Grace

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Each of us creates history. In the work we do and stories we tell. In the groups we join and games we play. The houses we build and gardens we raise. In the things we create and the impressions we leave on the lives of others. Our remembrance of the past. The names of our children.

Christiansen told me this one afternoon, embedded at the hotel bar, soon after I first arrived in the country, when I confessed I was there to bear witness to great events. Write the first draft of history. He snorted into his beer. One day, before I even knew it, he added, I would want nothing but the security of a home and family. Same as everyone else.

He had placed himself in more war zones than anyone I knew, including several generals, so I was surprised when he used that word. Security. I knew that was a myth, but did not have the confidence to question him outright. Still, I wondered if he believed it.

When he was killed a few weeks later, the first thing I thought was that he should have been at home with his family. I realized then the fearlessness I admired in him was nothing but his attempt to provide them security. That he was ordinary.

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