April 10, 2003

I am sitting at 11th Marines waiting for my MRE to heat up. The unit is in a field next to a small village on the outskirts of Baghdad. Their mighty guns are pointed towards the city. These are the same howitzers that I credit with having saved many of our lives. The sounds of war are muted and few today.

The Navy corpsmen are providing medical assistance to the villagers. Word has quickly spread and now the sick are being led in to receive help. A crowd has gathered in the field. Looking at it just now I have thought that this must have been the type of crowd that waited their chance to meet Christ. The women are dressed in flowing, black robes. The men are in white, with turbans. The children run freely between the people and the marines. Their brightly colored clothing contrasts strangely with the marine’s desert uniforms and black M16s.

These people spent weeks cringing in their houses as our planes spread destruction through the city. It is like spring has come after a long winter. Everyone seems hopeful that the war is over. How I wish that I had the power to heal. Even limited skill would be wonderful. I am afraid that my talent has become limited to the range of my weapons. The wind is warm, the sky is blue, and I feel light and peaceful again.

My thoughts have turned to allegory and metaphor. Amid awful destruction and despair the cry has gone out proclaiming that help and healing are at hand. The war continues on a far horizon but here it is peaceful. Those with eyes to see and ears to hear can see more than just healing for the body here. Those with weapons are putting them aside to pick up children or help to set a broken limb. As a matter of fact, a rush of young marines just passed me intent on handing out candy and food to the children. One complained loudly of having already eaten everything in his MRE and was not satisfied until a buddy passed him some crackers to give away. They are giving their MREs and we are down to one a day.

There is an invisible hand at work here. It is a power which weapons and war cannot kill. I feel the Spirit so strongly now that almost I can see a shining white robe passing among the crowd. Almost I see the shining eyes and beautiful countenance of my Savior. Some see Him in body but I see Him now amidst devastation. This witness seems every bit as powerful as it ever could be. I feel cleansed and healed.

My dear Amy, that little guy that you always have loved so much is not dead after all. He was just buried for awhile under many troubles. Not even a war nor the iniquities of the world obliterate the seed of Christ once planted by wonderful parents. Do not worry for me now Amy. It is all over and I will be home soon. I love you. Read Psalms 91: 1-16, especially verses 4-13. This scripture describes my experience well.