Jennifer L. Wright's Blog, page 18

The Flying Fool

In 1919, Raymond Orteig, a French immigrant and hotel owner in New York City, attended a dinner organized by the Aero Club of America honoring the World War I flying ace Eddie Rickenbacker. Rickenbacker had received the Distinguished Flying Cross and Medal of Honor for his bravery, as well the Croix de Guerre from France for his aerial service to that country during the war. During his speech, he emphasized the special relationship between France and America, despite the current tensions due to the Paris Peace Treaty, and pushed for a day in which the two countries would be more accessible to each other via air travel.

Inspired by Rickenbacher’s speech, Orteig, in a letter to president of the Aero Club, Alan Ramsay Hawley, offered a prize of $25,000 to the first person to fly nonstop from New York to Paris. The prize was good for 5 years; but, by the time it expired in 1924, not a single serious endeavor had been attempted. Not one to give up, Orteig further extended the prize for another 5 years. And this time around, he started to attract some attention, mainly from well-experienced and well-known pilots.

And a scrappy little barnstormer named Charles Lindbergh.

Lindbergh had been fascinated with planes from an early age, quitting college to enroll in the Nebraska Aircraft Corporation’s flying school in Lincoln, where he first learned to fly in a a two-seat Lincoln Standard “Tourabout” biplane. After leaving the school, he began barnstorming–a term used to describe acrobatic and stunt flying shows–across Nebraska, Kansas, Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana, working as a wing walker and parachutist. He then spent some time flying with the United States Army Air Service, where he earned his Army pilot’s wings and commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant in the Air Service Reserve Corps. A peace-time Army, however, did not need full-time pilots so following graduation, Lindbergh returned to civilian aviation as a barnstormer and flight instructor, though he continued to serve part-time in the Missouri National Guard.

By the late 1920s, Lindbergh was working for the Robertson Aircraft Corporation as a mail pilot, ferrying letters and packages between St. Louis and Chicago. He was also watching the race for the Orteig Prize closely. Many well-known and respected pilots had tried–and failed–to capture the elusive prize. By 1927, four pilots had been killed, including World War I French flying ace René Fonck’s Sikorsky as well as U.S. Naval aviators Noel Davis and Stanton H. Wooster, may others had been injured, and two–French war heroes Charles Nungesser and François Coli-–were still missing somewhere over the Atlantic.

That’s when Lindbergh decided to give it a go. He persuaded several St. Louis businessmen to finance his attempt, as well as contributing $2000 of his own savings, to travel to San Diego and build a special plane that Lindbergh and Ryan Aircraft Company’s chief engineer Donald Hall designed. All other attempts to cross the Atlantic had been made using multi-engine planes. Lindbergh’s, on the other hand, was a fabric-covered, single-seat, single-engine, high-wing monoplane that didn’t even have a parachute or radio, the design team having to make a decision between these “non-essentials” and extra gasoline. When newspapers got word of this, many dubbed Lindbergh “the flying fool.”

On May 20, 1927, “The Spirit of St. Louis,” as Lindbergh had christened his plane in honor of his financial backers, took off down a muddy, rain-soaked runway from Roosevelt Field in Long Island, New York, loaded down with 450 gallons of fuel. The plane was so heavy, it barely cleared the telephone wires at the end of the strip.

Lindbergh reached the ocean as the sun set. Fog thickened overnight, sleet plagued his wings, and he was forced to navigate via “dead reckoning,” a tricky and often fatal form of navigation over the featureless ocean, as he had no radio and the fog made navigation by stars impossible. He also struggled with drowsiness, fighting to stay awake as he sometimes flew only 10 feet above the ocean to escape the clouds and ice.

But after traveling more than 3,600 miles in 33.5 hours, Lindbergh landed in Paris at Le Bourget Aerodrome at 10:22 p.m. on Saturday, May 21.. A crowd of 100,000 were there to meet him, including Raymond Orteig and his wife, who happened to be in France on vacation when they received word of Lindbergh’s attempt. He was able to meet Lindbergh at the American Embassy on 22 May 1927–exactly eight years to the day since he had first offered the prize. Less than a month later, Orteig officially presented the prize to Lindbergh at a ceremony held in the reception hall of the Breevort Hotel in New York City. Where more experienced pilots had tried and failed, a poor, scrappy barnstormer had succeeded.

