A Military Wife

(The following story was written by Lori Kimble, a

31 year old teacher and proud military wife. Mrs. Kimble,

 a California native, currently   lives in Alabama.)

I was sitting alone in one of those loud, casual steak houses

 that you find all over the country. You know the type--a bucket

of peanuts on  every table, shells littering the floor, and

a bunch of perky college  kids racing around 

with longneck beers and sizzling platters.

Taking a sip of my iced tea, I studied the crowd over

the rim of my glass.  My gaze lingered on a group enjoying their meal.

They wore no uniform  to identify their branch of service, but they

were definitely "military:"  clean shaven, cropped haircut,

and that "squared away" look that comes  with pride

Smiling sadly, I glanced across my table to the empty

seat where my  husband usually sat It had only been a few months since

we sat in  this very  booth, talking about his upcoming deployment

to the Middle  East. That was  when he made me promise to get

a sitter for the kids,  come back to this  restaurant once a

month and treat myself to a nice  steak. In turn he would  treasure

the thought of me being here,  thinking about him until he returned home.  

I fingered the little flag pin I constantly wear and

wondered where he was at this very moment. Was he safe and warm? Was his

cold any  better? Were  my letters getting through to him? As

I pondered these  thoughts, high  pitched female voices from

the next booth broke into my  thoughts.

 "I don't know what Bush is thinking about.

Invading Iraq. You'd think  that man would learn from his old man's

mistakes. Good lord. What an  idiot!  I can't believe he is even

in office. You do know, he stole the  election."

I cut into my steak and tried to ignore them,

as they began an endless  tirade running down our president. I thought

about the last night I  spent with my husband, as he prepared to deploy.

He had just returned  from getting his smallpox and anthrax shots.

The image of him standing  in our kitchen packing his gas mask still

gives me chills.

 Once again the women's voices invaded my thoughts.

"It is all about  oil, you know Our soldiers will go in and rape

and steal all the oil  they can in the name of 'freedom'. Hmph! I

wonder how many innocent  people they'll kill without giving it a

thought? It's pure greed, you know."

 My chest tightened as I stared at my wedding

ring. I could still see  how handsome my husband looked in his "mess

dress" the day he slipped  it on my finger. I wondered what he

was wearing now. Probably his  desert uniform, affectionately dubbed

"coffee stains" with a heavy  bulletproof vest over it.

 "You know, we should just leave Iraq alone.

I don't think they are  hiding any weapons. In fact, I bet it's all

a big act just to increase  the president's popularity. That's all

it is, padding the military  budget at the expense of our social security

and education. And, you  know what else? We're just asking for another

9-ll. I can't say when  it happens again that we didn't deserve it."

Their words brought to mind the war protesters

I had watched gathering outside our base. Did no one appreciate the sacrifice

of brave men and  women, who leave their homes and family to ensure

our freedom? Do they  even know what "freedom" is?

I glanced at the table where the young men were sitting,

and saw their courageous faces change. They had stopped eating and looked

at each  other dejectedly, listening to the women talking. "Well,

I, for one,  think it's just deplorable to invade Iraq, and I am certainly

sick of  our tax dollars going to train professional baby-killers

we call a military."

Professional baby-killers? I thought about what

a wonderful father my  husband is, and of how long it would be before

he would see our  children again.

That's it! Indignation rose up inside me. Normally

reserved, pride in my husband gave me a brassy boldness I never realized

I had. Tonight  one voice will answer on behalf of our military, and

let her pride in  our troops be known. 

Sliding out of my booth, I walked around to the adjoining

booth and  placed my hands flat on their table. Lowering myself to

eye level with  them, smilingly said, "I couldn't help overhearing

your  conversation.

You see, I'm sitting here trying to enjoy my dinner

alone. And, do you know why? Because my husband, whom I love with all my

heart, is  halfway  around the world defending your right to

say rotten things about  him."

 "Yes, you have the right to your opinion,

and what you think is none  of  my business. However, what you

say in public is something else,  and I will  not sit by and

listen to you ridicule MY country, MY  president, MY husband, 

and all the other fine American men and women  who put their lives

on the  line, just so you can have the "freedom"  to

complain. Freedom is an  expensive commodity, ladies. Don't let your

actions cheapen  it."

I must have been louder that I meant to be, because

the manager came  over to inquire if everything was all right. "Yes,

thank you," I  replied.  Then, turning back to the women,

I said, "Enjoy the rest of your  meal."

 As I returned to my booth applause broke out.

I was embarrassed for making a scene, and went back to my half eaten steak.

The women picked  up  their check and scurried away.

After finishing my meal, and while waiting for

my check, the manager returned with a huge apple cobbler ala mode. "Compliments

of those  soldiers," he said. He also smiled and said the ladies

tried to pay  for my dinner, but that another couple had beaten them

to it. When I  asked who, the manager said they had already left,

but that the  gentleman was a veteran, and wanted to take care of

the wife of "one of our  boys."

With a lump in my throat, I gratefully turned

to the soldiers and thanked them for the cobbler. Grinning from ear to

ear, they came over  and surrounded the booth. "We just wanted

to thank you, ma'am. You   know we can't get into confrontations

with civilians, so we appreciate what you  did."

As I drove home, for the first time since my

husband's deployment, I  didn't feel quite so alone. My heart was

filled with the warmth of the  other diners who stopped by my table,

to relate how they, too, were   proud of my husband, and would

keep him in their prayers. I knew their  flags would fly a little

higher the next day. Perhaps they would look for more tangible ways to

show their pride in our country, and the military who protect her. And

maybe, just maybe, the  two women who were railing against our country,

would pause for a  minute to appreciate all the freedom America offers,

and the price it  pays to maintain it's freedom.

As for me, I have learned that one voice CAN

make a difference. Maybe the next time protesters gather outside the gates

of the base where I  live,  I will proudly stand on the opposite

side with a sign of my own. It will simply say, "Thank You!" 

To those who fought for our Nation: Freedom has

a flavor the protected  will never know. GOD BLESS AMERICA!

"Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect

them as they  protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless

acts they  perform for us in our time of need I ask this in the name

of Jesus, our Lord and Savior."

Of all the

gifts you could  give to anyone in the US Military,

be it Air Force, Army, Navy,  Marines or National Guard,

 Prayer is the very best one.....

Amen!