Coming home from deployment should feel like victory. But in 2004, when I stepped off the plane from Iraq, there was no one waiting. While others vanished into the arms of wives, children, and friends, I stood among the few who had no one. The silence cut deeper than any battlefield.
Then, one call changed everything. A sergeant I admired, and his wife, saw me walking alone. “Come have dinner with us,” he said. That night wasn’t about the food—it was about being seen, about belonging, about healing.
Sometimes, the simplest invitation can turn loneliness into grace. One seat at a table can remind you: you’re not forgotten.
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