And aviation in America–and the world–would never be the same.

Party Lines and Prayer Time

When I was younger and would complain about not being able to use the phone, my parents would remind me about their youth and “party lines.” In a nut shell, their telephone line was connected to several other families’ telephone lines. If you wanted to make a call, you often had to wait until one of your neighbors was finished. And, even then, you didn’t dial the person you wanted to speak to directly; you’d call the operator and she would connect you. It was a tedious, unreliable, and time-consuming process.

I may not have grown up in the age of “party lines” or “calling the operator,” but I do remember a time when we had just one landline to share among 4 people, a time before answering machines or call waiting or even caller ID. When I was in high school, we had internet connected to our home, but it was dial-up, which meant you couldn’t use the phone and be on the internet at the same time. In a house with two teenage girls, this led to a lot of, um, disagreements about whose socialization was more urgent.

And the crazy thing is…it wasn’t that long ago! I may be old-er but I’m not ancient, and these power struggles over communication channels happened less than 25 years ago. Nowadays, my children are growing up in the most connected time in history. Nearly every device in our home is powered by the internet and we can use all of them at the same time! We no longer have a landline but, if someone needs to get ahold of me, they can reach me on my cell, through email, Facebook, or Twitter, text message or FaceTime, no matter the time or place: in my home, in my car, at the store. In fact, we are now living in a world with the OPPOSITE problem of my youth and, much more so, my parents’. Where once we struggled to connect, now we are living in a world where it feels impossible to DISCONNECT! Even airplanes, that once safe haven of disconnection 30,000 feet in the sky, are now massive, flying wi-fi hot spots.

But the funny thing is that now, in this time of unescapable connectivity, it sometimes seems as if we are the least connected to the One with whom we should be most intimately entwined: God.

In Deuteronomy 31, Moses spoke to the Israelites about the promise of God’s presence. In verse 6, he says “…he will never leave you or forsake you.” Jesus Himself reiterated this promise in the New Testament when, in Matthew 28:20, He reminded the disciples that “…and surely I am with you always, to the end of the very age.” In fact, as believers, we not only have the promise of God’s presence with us, but within us in the form of the Holy Spirit.

You can’t get more connected than that.

And yet why do we so often live as if that’s not true?

Why is it, in my moments of deepest loneliness, I pull up Facebook rather than engage with the One right there beside me? In times of trouble, why do I post a tweet rather than pray? When anxiety swells or simple boredom rears its head, why do I call/text/email/Facetime rather than sit quietly in the presence of my Savior?

Why is it my first inclination to always be so connected to everyone and everything else FIRST, but the One who created me, knows me intimately, loves me deeply, and who is always right beside me (even in those rare moments when my phone is not)–why is it I turn to Him second…or third…or not at all?

I’m not saying being connected is bad. God created humans to be in relationship with one another, and nurturing those relationships, especially godly ones, is not only healthy, it’s an imperative part of a full and fulfilling life. Nothing brought this more in focus than the COVID pandemic, when millions were suddenly cut off from these life-sustaining relationships, causing mental and emotional health levels to nosedive. Connection is not just something we want; it is something we need.

But no earthly, human-to-human relationship can ever replace the deep longing of connection that can only be filled by our Heavenly Father. The best marriage, the closest friendship, the tightest sibling bond is still no match for fellowship between the Creator and His created. And the fantastic news is that, because of the cross, He is always available! God is never too busy or too tired for us and, because of Jesus, our sin is never too great. The veil is torn, the curtain is open, and the very presence of God is there with us every second of every day, just waiting for us to acknowledge and engage.

You see, if we truly lived out the words we as believers so often repeat (“God is with me”), and we fully understood the magnitude of having the GOD OF THE UNIVERSE beside us at all times, ready to listen, to connect, to lavish us with blessings beyond our wildest dreams, we would realize just how empty and meaningless most of our other humanly attempts truly are. Don’t treat the words of God’s promise as mere words–embrace them as truth, filling you with the power of a reality greater than any screen.

“Come near to God, and he will come near to you.” (James 4:8a)

Let the constant connection of the world serve, not as a distraction, but as a reminder of a God who knows you, loves you, and doesn’t need a Facebook account to be your friend. He has always been, will always be, and longs to be the one you turn to in the good, the bad, and the every day.

And you don’t even have to wait your turn.

