“My name was A15-049”

Rose Williams, at the age of 17. This passport photograph was taken shortly after her liberation.

Today I sat in a small room with a few of my siblings and listened to the story of a woman who had lived through the horrors of the Holocaust in the Nazi concentration camps.  Rose Williams was a 12 year old Polish girl when the World War II began in 1939. After the Nazis invaded Poland, the fingers of Naziism began to close around the throats of the Jews, beginning with subtleties and moving into unimaginable cruelties. This is where Rose found herself with her brother, sister, mother, father, and grandmother. 

Every week the phrase: "The Jews are our misfortune!" would appear at the bottom of the newspapers.

One evening, a German soldier came to their home and ordered them to be out of their house within the hour. Next door was a very kind Gentile family who offered to take the three children into their home and hide them. But from the oldest down to the youngest not one would choose to be separated from their family members. “What will happen to one, will happen to all.” Thus the whole family was transported to a ghetto where they stayed for some time working for and being beaten by the hands of the Germans. 

Once, they waited anxiously for her father to return from his work. When he finally came, he was quite bloody all over his face. “What has happened to you?” they cried. He explained that he had asked a German soldier for a rag to continue his work with; the soldier, wrenching his beard from his chin, replied, “Here is the best rag!” 

Rose was walking outside one afternoon with her grandmother when they saw German soldiers separating babies from their mothers and throwing them on the sidewalk. One woman who refused to release her child was shot and the baby was hurled to the ground beside many others. Rose’s grandmother ran toward the spot were the babies lay, but Rose, grabbing her grandmother by the hand, cried, “What are you doing?” Her grandmother replied, “I am going to go save some of those babies.” A German soldier seeing the commotion ran to them, asking what was going on.  “Oh nothing, Sir, nothing,” she said, trying to pull her grandmother back. Refusing, her grandmother ran forward to help some of the little lives. As she did, she was beaten down by the soldier and shot. “It has taken me years to black out the memory of my grandmother’s dead body lying there being trampled with no one to bury her.”

Eventually, the family was able to acquire two passes to get work outside the ghetto, which, even though holding many horrors of it’s own, was a better place to work. Rose and her sister found jobs in two different factories. The factory Rose worked in, being a munitions factory, contained a great deal of alcohol. Rose along with many other workers smuggled the alcohol which was very valuable to the starving families.

Various versions of the Star of David that was required to be worn by all Jews.

Then it happened. They were all piled into a train. Two buckets were thrown in to serve as toilets for the hundreds of people packed in the car. Anyone attempting to bend down and relieve themselves would not be able to stand up again. Because of the compactness of the car, they would be crushed or suffocated by the masses. Many died even before the train reached Auschwitz, their destination. 

Upon arriving at Auschwitz, they were forced into lines where the notorious Dr. Josef Mengele, known as the “Angel of Death,” looked them over and decided whether they would go to the left or to the right, to immediate death in the gas chambers, or to temporary life in the work camps. The prisoners would be assembled and reevaluated from time to time.

An SS doctor decides who will live and who will die.

All Rose had when she had first stumbled off the train was a pair of winter boots and a couple of photographs of her family.  Even though she had so little, she had still been ordered to leave everything behind! Her warm boots were exchanged for some “dreadful” wooden hollander clogs. They froze when it was cold and got stuck when it was muddy. She decided that she could bear them no longer and threw them away. Her feet became ulcerated and unbearably painful.  All alone in a brutal concentration camp, she thought life was no longer worth living.  

Dr. Josef Mengele (middle) the "Angel of Death".

The next time Rose was in the line where life or death was being determined for so many, Dr. Mengele sent her to the right. She begged him to let her go to the death line instead. “He didn’t look at my sore legs or feet. He just looked at my face and said, ‘You are young yet,’ and pushed me to the other line.” In that unusual way, God used the famous “Angel Of Death”  to keep her life from death!

Not long after her life was spared, Rose found out that her little sister was one camp site away. She was able to find someone to switch places with, from her camp, to her sister’s. After being reunited, they both swore that they would never allow anything to separate them again.

