Behind the Echo: Not My Flag to Raise

When I wrote Not My Flag to Raise in Between the Echoes: The Reality of PTSD, it wasn’t just about the flag. It was about the moment.

On the surface, it probably looked simple: a group of tourists on the Sea of Galilee, soaking it all in, when someone suggested I should be the one to raise the flag. But what no one could see and what I tried to capture in the echo was the weight I carried into that silence.

I wasn’t on that boat to collect photos or souvenirs. I wasn’t there to check off a pilgrimage. I was there because of a promise I had made to God in one of the most desperate seasons of my life. That trip wasn’t about sightseeing. It was about obedience. It was about following through.

So when that flag came out, it pulled me in two directions at once. For the others, it was an honor. A symbol. Something to celebrate. For me, it brought memories I didn’t talk about, shadows that travel with me whether I want them to or not.

And in that moment, the flag didn’t belong. Not there. Not on those waters.

What mattered to me was the silence. The stillness of the sea. The reminder of faith that doesn’t shout, but waits. The echo of a promise kept not by me, but by God.

That’s what I wanted to remember. That’s why I said no.

The echo in the book is the story. This what I’ve shared here is the weight behind it. And maybe that’s the lesson I’m still learning: not everything needs to be explained in the moment.

Sometimes the deeper meaning only comes when you sit with it long enough.

What about you? What moments in your life weren’t really about the symbol, but about the silence? The ones where what mattered most wasn’t what people saw, but what you carried with you when no one else was looking.

“The Sea of Galilee wasn’t a place for symbols that day, it was a place for stillness, for remembering who walked on the waves."