Call Your Mother

When you think of Mother’s Day, you probably think of cards, flowers, or candy for the woman who gave you life.

But did you know those things are the exact opposite of what the creator of Mother’s Day meant for the day?

In the United States, our modern day “Mother’s Day” got its start with an anti-war activist by the name of Anna Jarvis. In the years before the Civil War, Jarvis started “Mothers’ Day Work Clubs” to teach local women how to properly care for their children and raise awareness about public health and other social issues. During the war, she worked as a peace activist, caring for wounded soldiers on both sides of the conflict and advocating for a peaceful resolution to the war. When hostilities finally ceased in 1865, Anna returned to her “Mothers’ Day Work Clubs,” with a new goal of promoting reconciliation between mothers on both sides of the Mason-Dixon Line.

Witnessing firsthand the hardships and sacrifices of mothers throughout the country in times of both war and peace, and motivated by her own mother’s passing in 1905, Jarvis began campaigning for the creation of a national holiday to honor mothers. Spurred on by support from other women across the country, such as suffragette Julia Ward Howe who wrote a “Mother’s Day Proclamation” urging women to unite for the cause of world peace; and Juliet Calhoun Blakely, an activist who inspired a local Mother’s Day in Albion, Michigan, in the 1870s, Jarvis secured financial backing from a Philadelphia department store owner John Wanamaker. In May 1908, she organized the first official Mother’s Day celebration at a Methodist church in Grafton, West Virginia.

It was a rousing success and quickly gained steam. In the following years, Mother’s Day celebrations began popping up all over the country and, thanks in no small part to a persistent and dedicated letter campaign from Jarvis herself, Congress officially adopted Mother’s Day as a national holiday in 1914.

Little did she know the behemoth she had unleashed.

Jarvis had originally conceived of Mother’s Day as a day of personal celebration between mothers and families. After all, is there any more personal relationship than one between a mother and her children? She encouraged people to spend the day with their mothers, attending church services or sharing a meal. If distance was an obstacle, hand-written letters could be sent. But once Mother’s Day became a national holiday, it wasn’t long before the capitalist zeal seized hold.

By 1920, only six years after achieving her goal, Jarvis denounced the holiday as overly commercialized and urged people to stop buying Mother’s Day flowers, cards and candies. The day had become perverted; the focus was no longer on mothers but on profits. Mass-produced gifts had replaced sentimentality.

“A printed card means nothing except that you are too lazy to write to the woman who has done more for you than anyone in the world,” she wrote. “And candy! You take a box to Mother—and then eat most of it yourself. A pretty sentiment.”

Jarvis organized Mother’s Day boycotts, filing lawsuits against those making money from the day, and protesting at a candy makers’ convention in 1923 and a meeting of the American War Mothers in 1925, where she was arrested for disturbing the peace. She even went as far as attempting to lobby the federal government to remove the holiday from the American calendar, to no avail.

Ironically, Jarvis remained unmarried and childless her entire life, and she died in a sanitarium in 1948, her medical bills paid for by the floral and greeting card companies she detested.

So…perhaps a visit or a phone call to your mother instead this year?

Publisher’s Weekly Review of ‘If It Rains’

I am super excited to share this review for ‘If It Rains’ from Publisher’s Weekly!

” Wright’s lovely debut centers on two sisters in Dust Bowl–era Oklahoma.

In 1935, Melissa and Kathryn Baile break their close bond when Melissa marries into the wealthiest family in Boise City. Melissa immediately regrets her decision upon realizing her husband’s expectation is to blend into her new station and sever ties with her family and former life of poverty. To cope, Melissa relies on prayer. Meanwhile, 14-year-old Kathryn, born with a clubfoot, reluctantly heads to Indianapolis with her father and stepmother, who has convinced Kathryn that her surgeon father will be able to repair the disability. After a dust storm separates all three, Kathryn relies on help from a few vagabonds as she tries to find her family.

While Kathryn can come off as obnoxious, and the actions the outwardly pious Melissa takes to get revenge on her husband will frustrate some readers, the circumstances the Baile sisters face provide fertile ground for reflections on questioning one’s faith. In the end, belief in God sees both sisters through difficult decisions to find their way back together. Wright’s adept depiction of the times capture the grit of the Dust Bowl. Fans of Tracie Peterson should check this out. (July)”

I am so honored they chose to read ‘If It Rains,’ and even more honored they seemed to like it.

