This day, like so many others in Iraq, was depressing. May 1, 2003 -- I was in the desert with an invading force of Marines. As chaplain of 1,800 people, it was my job to meet spiritual needs.

Being in an isolated area, our communication was limited. The only contact with the outside world was mail or a satellite phone, allowed only on occasion for “morale calls.” 

Today the Colonel was softhearted, and allowed me to use the satellite phone as ministry, giving as many Marines as possible a 5-minute call back home.

Married Marines called their wives, but the younger ones called mom. Monitoring the phones was important, so I couldn’t help but overhear snippets of conversations. I was amazed at how these men, these warriors, became little boys when given the opportunity to talk to mom. Their voices cracked with emotion and sounded so small.

Near the end of the day I held the phone with no more Marines in sight. I had not thought it possible, but decided to call my own mother because today was her birthday. She could not believe it was me and squealed with delight that she heard my voice for the first time in five months. As I said, “Happy birthday,” I was surprised by the emotion that gripped me from nowhere. 

I had smiled all day at the tough Marines who were emotional as they spoke to their moms. Now it was my turn. I, who was strong for others, now felt so weak. I guess I’ll always be Mom’s little boy, even though I’m now a grown man with children and grandchildren. Even though Mom is in heaven with Jesus.

Thank you, Mom, for reminding me of where I came from, that I’m a mere man, and that it is Christ who works in me to do a task beyond my ability. Thanks, Mom.