[Faith-talk] Daily Thought for Tuesday, August 27, 2013

[Paul]

Hello on this fine afternoon, although warming up to more summer-like temperatures, especially here in the mid-Atlantic region of our country.  I understand that the midwestern part of our country is also experiencing similar temperatures, and unfortunately that wildfire surrounding Yosemite National Park is still burning out of control.  Please pray for all affected in that conflagration, not forgetting either the firefighters who put themselves on the front line to contain the fire and, if possible, to save lives and property.  On everyone's behalf, thanks for your prayers, as I know they will be appreciated.

The article for you today is military in nature, but, as you'll see, has its Christian aspects.  Those of you who were in the military or who belong by blood to a military family might best understand the sentiments expressed here.  Anyway the author is David J. Bell of Atlanta, Georgia, and his article is entitled "Close Enough to Touch," rendered as follows:

In the depths of war, a young soldier longs for a sign of hope.

Today's soldiers are fighting wars in lands far from home, far from their loved ones, far from everything they know.  I understand their loneliness and the fear in their hearts, because I felt it myself, nearly 65 years ago.

Forty-eight short hours after our wedding I had to say goodbye to my bride.  Marguerite and I weren't sure if or when we would see each other again.  How could we have imagined when I bought her engagement ring on December 6, 1941, that our world would change the very next day? The Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, and the United States entered World War II.  I volunteered for the US Army.  I was 20 years old, and I'd never ventured far from my small Tennessee town.  But in a few months I found myself on a boat headed for the South Pacific as part of the First Signal Troop and the First Cavalry Division.

"I never dreamed I'd see the Pacific Ocean," I said to a buddy, "let alone cross it." But the war wasn't a dream.  I shut my eyes in prayer.  Like everyone on that ship, I was afraid.

We were bound for the Philippines, scene of some of the deadliest battles of the war and central to Japan's goal of controlling that vast area of the Pacific.  Many island countries had been captured, but US-Filipino units maintained a resistance in the Philippines.  We sailed on a zigzag path for three weeks because of the threat of enemy submarines.  First Australia, then New Guinea and the Admiralty Islands.  Places on a map, each one strange to us and farther from home.  Letters were a lifeline, a sign that we soldiers weren't forgotten.  In every port I hoped to hear, "Bell!" My name shouted out at mail call.  It didn't always happen.  Marguerite wrote me every day, but her letters sometimes took a month to arrive.

We landed in the Philippines in October of 1944.  There, for the first time, we were on the ground in a combat zone.  We dug in.  Jumping into foxholes during rocket attacks became a way of life.  One night I scribbled a letter to Marguerite:  "Today a plane zoomed over us so low I could see the insignia." Can anyone back home understand? I wondered.  I was proud to serve my country, but I'd never known such fear and loneliness and distance from everything that was familiar.  "Deliver us," the Lord's Prayer said.  Was it possible? And if so, how long would it be before I returned home to Marguerite? We were told in the beginning that after 18 months we would be rotated back to the States.  But rotation was now out of the question.  The Japanese had a stronghold on so many different islands in the South Pacific.

One evening the news came down that our division was scheduled to be among the first to invade Japan.  "Well, that's it, I guess," a buddy said to me.  We knew it would be a long battle with many casualties.  It might be years before I go home.  If I'm lucky enough to be alive.  My hope was fading fast.

I didn't know how to go on, so I headed for the prayer services down by the river, led by a soldier whose ministerial training had been interrupted by the war.  I looked around at the many soldiers in attendance that night.  No matter.  This is a godforsaken place, I thought.

A bright moon bathed us in light as we stood with bowed heads.  The young soldier-minister talked to us in a reassuring tone.  "God will not forsake us," he said.  "God knows our every fear and longing.  He sees our every move."

"Look!" someone shouted.

Men pointed to the sky.  I glanced up.  I was astounded by what I saw.  Hovering directly above us was a shape of a cross.  Because of the moon behind it, the clouds shone as if under a spotlight.  I reached out my hand, love suddenly pounding in my heart like a drum.  The cross seemed close enough to touch.

None of us moved as we gazed upward.  Not a word was spoken.  The lighted cross hovered above us for several minutes before the clouds drifted away.  There we were, fighting a war thousands of miles from home, feeling as if we would never see our loved ones again, and then this.  A sign from God like nothing anyone could have expected.  I'd been wrong.  We were not forsaken.  However long it took to win the war, no matter what I faced along the way, God would be with me.

All these years later, I can still see that cross clearly in my mind's eye.  Through the many seasons of my life, I have felt God's love as I did that night in the Philippines, pounding in my heart, close enough to touch.  I wanted today's soldiers to know that, no matter what, they will not be forsaken.

Wow, but what a story! I don't know if Brother Dave is still alive or not (After all, he would be either 91 or 92)., but, if so, I hope he's doing as well as can be expected.

And now may the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob just keep us safe, individually and collectively, throughout these last days in which we live.  Your Christian friend and brother, Paul