Memorial Day

What was going through the mind of that nineteen-year-old soldier in that foxhole somewhere in Italy?  Among all the carnage, in all the cries, in all the agony, and the all the stench of dying and death, did he cry out to God?  Did he know the two soldiers that were beside him?  Did he know that their sacrifice would be his deliverance?  What made him think of hiding beneath them?  Was he in a panic?  Was it an act desperation?

Such are the casualties of war.  Did he struggle with surviving when so many paid the ultimate sacrifice?  How long did he deal with the guilt?  Is that the reason he never talked much about the war?

I wonder how many of the enemy did he kill?  How did he feel when taking the life of another?  Did it give him any consolation realizing that it was an act of war?  How close was he to the enemy when he took their life?  How did he do it being so young?

How did the war affect his life as a son, a husband, a dad, and a granddad?  Is that the reason he showed little or no emotion?  Is that the reason he debunked war movies and television war episodes as not how it really was?  How was the movie Patton, the only movie he ever watched, significant?  Was it because he served under General Patton that he watched the movie?

What made him decide to risk incarceration if his sons did not want to go war?  Was his view of politics and war polices the root of the decision to protect his sons?  Was it love for his sons or the distain of war that determined his unyielding decision?  What prompted him to give his sons the option of volunteering or rejecting the military draft?

How much of his vulgar life after the war was a direct result of the horrors of war?  Was he happy to be alive or was it eat, drink, and be merry with wine, women, and song?  Why did he take that journey of life and not the one of being thankful for God’s grace?

Did he feel God’s presence during the war?  Was it the prayers of his mother that sustained him and delivered him back home?  Did he realize his survival was God’s plan for his descendants?  Do his descendants realize the magnitude of that event day in that Italian foxhole?

Do citizens of our nation know the high cost of freedom that emanates from thousands of similar foxholes experiences and situations?  Is there the realization in our nation that thousands of unknowns like the two in the foxhole provide the multitude of amenities that we enjoy today?  When they see our flag, Old Glory, are they reminded of the blood spilt over the face of the earth by our soldiers?  Are the blood soaked battlefields the only recognition that many unknowns receive?  Is the tomb of the Unknown Soldier enough acknowledgment or thanks?

Do citizens of the United States understand the cost of the privilege to cast a vote?  Are those participating in the protests and the occupying of Wall Street and other venues aware of those who died that they might have that right? Do those who operate abortion clinics understand the sacrifice of life that babies might have the right to life?  Will there be honor given to the old soldiers that fade away?

How many will celebrate Memorial Day without giving one nanosecond of thought of the cost of freedom?  How many dads, moms, sons, and daughters will shed tears for a fallen soldier that did not return home?  How many will touch names on the Memorial Wall, a tombstone, or a brick?

Dad, who were those two soldiers you pulled over you and took the bayonets for you in that foxhole?  Will anyone, other than me, remember the price they paid over seventy years ago, just as they forget the price of Calvary?

Should not the multitude of words be answered? (Job 11:2 KJV)

How long can our nation exist if we fail to honor those who paid the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom? 

Remembering their sacrifice on Memorial Day.

Why I honor Memorial Day

The Man in the Middle Lives

Appearing as a dark fog drifting from hole to hole

Death, devastation, and destruction shrouded

The sacred ground where demonic fiends

Methodically pierced the hearts of the mutilated

Silent are loud bombs, rattling guns, exploding grenades as

Aromas of sulfur, blood, and guts saturate the air along with

Coalescing cries of pain, pleas for help, and begging God

Become quiet as the grim reaper surveys the carnage

Enthusiastic agents of death with spikes of demise

See three in another death pit to add to their trophies

Two disfigured youth had given the ultimate sacrifice as

Death laughed when his urchins penetrated their silent hearts

One urchin twisted his lethal tool deep into victim’s heart

As his partner made a noxious jab in the other victim’s heart

Shielded by the prayers of a mother on her knees and far away

Her son lies motionless beneath two that died to set people free

Petrified, the son deciphered enemy idiom concerning his plight

With devious confidence, the urchin replies the third one is ours

Blinded buoyancy does not allow them to see the young man’s verve

Death cannot and will not eradicate a mother’s prayer and true life

Anonymous and gone are the two who shielded the man in the middle

Eternal are the praying mother and the son whom she loved

Always present are the agents of evil seeking to kill and destroy

A praying nation will continue to bolster the red, white, and blue

The man in the middle left a legacy behind through his children

Teaching them to be responsible citizens for freedom is not free

My daddy was the man in the middle.  Private Mitchell Clark Hopper fought under General Patton in North Africa and Italy.  Somewhere in Italy dad lay beneath two dead soldiers in a foxhole.  German machinegun fire ripped open his chest and abdomen.  He pulled dead soldiers together and two German soldiers pierced the fallen soldiers’ hearts.  With a limited knowledge of the German language, he heard them say, “What about the one in the middle?”  “He’s dead.”

Receiving official word that dad was killed in action, Granny Hopper said, “No.  He is alive. I am praying for him.”