In Flanders Fields
the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely
singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead.
Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie, In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.
A few years ago, my youngest daughter and I took a road trip to see the Cubs play at Wrigley Field. We drove from Texas to Chicago to see a ball game. Our baseball adventure, however, turned into something far more meaningful than we imagined, and it all coincided with Memorial Day.
After three days in Chicago (we saw the Cubs spank the Giants in two games straight), we started home, taking detours along the way to see the country.
During a phone call while driving, my wife reminded me that it was Memorial Day and suggested that I take this opportunity to tell our daughter about the veterans that have served in our family. Taking her advice, I began to share what I knew with our daughter about our family heroes. This is what I told her… Going back 250 years, my 4th or 5th great grandfather fought in both the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812. And we know that my wife’s great grandfather fought in the Civil War. He was wounded in action at Corinth, Mississippi in October of 1862 (he lost two fingers and carried a minie ball in his knee for the rest of his life). Another great grandfather on my wife’s side served in the Army during WWI, and her mother’s father was called into service from the Naval Reserves during WWII.
Grandad (my wife’s father), served in the Navy during WWII. Notably, he was on Iowa Jima and witnessed our flag be ing raised atop Mount Suribachi in 1945.
My favorite uncle, Uncle Burl (he was an avid quail hunter, drove neat old Ford trucks, and chewed Red Man) was also a Navy man. He served in WWII and survived action in the Pacific.
My Dad (our kids knew him as Pa Pa), served in Korea and was an Army combat veteran. For wounds received in action 10 October 1951 at the Battle of Heartbreak Ridge, he was awarded the Purple Heart. His injuries were the result of an enemy mortar round. He never talked about the war.
As we continued driving, I recounted to my daughter what I knew about my mom’s oldest brother, my Uncle Claude.
My mom grew up in the little community of Hector, Arkansas, and she was close to her brother. He called her Whit – a nickname for which no reason is known. Uncle Claude always interested me. I was told often that I resembled him.
When WWII arrived, Uncle Claude joined the Army. He wanted to fly, but without a high school diploma, he served in the infantry. He was assigned to the 38th Infantry Regiment – 2nd Indianhead Division (so called because their 2nd Infantry Division Class A shoulder patch featured an Indianhead and star logo). The 2nd Division was at Normandy, landing at Omaha Beach on 7 June 1944, the second day of the allied assault. After breaking out of Normandy, they moved on to Belgium where they fought in the Ardennes Forest at the Battle of the Bulge. This was to be the last major German offensive of the war, and fighting was brutal in the cold and snow. My mom’s brother, my Uncle Claude, was killed in action there 17 December 1944. His body was returned to the States, and he was buried in Arkansas.
As we talked, it occurred to me that my daughter and I would be driving through Arkansas on this Memorial Day. Could we find his grave? Remembering that he was buried in the town of Flippin, we plotted our course.
In Flippin, Arkansas, after some helpful directions from a friendly convenience store clerk, we found the cemetery. Nestled among the green Ozark Mountains, over acres and acres of manicured lawn, we saw over a thousand graves. At first, over whelmed, we decided to split up and scour the cemetery using a grid pattern search. Within 30 minutes we found my Uncle Claude’s grave. Tucked in a peaceful corner of the grounds set the headstone we wanted to find.
For a long time we stood in reverent silence and understood that this was a special gift. Though we’d never met Uncle Claude in life, God gave us the opportunity to connect with him in this one small, beautiful way – on Memorial Day.