In four years, she was kept in four different prison camps. Most of her time was spent carrying stones from one side of the camp to another, and then back for no purpose or reason except that she was ordered to by her captors. 

At last, that longed for, hoped for, awaited, day came in 1945:  “wolności,” freedom, liberty, liberation! The liberators arrived! They gave care packages and chocolate to the the starving people.  When Rose was released from the camp at 17 years of age, she weighed 87 pounds. She was sent to a hospital and had to stay there for two years until she weighed 100 pounds. To their delight, Rose and her sister found out that her brother had survived the camps, as well, and was still alive! 

In 1946, they all tried to get visas to be able to immigrate to the United States, but after finding out that her brother had tuberculosis, Customs would not allow him in. So Rose and her sister moved to what was viewed as the modern “Promised Land,” America. Her brother moved to the old Promised Land, Israel, and became a man of note there. Rose married, becoming Mrs. Rose Williams. She had children and grandchildren passing down to them an incredible legacy. Since 1945, she has traveled to Israel seven times. It’s amazing that God preserved her life through these tragic experiences! 

Mrs. Rose Sherman Williams 

I have been told many times how my grandfather, as a little boy, would look out his window and see a little blonde haired Jewish girl whose parents had been killed in one of these death camps. He wondered what her name was and what her story was. Who knows, maybe this woman, Rose Williams, whom I met today, knew the little blonde haired girl’s parents. As a little boy, my dad saw that some of our relatives had numbers tattooed on their arms. When he asked about them, he was told that they got them in the concentration camps. These stories of the Jews during the Holocaust are very personal to me because this is part of my family history. In truth, this all happened in a land not very long ago, and not very far away.

"Oh, When The 'Tanks' Come Marching In!"

In 1917, General George S. Patton said, “I feel sure that tanks in some form will play a part in all future wars.” With that statement, the history of modern cavalry of the 20th and 21st century was ushered in. For me, tank warfare is an incredibly fascinating subject. I don’t pretend to know a single thing about their technicalities, but tank combats such as the Battle of Cambrai (1917) and Operation Goodwood (1944) do not fail to captivate me.

These monsters are so huge and so full of power that one cannot but be overwhelmed by their tremendous strength. The sheer magnitude of how the beast of the machine moves is behemoth-like. Standing next to these mighty giants, I was really able to understand the strength they wielded. You could hear them releasing noises that could be termed purring, but would be more accurately described as growling. 

The treads are enormous and would crush you if you even thought about coming near it;  and that is not even getting into their firing powers. Let me just say, standing next to a tank with its engine running, ready to move, is nothing like looking at a tank that is on display. There can be no comparison.

For almost any little boy out there, or little girl who enjoys little boy things like tanks and jeeps too, the moment a tank enters the scene, the affect is similar to that which Mr. Toad of Wind in the Willows experiences when he sees a red motor car. The eyes go round in circles, the heart starts pumping, and the phrase ‘It was big, it was red, it was be-autiful..." comes to mind. Only these tanks were far more massive and an ominous olive green.

I'm sure there were many little boys who felt the same on June 6, 1944, as tank after tank rolled into the town square following the liberation of St. Marie du Mont by the 101st Airborne that morning. After years of hard oppression under the Nazi regime, when at any moment, father, brother, mother or sister might be taken out and brutally murdered, rescue had finally come! Not just rescue, but liberation by the "angels" of the air, and the "behemoths" of the ground! 

On June 6, 2014, 70 years later to the day, the tanks came rolling in again. With the grandchildren of those who had been liberated, with the veterans who had come to liberate, and with those who had come to honor, hundreds and thousands of people stood cheering, laughing, waving, and clapping. The behemoths were back!

They kept coming and coming and coming. I lost count there were so many. They would each in turn slowly roll up, pause for a few moments, and then move ahead, making room for the next. They were massive, they were loud, and like all the others, I couldn't take my eyes off them.

It was the closest thing I think I could ever get to being there on liberation day. 

Louis Zamperini: A Life Unbroken

Louis Silvie "Louie" Zamperini January 26, 1917 – July 2, 2014

This morning I was shocked to read of the death of Mr. Louis Zamperini. You see, in God’s amazing providential timing, I just finished reading the biography on his life Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand last week, and not a day has gone by that I have not thought about his story. 

