A few days ago, these photos popped up on good ol’ Facebook memories. With the blessing and curse that is social media, I do appreciate reminders of past years. This particular memory struck especially home. 7 years. How has it been 7 years?? “How time flies” is an obnoxious cliché, but ever so true.”

Anywho, because the story behind the photo is one of my favorite stories I thought I’d share.

In July 2014, after the girls and I got home from Normandy I was scanning the news for all things D-Day commemoration. It was a big year for Normandy (if you’ll pardon my grammar), the 70th anniversary was nothing to sneeze at. The veterans were largely in their late 80s at the time and still considerably active. I don’t recall the exact number of vets expected to attend that anniversary, but from my personal experience - Normandy was abounding with these treasured octo and nonagenarians.

Consequently a lot of articles were floating around afterwards. Combing through the news, one piece in particular struck me: A story about a Texas veteran and his journey back to the D-Day beaches with his son.

That was my introduction to Charlie Alford, 1st Lieutenant with the 6th Armored Division.

Hosted by Doug Dunbar (CBS Dallas), the short biopic expressed all the feelings. Charlie’s first time back to his battlefields was evocative, hopeful, healing, sincere, and inspiring. I was so moved by the piece that I emailed it to my mom and said, “I wish there was a way I could meet this guy.”

Fast forward a few months, the girls and I were in Dallas for a Veterans Day luncheon. The luncheon, organized by Daughters of WWII, was spectacularly laid out. There were so many World War II‘s present, you wouldn’t believe it looking back. Even former President Bush joined us briefly to pay tribute to the veterans. The day would have been overwhelming, if it wasn’t so wrapped up in joy. The girls and I just took everything in as best as we could.

During the program I looked around and there, a table over from us, I saw Charlie. I knew him immediately from the news piece and I was so excited. I just wanted to meet him, shake his hand, and thank him for the tears his story had left in my eyes and the warmth that touched my heart.

Now that I think about it, I don’t remember who initiated the conversation… Whether it was Charlie or me (he had such a gregarious personality, always talking with everyone), but the little meet and greet turned into one of the most beautiful and treasured friendships. I don’t know how long we stood there chatting, but I do know we were one of the last to leave the ballroom.

I learned a lot from Charlie in the few years I knew him. He would call me up sometimes and say, “How are the Meatball girls doing?” And when the girls and I hosted our parties at the old car museum in San Marcus (despite the multi-hour drive), Charlie never failed to show up.

He laughed, he made jokes, some of them absolutely outrageous. But there was so much integrity to his character. And real nobility. Christian nobility. His life had definitely been affected what happened to him in the war, but it didn’t define him.

I remember one day he told us a story of dropping a pickle jar, and watching it shatter on the ground, and refusing to let the human anger that boils up at moments like that manifest in the form of cursing. His life had changed after becoming a Christian, and that including the words he used. I was profoundly affected by this simple account. And it always remains in the back of my mind for whenever I am inconvenienced.

So that is my story. A providential meeting. A beautiful friendship. And a blessed life.