A couple of days ago America remembered the 50th anniversary of the "end" of the Vietnam War. I feel like these anniversaries come and go so fast. Time flies and the memory fades.

I’ve been on quite a journey of understanding what happened in Vietnam. Growing up it frustrated me to no end: the confusion, the question of morality, the gruesome images we are inundated with, the dark stories that make better news than those of hope. Occasionally I would dabble in its history - my grandfather had been a friend of Jerry Denton and growing up I’d met a few former inmates of the infamous Hanoi Hilton. Simply put though, I wasn't that much interested in it. WWII was so much more clean cut.

That all changed when I was about 17 or 18 and a memorable 7 hours on a plane talking all things Vietnam with a salty old Marine who threatened to exchange Jack Daniel’s for me if my company became dull.

As we talked, the layers began to peel back and I started to grasp a better picture of war - more than the Hollywoodised glamour, the protests, the violent images of war crimes, or the hopelessness… It was a more intimate picture of war. A tender side. Sometimes gut wrenching. Sometimes amusing. It was human.

And from then on I tried to understand my Vietnam vets better. Without the commercialization. Just who they were, who they are, and how that shaped the generations that followed. For better or for worse.

Last year was one of the culminations of this nearly decade-long effort, when I was able to travel to Vietnam with a group of Rotorheads - Helicopter pilots. Among the group was one of my very dearest of friends - a Marine who exemplified all that was integritas, honest, and noble.

As we bussed through the hills and valleys, visited the beaches and old airfields... every emotion was felt. The mic was passed around and rotorheads shared their best "pucker factor" stories and we laughed. Only because everything turned out alright in the end.

On a rainy day we held a memorial service on the side of a mountain for a young man who never returned, but who even in his last moments on earth was sharing God's love with others. I sobbed. Our group had been strangers a few days before and now we were hugging and crying together. It was beautiful.

A year later, I still think about that experience. My month in Vietnam. I've been to a lot of battlefields with veterans. It never gets old. But sometimes it's just a little bit extra special. The stories and memories I was entrusted with that week remain in my heart. Some of them until I can put them down on paper. Others to cherish, just for myself.

I'm a few days late commemorating the anniversary, but my Vietnam vets are in my heart and mind every day. They have a special place. I worry about them. I love them. I want them to know they are special to me and to America. ||