The story of his life is one I will never forget. After spending his mischievous childhood and youth stealing and getting chased by police, Zamperini eventually channelled his energy into running. Soon he was setting records and ended up in the 1936 Olympics in Berlin, Germany.    

Louie, fondly known by his friends and town as the "Torrance Tornado".

Then came World War II.  Zamperini served as a bombardier in the Pacific on a B-24 aircraft. After multiple noteworthy bombing raids, in 1943, he crashed in the ocean while on a rescue mission. He survived 46 days in a little raft subsisting on shockingly little to eat and drink. His only companions were the pilot and one crewman who later died, not to mention the ever present sharks that circled the raft. Finally on day 47, the last survivors of the plane crash, Russell Allen Phillips and Louis Zamperini, arrived at the Marshall Islands and were quickly captured by the Japanese. Already in very bad health after almost 7 weeks on a raft, Zamperini weighed in at a pitiful 79 pounds, less than half his original body weight. He and his pilot were taken to various prison camps where they endured experimentation and incessant beatings. One man in particular, whom the prisoners nicknamed “The Bird,” found it his mission to torment and beat the Olympic athlete constantly. The torture inflicted by this sadistic corporal shaped his life for years afterward. 

Finally in 1945, when the war ended, his trials as a prisoner of war were over. Louis Zamperini returned home and was hugged and kissed by his family for the first time in close to three years. 

Louie, reunited with his family after years of separation, is warmly embraced by his loving mother and father. 

To many his liberation from a life as a POW may seem like a happy conclusion to his story, but Zamperini still had years of darkness ahead of him. Like so many other war heroes, coming home was not as easy as it sounded. At first he seemed like his old self, but inside he was still at war. Night after night in his dreams,  “The Bird” beat him again and again. Night after night, Zamperini tried to strangle him to no avail. It seemed to him that his only escape from the man who still had grasp of him was to kill him. So it became his mission to return to Japan and finish off “The Bird.”

Louie with Billie Graham in the 50s. 

But then one day Louis Zamperini’s true liberation came. At a Billy Graham revival in Los Angeles, he remembered a promise he made on the raft years before. He had told God that if God got him out alive that he would serve Him for the rest of his life. Zamperini was physically liberated years before when the war ended, but his real freedom came when the gave his life to Jesus Christ. He went home that night, poured out his bottles of alcohol which had become his nightly companion to drown his memories, went to bed, and never dreamed of “The Bird” again.

Many years later, Louie would return to Japan and meet with the men who had tortured him during the war.

To me, that is a true success story. Freed from drunkenness, freed from his flashbacks and nightmares, freed from hatred for his enemies, Zamperini returned to Japan in the early 1950s. He went to Sugamo Prison where Japanese war criminals were held. He found his previous captors and persecutors and told them he forgave them for all they had done to him. While he never had face to face closure with “The Bird,” Zamperini was at peace. 

What I have just given you is a very, very rough sketch of the life of such an extraordinary man. I would really like to encourage all of you to read the biography on his life. It is one you cannot possibly read with out coming away impacted! I for one have been heavily reminded of the power of God’s saving grace and the freedom it brings to those who have endured some of life’s hardest trials. Mr. Zamperini could have lived out the rest of his life in misery like so many others, but because of the beautiful work of Christ in his heart, he lived out a full life of 97 years and used his story to impact the lives of countless others. 

Monsieur Renaud's Dedication of the Allied Airborne Monument

Over the course of the 70th anniversary of DDay in Normandy, my sisters and brothers and I were able to participate in many ceremonies honoring the men of D'Day. None left such an impact on us as the unveiling of the Allied Airborne Monument in St. Mere Eglise. 

The Monument to the Allied Airborne which liberated the town of St. Mere Eglise on June 6th, 1944.