Check out the full review here. If it moves you, you can buy the book here.

‘In A Far-Off Land’ Pre-Order Giveaway!

I am so excited to host a giveaway for Stephanie Landsem’s newest novel, ‘In A Far-Off Land,’ releasing May 4 from Tyndale House Publishers.

Look at that cover!

One winner will be selected to receive a pre-order of this amazing novel, to be delivered shortly after its release. To enter to win, simply click the link below and follow the instructions for multiple entries:

‘In A Far-Off Land’ Pre-Order Giveaway!

**Contest ends Sunday, April 25 at midnight MST. A winner will be randomly selected and announced on my Facebook page on Monday, April 26**

GOOD LUCK!

Wait? What War?

My husband is a military history buff.

As a pilot in the USAF, it should come as no surprise that he enjoys reading and watching all things related to US military history. He can spout off names, dates, and battles like a Jeopardy! contestant; it’s enough to make your head spin.

But as I was researching today’s #historyfriday post, *I* had the upper hand for once. Because my military history buff husband didn’t know anything about the War of 1898.

And, okay, neither did I until I did some research.

Beginning in 1492, Spain was the first European nation to sail across the Atlantic Ocean, explore, and colonize the Western Hemisphere. At one time, the Spanish colonization reached from present-day Virginia in the United States, westward to California, and south to Tierra del Fuego at the tip of South America. However, by the end of the 19th century, most territories had either declared independence or fallen into other hands. Cuba and Puerto Rico remained the only two remnants of the Spanish Empire in the Western Hemisphere.

But not for long.

Beginning in 1868 and lasting on and off for over thirty years, guerrilla fighters in Cuba, inspired by the recent liberation of Latin America from Spanish rule, began waging their own war of independence. In response, Spain enacted drastic measures to try and repress the uprising, such as herding Cuba’s rural population into disease-ridden garrison towns and placing the entire country under marshal law.

The United States, although heavily invested in Cuba due to a nearly $50 million sugar trade, refused to intervene. Despite news reports from Havana inciting outrage from American citizens, President Grover Cleveland issued a proclamation of neutrality on June 12, 1895. As the situation continued to worsen, endangering not only trade but also American citizens living and working on the island, Cleveland eventually threatened involvement if Spain couldn’t get the “Cuba situation” under control. Ultimately, however, Cleveland still refused to act.

His successor, William McKinley, inaugurated in 1897, took a different approach.

In January 1898, McKinley authorized the USS Maine to the port of Havana as a show of force and to protect US citizens living in Cuba. On February 15, a massive explosion of unknown origin sank the ship, killing 260 of the 400 American crew members on board. Although an official U.S. Naval Court of Inquiry ruled that the ship was blown up by a mine, it did not directly place the blame on Spain. In the eyes of the American public (and in many members of Congress), however, Spain’s guilt was indisputable, and the call for war grew to a deafening roar.

Spain, however, beat them to the punch. On April 23, 1898, Spain officially declared war on the United States. The U.S. retaliated with a declaration of its own on April 25. On May 1, U.S. forces led by Commodore George Dewey destroyed the Spanish Pacific fleet at Manila Bay in the Philippines (another Spanish-held territory) in the first battle of the Spanish-American War.

Back in Cuba, the U.S. navy blockaded the Spanish fleet docked in Santiago harbor. In June, the U.S. Army Fifth Corps landed in Cuba and began a coordinated land and sea assault on the island. On July 1, the Americans won the Battle of San Juan Hill; by July 17, the Spanish surrendered Cuba to the Americans. On August 12 an armistice was signed between Spain and the United States, and an official treaty was signed on December 10 officially ending the Spanish-American War–and effectively ending the Spanish empire once and for all.

You Are Not Enough

Signing a book contract has been a whirlwind.

My story is not one of an overnight success. I had been writing steadily for over ten years with two manuscripts (covered in tear stains, I might add) still painfully shelved on the back burner when I finally signed with my agent. It was another year on submission before “If It Rains” was picked up by Tyndale.

After years of rejection and anonymity, I was, at long last, going to have an audience for my writing. Finally, someone was going to read my book.

But after the initial excitement wore off, the truth hit me in a different way: “Oh no…someone is finally going to read my book!”

