Last year I was at a conference in Washington D.C. and decided to get up before sunrise and head down to the National Mall to take some photos. It was a nearly perfect morning, and as the cab driver dropped me off in front of the World War II memorial, I started what turned out to be an all day adventure in the heart of my American history.
As the sun began to rise I found myself standing in front of the Vietnam Memorial and I noticed a nearly perfect image of the Washington Monument reflected in the wall. After I returned home and was sorting through my photos, this one quickly became one of my favorites. In fact, I placed in my folder of photos that my Macbook uses for screen saver images. So, I frequently get to see this image on my screen.
As the image appeared again and again on my screen I began to become particularly conscious of the individual names that are carved into the wall that created such a clear reflection. People. People who had died. People who had died fighting for my freedom. People who had Moms and Sisters, Dads and Brothers, friends and coworkers. People like Richard Conrad, Thomas Herndon, Roger Sumrall, Howard Caffery, Lester Parker and Gordon Hill.
Gordon was in the US Air Force and at the age of 25 was shot down in his F-4E on June 30, 1970 over Laos. His body was never recovered. And his family in Seattle never had the closure of laying him to rest.
I did not know Gordon C. Hill. Never met him. He never met me. He was not a friend of our family, or my Sunday school teacher. But he gave up his tomorrow so that I might live free today. And for that, I am forever grateful.
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