The massive granite monument itself is quite striking. I was nearly moved to tears looking at the sheer number of killed and wounded. But it was the dedication that had the most powerful affect. Given by Monsieur Maurice Renaud, President of the AVA (Friends of American Veterans), it was in its entirety a most comprehensive expression of gratitude as he spoke for all of the people of St. Mere Eglise. Indeed, Monsieur Renaud's words even reckoned back to the speech President Ronald Reagan gave at Pointe du Hoc on the 40th anniversary of DDay, paying special attention to the importance of the soldiers' sacrifice. 

Monsieur Renaud said, “We chose to engrave the numbers of their casualties on on this monument because it illustrates the amount of courage and sacrifice of these elite soldiers. This monument is more than a slab of granite etched with military insignias and the numbers of killed and wounded soldiers. It is the reaffirmation of a promise. That promise is simple. NEVER FORGET. Never is a big word. It is infinite. In so being , it is also eternal, like the Airborne spirit.

Monsieur Maurice Renaud (right). Photo credit: http://www.avanormandie.org

Monsieur Renaud's passion and gratitude is better understood in the context of his family. He comes from a legacy of honor and service, demonstrated by and passed on to him by his parents. 

Madame Simone Renaud "Mother of Normandie".

His mother, Madame Simone Renaud, is known at the "The Mother of Normandy." She made it her mission to identity and care for the graves of the fallen America soldiers. A documentary film was made about her life, and she is deeply loved by thousands of American mothers, daughters, wives, and sweethearts. 

Monsieur Alexandre Renaud, Mayor of St. Mere Eglise (centre left)

His father, Monsieur Alexandre Renaud was the Mayor of St. Mere Eglise at the time of the invasion. Following the liberation of St. Mere Eglise by the paratroopers, he wrote a letter to General Charles de Gaulle speaking of the bravery of the Americans and asking, “If it would be possible to solicit General de Gaulle, who knows what bravery means, to give to these brave soldiers, who first of all, defeated the Germans on French soil, the Citation which gives them the right to wear on their uniform the French Fourragere. I believe that their sacrifice will feel lighter to them if they get the right to put on their regiment flag this sign of the French gratitude. In their coming battles, these paratroopers will fight with even more bravery with pride to be the airborne troops which France distinguished as: 'Bravest among the Brave.'”

During the ceremony, the square was packed with thousands of people, all there to honor the Allied Paratroopers.

As he concluded his dedication, Monsieur Renaud spoke a few words which perfectly summed up the entire purpose of our family's trip: “A day will soon come when no one who fought in the battle of Normandy will be among us. At some point after that, no one who has even a personal connection to the Liberation will be here to speak as a firsthand witness. Today, we immortalize the bravest of the brave; The Paratroopers, who paid for our freedom, our future, with their lives; seventy years ago. As the monument says: ‘They gave all of their tomorrows so we could have our today.'"

Please click through these links below and read M. Renaud's entire dedication speech as well as the letter his father sent General Charles de Gaulle. They are well worth your time. 

http://www.avanormandie.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/Discours-Anglais.pdf

http://jumpcommander.com/airborne/?p=131

Mr. Ernie Covil by Faith Phillips

Ernie Covill (center) of the Royal Army Service Corps

We met so many delightful veterans during the 70th anniversary of DDay in Normandy. One gentleman in particular was Mr. Ernie Covill of the Royal Army Service Corps. Three years ago, Mr. Covill had come to our “A Final Farewell", and he remembered our family!

Faith gets Mr. Covill to sign her book.

I talked to him by the monument at Utah Beach for a good bit, and he kept emphasizing how pleased he was to see us and how “lovely” the event three years ago had been. He even said that he had been thinking about us the day before on the ferry over to Normandy, hoping to see us again. I was so pleased that he would remember us after such a long time! 

A few of the English veterans who came to pay respects to the American soldiers of Omaha Beach.

Three years ago, there were thirty veterans in his group. He told me that now there are only six left, and that he was grateful for the ability to come back for another year. It was providential that we saw him that day, as we had been planning to leave the beach for a while. And it was such an encouragement to me to see that our event three years ago had been such a blessing to him!

Ernie Covill and Peter Scott. Two friends from the 67th anniversary. We were so pleased to see them again!

Why We Must Remember!