As we creep ever closer to my release date, anxiety grows and the fight with my own insecurity has become daily.

What if my family and friends hate it?

What if everyone hates it?

What if it doesn’t sell a single copy?

What if it only gets negative reviews?

What if it doesn’t get any reviews?

Being a published author has been my dream since childhood, and the Lord has blessed me with its fulfillment–yet I still wrestle with worry and condescending whispers seeking to derail any kind of joy or fulfillment I might get out of this wonderful, amazing opportunity. And while my specific circumstance may be unique, my struggle is not.

It’s the mother who constantly worries she’s failing her children. It’s the employee who never feels like she’s doing a good enough job. It’s the wife who doubts her worth or her husband’s commitment. It’s the boss who is sure she’s running the company into the ground. It’s the daughter who believes she’s a disappointment to her parents.

Our lives, our relationships, and our roles both in and outside the home, are gifts. God has placed each of us in specific locations, circumstances, and positions for His glory, and joy can be found in each of these situations when we remember the love, grace, and sovereignty of the One who thoughtfully and purposefully planned out our days.

“Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.” – Psalm 139:16

The problem is that the world often shouts what should otherwise be the whispers of the enemy, drowning out the peace of God’s truth. Everywhere we look, including inside the depths of our own heart, gives voice to our fears:

“You are not enough.”

We can shake this thought away. We can call it a falsehood, chalk it up to a depraved culture or a misguided mind. But I think the most painful thing about this is that it’s not a lie. It’s true.

I am not enough.

The reason my anxiety and insecurity is so hard to overcome is because I know it’s rooted in truth. I cannot be all the things God has called me to be. My weakness is too big, my exhaustion too great, my sinfulness too overwhelming. I am not strong enough, good enough, wise enough, or faithful enough to fulfill any of the plans He has in store for me.

No, I am not enough…but He is.

You see, when insecurity rears its ugly head, I have a choice. I can keep my gaze turned inward, toward my own lack, or look upward, toward God’s perfection. Our deep longing for a life of purpose and meaning was planted by our Creator because it’s His desire for us to live abundantly; to spend our days in step with His plan and His will, more often than not completely outside of our own natural abilities.

“For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” – Ephesians 2:10

Don’t miss those words–“in Christ Jesus.” Yes, God created us for good works, but He created us IN Christ Jesus to do those works. We were never meant to do them alone! Our feelings of inadequacy are rooted in the separation between us and God that occurred at the fall; through Christ’s death on the cross, that separation has been erased. When we accept Him into our hearts, the good works God ordained for us to do can be fully realized because we have the Holy Spirit living inside us! We’re no longer alone, and those relationships, those roles, those circumstances that at one time seemed so big and overwhelming now bow at the feet of the One who ordained them.

“And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.”— 1 Corinthians 9:8

Our sinful pride is what makes us think that everything we do depends on us. It’s only when we rely on the strength, wisdom, faithfulness, and sovereignty of God that we are able to rest in humility. No, we are not enough. But God is. And our identity and our purpose must remained rooted, not in who we are, but in WHO HE IS.

“My salvation and my honor depend on God; he is a mighty rock, my refuge.” –-Psalm 62:7

My salvation and my honor don’t depend on my book sales. They don’t depend on how good of a mother/wife/daughter/sister/friend/employee/boss I am. They don’t depend on how many social media “likes” I get or how many bad reviews I receive. Because the world, and my own insecurity, will always tell me I cannot do enough or be enough. And you know what? They’re right. But, if I remain firmly in the hands of my savior:

“The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me; your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever.” – Psalm 138:8a

But I do still hope you’ll buy my book.

Let’s Hear it for Libraries!

During the pandemic, I missed a lot of things. Social gatherings. Reliable school schedules. Hugs.

But, honestly, the thing I missed the most was my public library. I never truly appreciated its existence or the simple joy it offered—hundreds if not thousands of books, free of charge, for me to peruse at my leisure. Free internet access. Historical archives. Crafts and stories for my kids.

I had taken it for granted. I’d never even stopped to think about a time without libraries. Because, at least for the U.S., there really wasn’t one.

The idea of a library is nothing new. There is evidence, in fact, that as far back as Ancient Rome, scrolls of writings were available to patrons of bath houses. Public libraries, however, are something distinctly more American.

