to a dark place. I struggle with the war for various reasons, but when I heard the story yesterday, it was the closest I had been to a real person dying a real death--not just a news report.

It made me think of how easily we use the word sacrifice, at least how easily I do. I will say "I sacrificed my workout today in order to take the kids to the pool or do errands" and then to hear about a real live person who flew halfway across the world to do something he believed in, only to be sacrificed at the altar of war and fire and evil, makes me think that in my life there isn't much sacrificing at all. That's not to say my role, my burdens, my wounds, are a cake walk, but when I think of Mark's family, it makes my trials for today fade into prayers for a weeping mother.