You may have seen it in the news this past week: WWII veteran Jack Schlegal, renowned for having shared a beer with Patton after having his purple heart pinned on, passed away just days after returning from France for the 70th anniversary of DDay. But there have been many others as well: 93 year-old Roy Rowbotham of the Royal Artillery, one of York’s “Magnificent Seven”, 89 year-old Harry Chappell of Barnsley England, and 89 year-old Charlie St. Germain of Canada whose older brother was killed in Italy in 1944. Each of these men died within days of coming home; Charlie didn't even make it home. He died in a hospital in France. 

At the grave of Theodore Roosevelt Jr who survived the D-Day landing only to die of a heart attack on July 12, 1944

After reading the articles about these losses, I am more firmly convinced than ever of the shortness of the time we have left with these men. It is estimated that between 400 to 500 veterans die every day. Those are not numbers. Those are four hundred individuals who fought for you and for me, shed blood for us and have now passed away into eternity. Four hundred different stories of sacrifice made which will never again be able to be repeated. Four hundred men to whom it is too late to say, “Thank you.” And all this is happening every single day. 

"Rest my dear one, you task is done. You died for your country and it has won." The grave of S.H.R. Turner at the British War Cemetery in Bayeux.

I don’t mean to sound dramatic, but this is so important to me. I did some rough calculating based off of the last World War I veterans, and I estimated that in the next 10 years, almost all of the World War II veterans will have passed away. In 15 years, there will be just a few dozen at most still alive, and in approximately 20 years, we will be able to count the remaining veterans on one hand. This may sound like plenty of time to some, but for me it isn't. I am 17 years old now. When I am 30, I will have to search very hard to find any World War II veterans that are still with us. Only 30 years old and after that -gone for ever. There will be no direct link left to those known as the “Greatest Generation."

The grave of Texan Lieutenant John D. English, 751st Bomb Squadron at Omaha Cemetery.

If I sound a bit on the depressing side, it’s only to plead with you to take every opportunity you have of connecting with this last link. We don’t have anyone left from the “War to End All Wars,” World War I. There is no one left who can give a first hand account of what really happened. 

My children are going to grow up in a world where they will never have the chance to thank the men who shed blood for them on the beaches of Normandy. 

"The King called. He answered. The King of Kings called. He answered." Grave of C.E.A Cox at the British War Cemetery in Bayeux.

So here is my plea, in honor of all the men who fought for us: some who died many years ago, and some who are still here to tell their stories, please find the veterans near you and talk to them. Ask them questions. Record their voices. Write down their stories. Because soon, too soon, it will only be a memory. 

“Remember the days of old, consider the years of many generations. Ask thy fathers and they will tell you, the Elders and they will show you.” Deuteronomy 32:7

Virginia writes down the names of our fallen heroes at Omaha Beach Cemetery. 

Brothers: Herb and Ed Griffin

Right to left: Liberty Phillips, Jubilee Phillips, Herb Griffin, Ed Griffin, and Faith Phillips

One of the most delightful experiences I (Jubilee) have had while in Normandy was meeting Mr. Herb and Ed Griffin, brothers and both veterans of the Second World War. Mr. Herb Griffin landed at Utah Beach on D+10. Despite having been taken, the beach still had many un-detonated mines. As one of the 79th Infantry Division, Mr. Griffin helped to take Cherbourg. Shortly after the liberation, he was badly injured in the arm by an 88 and was sent to a hospital in England for recovery. Mr. Ed Griffin did not land in Normandy because he was too young at the time (he was two years junior of his brother), but served later on in the war. 

Herb Griffin as an 18 year old soldier.

Mr. Herb Griffin had always wanted to return to Normandy, but never had the opportunity until an unlikely meeting with the fire department when they rescued him after he became unconscious in church. On the way to the hospital, they started talking about his war experiences and a special bond grew between veteran and firefighters. The providential meeting ended up with the firemen raising enough money to send not only Herb, but also his brother Ed, back for the first time to the beach he landed on 70 years ago. 