After the settlement of the colonies, parochial libraries became common. Religious texts were available through the local parish, and traveling missionaries took these books with them on their travels, handing them out to colonists who may not have otherwise had access (making missionaries one of the first American book-mobiles!)

However, the 18th century brought with it the Enlightenment Period, an explosion of emphasis on knowledge, literature, and art, which gave rise to both literacy rates and the prevalence of non-religious texts. Book salons and clubs (for women and men, respectively) became popular for the wealthy as a place to share and discuss ideas and literature, but poor and middle class society were left out of such leisure time activities.

Enter Benjamin Franklin. His club, Junto, a prominent literary and philosophical group in Philadelphia, was looking for a way to increase access to books and thus improve their discussions. He and other members decided to take up a collection–forty shillings per person–and purchase a collection of books, which would be available to members, thus creating the first “subscription library” in the United States. Known as “The Library Company,” Junto’s collection was readily accessible to paying members, but non-members were required to provide collateral for their borrowed material. Subscription or “membership” libraries soon sprang up in cities all over the United States.

A good start, but still a bit unattainable for some members of society.

But Franklin also had a hand in the creation of the first lending library. A town in Massachusetts named itself Franklin after him and, as a show of gratitude, Franklin donated 116 books to the town. (Interesting side note, the town requested a church bell, but Franklin decided on books instead, believing “sense” was more important than “sound.”) Because the books were a gift to the entire town, the people voted to make them available to everyone free of charge.

However, while the notion of lending libraries became wildly popular, the logistics of housing and cataloguing books became an issue. Because of a lack of money, there was often no designated space for books or workers who could keep track and care for them. As such, makeshift libraries were often crammed into general stores or post offices. In addition, the books themselves had to be donated from private citizens–there were no funds available to buy books specifically for the public good.

All of that changed on April 9, 1833, when the town of Peterborough, New Hampshire established the first tax-supported public library in the country. At a town meeting, the people voted to use funds from the State Literary Fund, tax money originally collected for the creation of a State Library but which ended up being inadequate, “for the purchase of books to establish a library, free to all the citizens of Peterborough.” (History of Peterborough Town Library)

Starting in Peterborough, the notion of a tax-supported library, open to all, offering free books and services to the general public, regardless of age or socio-economic status, took off after the Civil War. Soon, public libraries could be found in nearly every corner of the United States. Although their roles have continually changed over the years–computers over card catalogues and faxes over filings–over 150 years since their inception, public libraries remain one of the last free institutions whose purpose remains solely the betterment and enlightenment of its patrons.

An Interview with Susie Finkbeiner

A few weeks ago, I had the absolute honor and pleasure of chatting with Susie Finkbeiner, author of such amazing books as Stories That Bind Us and All Manner of Things. She had reached out to me after discovering that her latest book, The Nature of Small Birds, and If It Rains share a book birthday and wondered if I’d like to settle in for a chat.

What Susie didn’t know was how influential her Dust Bowl novel A Cup of Dust was during my planning for If It Rains all the way back in 2015. She was actually, literally giving me a chance to sit down and talk with someone who had, not only greatly enriched my Dust Bowl research, but also created one of the best Depression Era trilogies in existence.

Would I like to sit down and chat? ABSOLUTELY!

For almost two hours, we nerded out together over Dust Bowl stories, Steinbeck, and the Christian literary historical fiction genre. She even let me fan girl for a bit without making me feel like too much of a goof. If you’d like to see a snippet of the interview, head on over to Susie’s Facebook page to hear us talk about If It Rains as well as discuss our favorite characters from The Office. Because, well, of course.

And don’t forget, Susie’s book, The Nature of Small Birds, will be released by Revell Publishing on July 6, 2021. So if you’re at your favorite bookseller’s website preordering If It Rains, go ahead and add Susie’s newest novel to your cart. You won’t be disappointed.

July 6 is going to be a killer book day, you guys.

Thank you again, Susie, for the lovely chat and your enthusiasm for my debut.

When the Forgotten War Wasn’t So Forgotten

Sometimes, when I sit down to write a #historyfriday post, my *own* history collides with it.

On March 26, 2010, a Republic of Korea (ROK) Navy vessel, the Cheonan, was allegedly sunk by a North Korean torpedo near Baengnyeong Island in the Yellow Sea. A rescue operation recovered 58 survivors but 46 sailors were killed. Despite overwhelming evidence, North Korea denied involvement. On the peninsula, anger and tension ran high; whispers of war were rampant.

