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By Kelly J. Brown
Posted: June 1, 2005
On March 12, 2005, I stood on the black sands of Iwo Jima with my Grandfather. Sixty years ago, my Grandfather was a twenty-year-old young man flying over this island on his bombing raids against the Japanese. Now, I am a twenty-year-old young lady, coming back with him!
On this day, he flew over Iwo again. This time he didn’t come to fight, he came to remember a story, a story of the sovereignty of God.
I’m so thankful for my Grandfather’s multi-generational vision. Because of it, I was able to stand in the same places he once stood; I was able to see the same sights he once saw — and I was able to hear the stories of men who gave up everything they had ever known, or ever wanted to know, so that all of us might live in freedom.
As I stood there on the black sands of Iwo Jima, looking out into the clear blue waters off the rugged shores of Iwo; the rhythmic sound of the waves rushing to the shore had my complete attention, and I began to imagine:
I imagined a wedding, all pure and white, and there was a girl covered by a veil....
I imagined a young father with a daughter on his knee, singing, and laughing as they sat....
I imagined a family — father, mother, daughters and sons — eating around a table. They were talking to each other of the events of the day....
I saw a father fishing with his teenage son, discussing the details of life together, as they cast out and reeled in....
The men who died on Iwo never had these things, because they wanted the future generations to be given such opportunities. As I thought of these things with my Grandfather by my side, I was completely undone. These men knew what they were doing. They knew what they were giving up.
My father, my brother, and my grandfather and I took this journey back in time to Iwo Jima with some dear friends from Vision Forum and a small film crew so that we could record the lives of the men who fought there. Many interviews were filmed, and many pads of paper were filled with notes. We were hungry — hungry for the stories. And at the end of the day, we were full. God was good!
By the time the sun went down, I had ridden the dusty roads, walked the black shores, and climbed the ash of Mt. Suribachi. On the top of that 546-foot high “mountain,” I stood and listened to my Grandfather as he pulled from his pocket the little black Bible that had once belonged to his own father. Sixty years ago on Iwo Jima, he kept it in the side pocket of his leather flying jacket. Today, with three generations of Browns standing, he read from it again. The beauty of hearing his aged voice, seasoned with wisdom and experience, will forever be something indescribable to me. The sound of a father reading to his son the words of God was good — it made him a hero to me. Knowing that the man from whom this voice came was a man who had faced horror and death, a man who had come away at peace with his enemy, a man who had the ability to look at war and say, “Even in the midst of evil, God is in control,” made him all the more a hero to me. I will never forget that moment.
What a legacy I will have to pass on! I pray for the day when I can tell these stories to my own dear children. Even now, I ask the Lord that He would someday give my children exceedingly grateful hearts. May they never forget the sovereignty of God in preserving the life of their forefathers. And in some way, may they — by knowing the story I will someday tell — live a more godly life because they have been inspired. I know for myself, I will never be the same.