God's Gift to a Lonely Army Wife

As Veteran's Day approaches, my thoughts always turn to our personal experiences during the year my husband spent in Vietnam, 1969-70. He left the day before our second wedding anniversary. We've been married 50 years now, but that was probably the hardest year of our lives for both of us. The separation was heart wrenching.

Bob in Vietnam in 1969-70

And it didn't get easier with time. One night after Bob had been gone for about six months, I had a strange experience.

I was living alone in an apartment just off the main street of downtown Anchorage, Alaska. As I drove home from church that evening, I was feeling sorry for myself. All of my friends at church were going home with their husbands and families, but I was alone.

Snow was beginning to pile up. The street I lived on was quiet. I was anxious to pull into my assigned parking spot just across the street from the entrance to my building and snuggle up in my warm bed.

But somebody had parked in my place. "Oh, no!" I muttered angrily.

As I drove by, something about the car caught my eye. It looked vaguely familiar.

A ways down the street I found another place to park. Fortunately, I was wearing my snow boots. Disgruntled that I had to walk so far, I gathered my purse and Bible and trudged back up the street to my parking spot.

Before entering my apartment building, I went to investigate the car that had invaded my space. That's when the realization dawned on me. The car was a two-door, beige, 1960 Chevy Impala--the very automobile Bob had bought when we started dating at the University of Alaska in Fairbanks five years earlier.

AnnaLee beside our 1960 Chevy Impala while we were
students at the University of Alaska

I could scarcely believe it. It must be a car that looked just like our old car. But no! The interior was tan, just like our car. Then, as I walked around the vehicle, I noticed that the decorative strip on the front fender of the passenger side was missing.

It was our Impala!

Bob had been teaching me to drive on the rutted, unpaved streets of Valdez, while we were visiting my parents. I had hit a pothole--the entire street was full of them; they couldn't be avoided. The car jostled against a telephone guide wire that tore off that very strip.

I smiled as memories flooded my mind. We'd had so much fun in that Chevy. We'd loved it.

Floodwaters rising at 4:00 a.m. as we evacuate.

It had been faithful even when the summer we got married, Bob and I and that car had gone through the worst flood in Fairbanks history when the Chena River that flows through town overflowed its banks.

Water flooded our little cottage and left mud and debris and a dirty ring nine inches above the surface of the floor. The Chevy was parked just outside the whole time. Although it still worked fine, we weren't sure if water had gotten into the engine.

When Bob went on active duty with the Army a month later, we were afraid to trust it to drive the Alaska Highway and all the way back East. So we sold our beloved Chevy and flew to Bob's first Army school and then to his assignment in Germany.

A week later floodwaters receded

As the snow fell softly around me, my anger fled. In its place was a peace that God had given me a gift that cold, dark night--a gift of memories and the assurance that He cared about a lonely Army wife.

The next morning our old Chevy was gone. I never saw it again. I never did learn why it was in my parking spot or who had parked it there. Only God knows.




As we recognize our veterans this year, let's also remember the sacrifices made by the wives and children who are left at home while their husbands and fathers offer their lives in the defense of our freedom.