In the fall of 2004, after having returned from my second tour in Iraq, I’d often accompany Brigadier General James L. Williams, the Commanding General for the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force (Rear) in Camp Pendleton, on his visits to San Diego’s Balboa Naval Hospital as he visited our wounded Marines and Sailors. General Williams would consistently encourage these young recovering warriors to take the time to tell their story. He’d emphasize the need for them to honor their experience by sharing it with their loved ones or with veterans in their community. He understood the impact of unlocking their memories and sharing their thoughts and emotions with others in their healing journey. Yet, he also knew that many of them did not feel ready for this task so he would gently order them to at least journal. It was a piece of advice I enthusiastically affirmed and repeated to the wounded warriors as well as with those returning Marines and Sailors who were having difficulty with their transitions. A piece of advice I genuinely offered up but didn’t apply to myself.
Life continued on in its usual fashion and at times I found myself sharing tidbits of moments here and there. Those who heard some of my accounts in sermons or sea stories would encourage me to write. My father-in-law, Dr. Ted Villafana, would often ask me when I was going to write my story and I can recall saying that I didn’t have much to tell. Over the years I have been encouraged by my wife Wanda, a few fellow chaplains and other friends to take the time to write down my experiences. At their behest I found myself sitting down to write only to end in frustration unsure of where to begin, what to write and often wondered if it even mattered.
In March 2006 the British Broadcasting Company sought to get an apology by Colonel John Coleman for our presence in Babylon during 2003. Colonel Coleman’s staff tracked me down in Okinawa and asked me to jot down a few facts on the timeline of events in order to respond to BBC’s inquiries. I did as he asked and forwarded it to his staff only to learn a month later of the article claiming Marines were apologizing for having irreversibly damaged Babylon. This event opened a floodgate of emotions in me and as a result I began to systematically jot down my thoughts, reflections and memories. I was appalled at the idea that we were being called on to apologize and explicitly castigated. We had been demonized for an act of moral courage which I believed was being obscured and intentionally misrepresented.
I set out to see if I could weave my notes into a story that allowed the reader a glimpse into the quiet realities of this war, events not often captured in other writings, the efforts ignored and diminished by a thrill seeking media. This is not meant to be an exhaustive or authoritative historical accounting on the events mentioned but rather a very personal glimpse from my perspective that resulted into an emotional journey that caused me to grow in my faith walk and in my journey as a pastor and a man.
I’d like to take a moment and thank Dirk Wierenga and the folks from Faithwalk Publishing for believing in this project and agreeing to publish it after so many rejections from others. I can’t thank Becky Allen and her editorial staff at CSS Publishing enough for their skilled craftsmanship and professionalism. I wish to recognize my son, Emilio, and his creative contribution to this work as he worked so diligently on designing the front cover. I was edged on to pursue my initial efforts by my sister and her husband, Enid and Mario Burgos, who read my first drafts and were so encouraging as they demanded that I keep writing and emailing new chapters to them. I would be negligent if I didn’t recognize Religious Program Specialist Chief Petty Officer Andrew Stanley, my RP Senior Enlisted Advisor at Navy Expeditionary Combat Command, who while deployed to Iraq with Riverine Squadron 3 took his personal time to read my manuscript on his laptop and provided me with some invaluable feedback. Most of all, I'd like to recognize Wanda for her ongoing loving encouragement and keeping this at the forefront of our conversations. She knew this was an unsettled event for me and she understands the value of journaling and writing better than I do. Her undying enthusiasm and passion in life helped me to give this the attention it demanded during those nights after work and those quiet weekends in Okinawa.
Without the help of those who have encouraged me and those who toiled over this manuscript this would have been simply a collection of thoughts and memories tucked away in a drawer and in the crevices of my mind. I thank them for their talents and long hours to help make this a reality for me.
I hope you will take the journey with me in the pages ahead and be drawn into this story as I share moments, thoughts and hopes. You will find yourself caught in a current of random thoughts as I reflect on the events, the thoughts that tied the past with the present, and as I dared to peer into the hearts and mind of those around me. Many books on Operation Iraqi Freedom will focus on the raw emotion, violent nature or political turmoil that has defined this event in history but I hope to walk you through the same events in a quieter way as they unfolded through interpersonal relationships. I hope in these writings you seek to understand my struggle as I sought to interpret my reality through the heart of a pastor and the life of a Naval Officer as I attempted to be moored in my faith while engaging in man’s ugliest venture. Americans and Iraqis alike have been changed by the events of this war, some very obviously via confrontational and violent combat, but the quiet reality is that many more were impacted in a very deep way through a much quieter unfolding of reality as our cultures clashed at times and gingerly touched at others. I learned that there is a faith that can breathe life into us in the most of mundane or adulterated situations that can inspire us to do more than we dare to envision. It is this faith that encourages me to look towards tomorrow with anticipation and hope.
Semper Fidelis,
Emilio Marrero, Jr.