Mr. Griffin and I listen to "It Had To Be You", sung by Faith Phillips

It was simply wonderful to get to meet them. Faith offered to sing a song from the WWII era for them and Mr. Griffin picked, “It Had to be You.” We were thrilled to see how much they enjoyed the song and even just talking to us. Memories like these are absolutely priceless, and I am so grateful to have been able to meet these two kind and wonderful veterans. 

Taking photos in foreign lands can be quite amusing. 

Singing For The Boys

"We'll Meet Again" 

Seventy years to the day from the greatest amphibious operation in history, the Philips girls found ourselves in the romantic and historic town of St. Marie du Mont. The feeling was simply electric as tanks rolled in, motorcycles buzzed around the grand old church which anchored the centre of the town, and thousands of men, women, and children in the clothing of 1944 brought the pages of history to life. It was the closest experience I've ever had to going back in a time machine and experiencing the war of my fathers. 

Near the vaulted entrance of the church where German soldiers once ran to hide behind as American troops poured into town, Faith had the honor of singing "We'll Meet Again" to a company of soldiers from Holland, Belgium, Scotland, and Malta. Their pure hearted love for the music and appreciation for my sister's gift of song made them the very favorite company that I met during our whole Normandy experience.

After the song, we managed to get everyone together for a group shot. Almost everyone.

In the "real world" beyond this wonderful time in Normandy, we are separated by languages and cultures, not to mention thousands and thousands of miles, but for a short time we were united in a unique way as we found a common ground forged in the anvil of our collective appreciation for the stories of the brave men of D-Day and the great fight that brought Liberty to the world. It was truly magnificent. 

"The Ocean Was Blood Red"

Private Allen Spiro of the Rangers of Pointe du Hoc.

Private Allen Spiro of the Rangers of Pointe du Hoc.

He was only seventeen years old when he hit the beach right off of Pointe du Hoc, Normandy, and private Allen Spero, now age eight-eight. told me that after a day of fighting "the ocean water was blood red." Pointe du Hoc was the highest point between Utah Beach to the West and Omaha Beach to the East.  Private Spero is one of the few surviving members of the United States Army Ranger Assault Group which was the subject of Ronald Reagan's famous 40th anniversary speech given at Pointe du Hoc, the most famous presidential message  ever given about D Day. He told us that it took close to three hours under heavy fire for him to scale Pointe du Doc. He said that he lost a lot of friends: "You can not imagine what it is like to have one of your best friends die right next to you, and there is nothing you can do."

 

Private Spero told me that he carried a mortar, but abandoned it because it proved to be useless. He exchanged the mortar for a sharpshooter gun which he would carry all the way to Berlin. My little sister Virginia was next to me for most of my conversation, and Private Spero told me that he could not really describe the battle with someone twelve or under present. He thought it was too much for their ears. But he did describe how he targeted Germans at night by their rifle fire and the fact that he killed dozens if not hundreds. He said there were two types of men who walked away from D Day: those who could sleep for the rest of their lives and those who could not. The second group of men tended not to live long.

After D Day he was under orders to make it to Berlin and find Hitler. His group caught a ride on Patton's tanks, but by the time he arrived in Berlin, Hitler was dead. He was also one of the men to liberate the concentration camp Buchenwald. He said the liberation of the camp was a terrible scene. The Germans put up a big fight and many soldiers and Jewish prisoners were killed.  

Like most of the men of D Day, he had not spoken about the battle until recently. Now he gets together regularly with the few survivors of Pointe du Hoc. He told me that this was his first trip to Normandy since D Day and he hoped he could see some of his old friends he had not seen since the war. 

Ronald Reagan said this of the boys of Pointe du Hoc: "Here, in this place where the West held together, let us make a vow to our dead. Let us show them by our actions that we understand what they died for. Let our actions say to them the words for …

Ronald Reagan said this of the boys of Pointe du Hoc: "Here, in this place where the West held together, let us make a vow to our dead. Let us show them by our actions that we understand what they died for. Let our actions say to them the words for which Matthew Ridgway listened: ``I will not fail thee nor forsake thee.''

Music as Encouragement

We have found as we have visited with the veterans, that one of the greatest encouragements to them is to sing to them the music of their youth, the songs they grew up with and sang with their friends and sweethearts. Faith has been working on these songs for months and has been singing in nursing homes. Below is a sample menu we put together of songs that the Normandy veterans can choose from. Also singing with her will be Virginia, Honor, and Joshua. 

