The Dragonfly

          This past Fourth of July I watched the fireworks in Algood from my upstairs balcony with two of my children. While we enjoyed the show, my middle child was sweating in the Georgia heat. He was finishing airborne school at Ft. Benning (he's an ROTC cadet at Tennessee Tech). He called the next day to say that family members were allowed to come to watch the jumps.

          Years ago I cringed as I watched a friend take my then two-year old firstborn on a Ferris wheel. I don't know why this child thought that I wanted to watch him jump out of a perfectly safe airplane. As his man voice asked the question, all I heard was the little boy voice asking if he could open his Christmas presents early. Where did the years go? When exactly did he grow up?

    In the dark Thursday morning hours I packed up the car for a two day trip. As I drove through the main gate at Ft. Benning, I felt a wave of nostalgia. Before Cookeville, that had been my life. I've been married to a soldier for 20 some years. I met my husband while we were both serving on active duty in Monterey, California. I was a military brat before that; my dad is retired air force. This time around, though, I was on my way to see my son.
    When I got to Fryar's Field to watch the first jump, I was surprised by the number of people who were already there. Cars parked on the grass bore license plates from Texas, Virginia, New York, California, Tennessee. Parents from all over the country had made the trip to come watch these young men and women. While they are old enough to die on foreign fields in the service of their country, they are still the little boys and girls of loving, proud, and slightly anxious parents. Many of them were like my own son, second generation airborne.
The plane flew above us and tiny toy soldiers drifted from the rear. With each pair that fell from the plane, I said a silent prayer, "Lord, please keep them safe." Then I watched as the parachutists floated like jellyfish through the deep blue sky. Airborne. Truly.
Their mushroom tops collapsed on the grassy field, the distance making the landing seem much softer than it actually was. We watched under the 100 degree humid heat of that sunny afternoon as the toy soldiers trudged across the expanse carrying 40 pounds of gear and their parachutes. The Army is the great equalizer. In uniform, they all look alike. Eventually they were close enough for us to recognize the weary smile underneath the helmet, and cameras would snap as parents waved and called out to their babies. Except each of us knew they were no longer babies. They were no longer children. Something had happened in the last three weeks. These sons and daughters were now men and women.
As I waited for the next jump, I watched a dragonfly resting in the scant shade of the bleachers. It was a fluorescent green, its lacy wings fluttering in the wisp of a breeze. As fragile as he appeared to be, I knew that there was an inner strength given this brave creature, a gift from his Creator. He was given exactly what he needed to serve his purpose in this world.

On Friday, July 9^th, 2010, the Army put wings on my son's chest. That same day, God gave him wings for his heart. Now I watch him soar.