As a kid growing up in rural Alabama, I never dreamed I would have the opportunity to travel broadly. For us, making the journey from Anniston to Eastwood Mall in  Birmingham  was like a mini-vacation.

 

Going to an exotic location, like Hawaii, seemed out of the question.  However, in 1995 I made my first trip to Hawaii, and of course, Pearl Harbor was high on my list of sites to visit.

 

I was raised near Pelham Range and Fort McClellan in Calhoun County.  Seeing military convoys traveling the highways and hearing artillery fire from the range was a routine part of life.  Later, when I served as an associate minister at the First Baptist Church of Weaver, near the army base, and even later, as I taught on the adjunct faculty at the college on the base, I developed significant friendships with military personnel.  As long as I can remember, I have had a deep sense of gratitude for veterans and profound sense of gratitude for all of our military personnel.

 

I think anyone who visits Pearl Harbor is overwhelmed with emotion.  As I watched tourists and veterans alike walk around the monument reading the list of names with reverent silence and then gaze in the water at the rusted vessel, I thought about the families who never saw their young men and women return home.

 

Mostly due to a missions partnership we had developed through our church, I made subsequent visits to Hawaii in 1996, 1998, 1999, and 2000. My most memorable visit occurred in 1999.  That year I had the privilege of taking my friend, Mack Jones of Corbin, Kentucky, on his first trip to Hawaii.  Mack’s brother, Edward, died January 5, 1944 in the aftermath of the attacks on Pearl Harbor and is buried at the National Cemetery of the Pacific, also known as “Punchbowl.”

 

On a prior trip, a group of us, including Mack’s wife, Wylene, had visited Punchbowl, located the headstone for Edward W. Jones, taken a few photos, and then did a pencil tracing of the gravemarker to take home to Mack.

 

The next year, we were privileged to return, and this time Mack went with us.  First we traveled up the hill to Punchbowl and visited Edward’s grave.  Then we traveled to Pearl Harbor to visit the memorial.  As a group of us stood alongside our friend, whose brother never returned home to Kentucky, we were even more aware of the sobering reality of war, and even more appreciative of the sacrifices of those paid the price of our freedom with their own blood.

 

Since I have moved to Pensacola, I have conducted over 100 services at Barrancas National Cemetery located at the Naval Air Station here.  As a minister, I am honored to share words in memoriam for veterans of all ages.

 

And today, as I think about that memorable visit to Pearl Harbor and Punchbowl, and my many other visits to Barrancas, Eisenhour, and Arlington National Cemeteries, I am also praying that the Christmas “peace on earth and goodwill to all humankind” will become our global reality.

 

(Barry Howard serves as the senior minister at the First Baptist Church in Pensacola, Florida.)