Omaha, Omaha, .....Omaha!!!

At dinner last night, my son and I started talking about history. I asked him what schools are teaching today about our past. His answer made me pause, because it stirred a memory of my own.

I remember my 10th-grade history teacher. She was a small woman with a quiet voice, but there were moments when she nearly couldn’t continue teaching because the weight of the stories overwhelmed her. I don’t remember all the dates. I don’t remember every name. But I remember how she made me feel. Proud. Grateful. Aware that I came from people who were willing to do hard things so others could live better lives.

People who faced fear — and sometimes almost certain death — and went anyway.

That conversation sent me digging back into one of those moments: June 6, 1944.Normandy.

Just another day on the calendar? Hardly.

As I read survivor accounts of the storming of the beaches, something surfaced that went beyond war. It felt uncomfortably familiar. It felt like life.

The invasion of Normandy wasn’t spontaneous. It was meticulously planned. Landing zones were mapped, times were calculated, contingencies were written. And then — as so often happens — nature had other ideas. Tides shifted. Smoke drifted. Boats landed off course. Units were scattered. Leadership was lost in the opening minutes.

History did not hinge on a perfect plan.

And that truth landed hard for me, especially when I think back to the plans I made as a teenager — convinced I knew where life was going and how I would conquer it.

The truth is, I arrived where I am today not because everything went right, but because I refused to quit under pressure.

One of the most haunting realities of Normandy is that many men survived the boats, survived the water, only to become pinned down on the beach. No cover. No direction. No certainty. Haven’t we all been pinned at one time or another?

Pinned by grief.

Pinned by failure.

Pinned by fear.

Pinned by circumstances we didn’t choose.

That morning on the beach, there was a quiet truth that spread among the men:

Stay here and die. Move and maybe die. But stay here, and death is certain.

Leadership had collapsed. Plans had failed. No one knew if their next move would help anyone at all. They didn’t know the outcome. They didn’t know the ripple effect.

They only knew:

• the person next to them

• the next obstacle

• the next breath

And if that hasn’t been a feeling in your life, stop for a moment and be thankful. For the rest of us — we know it well.

Normandy wasn’t won by a flawless strategy. It was won by ordinary men doing hard things without knowing if it was working.

So maybe that’s where this needs to land.

Maybe you landed on the wrong beach.

Maybe today isn’t the day you conquer the cliff.

Maybe you’re waiting for the perfect plan to move forward.

Here’s the hard truth: if we sit still long enough, we all lose. But if we get up and move — even imperfectly — maybe today won’t be the day.

Look around you. Friends. Family. Strangers.

Is it possible someone is reaching a hand back to help you climb? Is it possible the problem in front of you doesn’t require a perfect plan — just people willing to do hard things together?

History suggests that’s how the impossible gets done.