Faith came up with this menu list. When she meets the veterans she hands them the menu and ask whether they would like a "three course" musical dinner, or perhaps just an appetizer or desert.. 

Faith came up with this menu list. When she meets the veterans she hands them the menu and ask whether they would like a "three course" musical dinner, or perhaps just an appetizer or desert.. 

The appetizer and entree!

The appetizer and entree!

A Promise Made

static1.squarespace.jpg

We see them here and there. At the park, a concert or even the local grocery store; living a normal life, just one of the crowd. The only thing that distinguishes them maybe is a black baseball cap with the words: World War Two Veteran in gold embroidery. We see them but it means no more than if it said ‘Red Sox” or “I love New York”. Occasionally, if it does strike a cord and get past that thick barrier in our minds, we might think, “oh, I should go and thank them, but I don’t have the time. Maybe next time.” The problem is, there is no ‘next’ time. Why?  they are dying out. Every day. 

I am seventeen years old this year, and for fifteen of those years I have spent a meaningful part of my life meeting these men and studying their histories. For the last thirteen years my family has taken part in an earnest effort to remember these forgotten heroes and honor them when so many of today’s generation has absolutely no desire to remember or thank those who bled and died for hundreds of thousands, even millions of men and women they would never know. Once a year on Memorial Day, we pause to remember, maybe. If we aren’t thinking about the finale of the latest sports event and our favorite team winning. We mumble something about how they gave their all for us that we might be free but we don’t even know what we are saying. These forgotten heroes did give their all. They had arms and legs blown off. Jaws shot away. Allowed themselves to be blown to pieces by land-mines so that the fellows behind them would have a safer path, and many of the veterans still alive today carry with them dozens of pieces of shrapnel in them left over from war wounds, all because they believed in what they fought for and understood it to be a just and right cause. Yet each time we ignore them we miss an once and a lifetime opportunity that we will never have again.

Three years ago my father took a group of people back to Normandy for the 67th anniversary of the D-Day Invasion of 1944. It was an incredible experience for all of us, especially as we were able to be with the men at the very spot were they fought and watched their buddies die. While we were there we met a few veterans in particular whom we have became especially close with over the last three years. We correspond regularly with and speak to them on the phone. They often send us lengthy letters filled with stories, poetry they have written over the years, and details about their life. We also talk about life in general, about our families, and about our faith.

At one point, one of the men dearest to us began to be discouraged and perhaps a bit lonely. He sounded like he wanted to give up on life. My dad wrote him and said basically this -- We have a deal for you --- stay alive until the 70th, read your Bible, seek the Lord and God willing my children will be there to stand by your side for the 70th. He accepted.

As the 70th anniversary of D Day came closer we began to wonder if we could keep the promise to these men. There were just no resources. So we talked as children and came to Mom and dad with a new plan. What if we prayed much, and worked hard as the children to save up the money to cover 100%?  Dad and Mom agreed on the condition that if the Lord did not provide this way, we would be content to accept that as a "no." But God did bless the effort in many unexpected ways, and when all was said and done, Operation Meatball was a go.

Leading up to the event, we practiced dozens of songs to sing for the veterans, made vintage-looking clothing to honor them, and worked on the many little details necessary to make the most out of Operation Meatball. Now we are just very excited and thankful and hope that God will give us many opportunities to bring encouragement to the World War II friends we know, and the new ones we hope to meet. 

Remember the days of old, consider the years of many generations: ask thy father, and he will shew thee; thy elders, and they will tell thee. -Deut. 32.7
Operation Meatball 

Operation Meatball 

June 6, 2011: On Juno Beach with English D-Day Veteran, Bob Douglas

June 6, 2011: On Juno Beach with English D-Day Veteran, Bob Douglas

Visiting English D-Day Veteran, Mr. Womack.

Visiting English D-Day Veteran, Mr. Womack.

Visiting English D-Day Veteran, Mr. Scott.

Visiting English D-Day Veteran, Mr. Scott.