Decision Points

hadconcerns about the direction of the war, I needed to make changes in the policy, not wallow in public.
    I drew strength from family, friends, and faith. When we visited Camp David, Laura and I loved to worship with military families at the base’s chapel. The chaplain in 2006, forty-eight-year-old Navy Lieutenant Commander Stan Fornea , was one of the best preachers I’ve ever heard. “Evil is real, biblical, and prevalent,” he said in one sermon. “Some say ignore it, some say it doesn’t exist. But evil must not be ignored, it must be restrained.” He quoted Sir Edmund Burke , the eighteenth-century British leader: “The only thing needed for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”
    Stan believed that the answer to evil was freedom. He also knew there would be a cost. “There has never been a noble cause devoid of sacrifice,” he said in one sermon. “If freedom is worthy of defense only to the point it costs us nothing then we are in desperate need as a nation.”
    Above all, Stan was an optimist, and his sense of hope lifted my spirits. “The Scriptures put great premiums on faithfulness, perseverance, and overcoming,” he said. “We do not quit or give up. We always believe there is no such thing as a hopeless situation.”
    I also found solace in history. In August, I read
Lincoln: A Life of Purpose and Power,
by Richard Carwardine , one of fourteen Lincoln biographies I read during my presidency. They brought to life the devastation Lincoln felt as he read telegrams describing Union defeats at places like Chancellorsville, where the Union suffered seventeen thousand casualties, or Chickamauga, where sixteen thousand were wounded or killed.
    The casualties were not his only struggle. Lincoln had to cycle through one commander after another until he found one who would fight. He watched his son Willie die in the White House and his wife, Mary Todd, sink into depression. Yet thanks to his faith in God and his deep belief that he was waging war for a just cause, Lincoln persisted.
    One hallmark of Lincoln’s leadership was that he established an affectionate bond with rank-and-file soldiers. In the darkest days of the war, he spent long hours with the wounded at the Soldiers’ Home in Washington. His empathy taught a powerful lesson and served as a model for other war presidents to follow.
    One of the most moving parts of my presidency was reading letters from the families of fallen service members. I received hundreds, and they spanned the full spectrum of reactions. Many of the letters expressed a common sentiment: Finish the job. The parents of a fallen soldier from Georgia wrote, “Our greatest heartache would be to see the mission in Iraq abandoned.” A grieving grandmother in Arizona emailed, “We need to finish what we started before pulling out.”
    In December 2005, I received a letter from a man in Pensacola, Florida:
    Dear President Bush,
    My name is Bud Clay. My son, SSgt Daniel Clay [United States Marine Corps] was killed last week 12/01/05 in Iraq. He was one of the ten Marines killed by the IED in Falluja.
    Dan was a Christian—he knew Jesus as Lord and Savior—so we know where he is. In his final letter (one left with me for the family—to be read in case of his death) he says, “If you are reading this, it means my race is over.” He’s home now—his and our real home.
    I am writing to you to tell you how proud we (his parents and family) are of you and what you are trying to do to protect us all. This was Dan’s second tour in Iraq—he knew and said that his being there was to protect us. Many do not see it that way.
    I want to encourage you. I hear in your speeches about “staying the course.” I also know that many are against you in this “war on Terror” and that you must get weary in the fight to do what is right. We and many others are praying for you to see this through—as Lincoln said “that these might not have died in vain.”
    You have a heavy load—we are praying for you.
    God bless you,
    Bud Clay
    I invited Bud; his wife, Sara Jo; and Daniel’s widow, Lisa, to my State of the Union address the next month. Before the speech, I met the Clays in the Oval Office. We hugged, and they reiterated that I was in their prayers. I was inspired by their strength. God had worked an amazingdeed, turning their hearts from grief to compassion. Their faith was so evident and real that it reconfirmed my own. I was hoping to lift the Clays’