Psalm 130:1- 7

Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord.

Lord, hear my voice!

Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications!

If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand?

But there is forgiveness with you, so that you may be revered.

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope;

my soul waits for the Lord

more than those who watch for the morning,

more than those who watch for the morning.

We are all shaken by the cries of the people of Afghanistan to the world. The words of the psalmist sum it up. Their anguish is beyond imagining.

Please pray that all leaders, especially ours, do all in their power to assist those terrified souls who are trying to escape from the airport and from the country.

The situation in Afghanistan struck, in a very personal way, in November 2008, when my former student and friend, Michael, was killed there.

I first met Michael Fussell when he was a Year 9 student. It was a very hot February morning. I was at The Armidale School, marshalling rowdy boys, Michael among them.

Michael had won an academic scholarship and was a boarding student. The boys were filing onto buses for a weekend trip to the coast. Michael, being extremely fair skinned with red hair, really stood out.

He heeded the warnings about sunburn and had smothered himself in white zinc cream. He thought it would be a good idea to do so before the bus journey so that, on arrival at Sawtell, he could drop his bag and hit the surf. He looked like a Kurdaitcha Man, all covered in white clay and just as fearful.

He did not worry that everyone was laughing at his odd appearance and that the bus driver was extremely concerned about protecting the seat upholstery! Michael was happy to sit on his towel for the next two hours until he reached his destination.

They returned a few days later and poor Michael looked like a cooked lobster. However, his happy disposition never wavered. He was always getting himself in and out of sticky situations because he loved life and gave everything a go, whether he could succeed or not.

Michael tried Rugby and it was nerve wracking to watch him disappear under a hefty scrum. He was so much smaller and lighter than anyone else on the field. It was suggested, gently, he swap to soccer.

When all his classmates began to shoot skyward overnight, Michael realized he was going to be a very short in stature, made more obvious by the over 2 metre height of his very best friend. Whenever they were together, which was most of the time, their height difference was truly comical.

As the school was a Cadet school, Michael took his role as an army cadet leader very seriously and was a wonderful mentor and role model to my son, Daniel. He taught Daniel so much more than how to clean a 303 rifle or iron his cadet uniform or polish his boots.

He was always available to listen and offer his own solid wisdom to Daniel’s many teenage woes. At the Year 12 Passing Out Parade, Michael was chosen to wear the sword of honour. As he was so short, it almost touched the ground. He was so desperately proud to achieve that honour, he wore built up boots.

He and four classmates were accepted into Duntroon Military College and he was very excited, once he graduated, with an excellent academic result, to head south to Canberra. He saw his role as one of service to others, to the community, to his country. He could hardly wait.

Michael was a dedicated and very successful soldier. As history dictates the life of those in the Armed Services, he was sent to Afghanistan where he served with honour. He loved the people there and did all he could to help them, especially the poor villagers where he lived and worked.

His happy disposition won him many friends. He had a keen sense that he was helping to rebuild a shattered, war torn nation. He was always a “big picture” person.

A new commanding officer, direct from Australia, with no experience, asked a group of his men, including Michael, to move forward, down a road which had been cleared of incendiary devices.

However, he was inexperienced, unfamiliar with the landscape and he read the map incorrectly, sending them down the wrong road. It was a death trap. Michael was killed, two others were severely injured. His wonderful, happy, generous, compassionate life was over, in a blink of an eye.

The world lost a wonderful young Australian, full of hopes for the future and on the brink of his adult life. Fittingly, in his memory, a centre for returned soldiers with post-traumatic stress, was named in his honour.

As we watch the terrible situation unfold in Afghanistan, some talk of Michael and the other 41 Australian soldiers who died there. Was it worth their lives, they say, when we see the Taliban move in so quickly?

Such questions can never be answered satisfactorily at this point in the unfolding tragedy there. What is important to remember is that Michael’s life made a difference. His enthusiasm, energy and laughter were infectious. He leaped at life’s opportunities and lived every day to the full. He loved the people of Afghanistan and did all in his power to improve their lives and opportunities.

The people he admired so much for their resilience, faith and their determination to live freely now need our assistance. We honour the memory of those soldiers, who will never come home, by doing all we can to urge our leaders to show compassion. We have the opportunity to welcome refugees and assist and support them, where possible, to resettle and rebuild their lives. We have the opportunity to pray for them and for those who are trying so hard, to assist them.

We all have the power to make a difference.

Lest we forget.

Anne Hughes,

Director of Faith and Mission

Resource Centre Update