And I was there.

From 2009-2011, I lived in South Korean city of Osan, about 30 miles from the capital city of Seoul. My husband was part of the USFK, working with his ROK counterparts to ensure peace on the Korean Peninsula.

And then the Cheonan was sunk.

For a few tense days, we lived moment by moment, waiting for a war declaration (for him) or an evacuation order (for me). Our eyes were on the sky, on the sea, and on the news. He spent most of his time at the squadron, awaiting further instruction; I spent most of my mine nervously pacing, gas mask and suitcase packed.

The lingering effects of history had never been so real. A conflict over fifty years in the past was now pressing up against my present and possibly my future. “The Forgotten War” was forgotten no longer, and the tragedy of Korea came once again–or for the first time–to the forefront of the world’s conscious.

During the early 20th century, the Korean peninsula struggled to maintain its autonomy, being first heavily controlled by Chinese influences and, later, by the Empire of Japan, first as its protectorate and later being fully annexed by the Japan-Korea Annexation of 1910. During this time, many Koreans fled; those who stayed behind were soon subjected to a brutal Japanese occupation, which only intensified during World War II.

After the war’s end in 1945, the victorious powers were faced with the task of dividing up the enemy’s spoils. Although the USSR was already occupying northern Korea, the United States was unwilling to commit the entire peninsula into their hands; seeds of distrust had already been sown between America and her communist “allies.” As a compromise, a boundary line was drawn by Americans at the 38th Parallel, just over halfway up the land mass (because the U.S. wanted to make sure the Korean capital of Seoul was included on their side of the line). The Republic of Korea (South Korea) was officially created on August 15, 1948, backed by the Americans with Syngman Rhee as its leader; in the north, the communist dictator Kim Il Sung thrived with the support of the Soviets.

The Allies may have been satisfied, but the Korean people were not. They’d been hoping for a free, independent, united Korea; instead, they were now at the forefront of a war of ideologies erupting across the globe, the camaraderie of a shared victory quickly forgotten as the United States and the Soviet Union began a long, secretive, chess game known as the Cold War.

Communist uprisings began in the south as early as 1948, buoyed by North Korea insurgents and sympathizers, as well as multiple attacks along the 38th Parallel led by the North Korean army. Nearly 10,000 soldiers and even more Korean civilians were killed before the war officially began in June 1950, when North Korean troops crossed the 38th Parallel in a barrage of artillery fire. Fearing this was the first step in a communist campaign to take over the world, the United States quickly joined the fighting.

The war was exceptionally hard and bloody. Seoul fell to the communists within three days, and ROK forces and their American counterparts were pushed back to the so-called “Pusan Perimeter” in the far southeastern corner of the peninsula. It wasn’t until September and the amphibious landing at Inchon, the port city outside Seoul, that the tide began to turn in the ROK’s favor. They pushed deep into North Korean territory….only to be pushed back when China entered the fray on the side of the North. A savage back and forth ensued for over two more years.

The conflict was never officially won by either side; instead, it ended in a ceasefire and armistice on July 27, 1953. By this time, nearly 5 million people had died. More than half of these–about 10 percent of Korea’s pre-war population–were civilians. Almost 40,000 Americans died in action in Korea, and more than 100,000 were wounded.

Despite all of this, Korea is still divided. A two-mile wide demilitarized zone runs along the 38th Parallel and remains one of the most heavily fortified places on earth. Skirmishes continued well into the later half of the 20th and even into the 21st century.

DMZ from the South Korean side, looking into North Korea, taken by the author in 2009

Including the sinking of the Cheonan during my time on the ROK.

Thankfully, the incident in the Yellow Sea did not result in a full-out war. But there have been countless other incidents–both before and after–that have cost hundreds of lives. For the people of Korea, the conflict is not over. For the US military members stationed there, still working to maintain peace, the battle is not won. A free, independent, united Korea remains the goal, all these years later, despite the lingering stalemate and nuclear tensions. Even though I am now back on U.S. soil, I remember well my time on the peninsula–the beauty of the land and the warmness of the people. I pray for the peaceful resolution of this never-ending war, for the safety of all who live there, and for the Korean dream to someday be realized.

Unification Bell near the DMZ, to be rung upon the unification of the two Koreas, taken by the author in 2009