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 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!

Do not stop this prayer chain, please.... 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!