Blogs - Prayables Team Blog

I read an article on Huffington Post about a World War II veteran facing eviction and got all fired up.

Friends have asked me why I’m such a hawk about our soldiers.  They know I’m not in support of this particular conflict in Afghanistan, and yet I always remind them to say a prayer for the troops.  How do I reconcile the fact that I’m all about prayer and peace, yet I’m always going on about what we can do for our veterans?

I’m not a hawk; I’m a really pesky dove.  I’ve never supported war as a means to end a conflict (although I do love the oxymoron that sentence contains.)  My theory is that anyone willing to put his or her life on the line for me is someone to whom I owe something, not the least of which is respect.

My brother served in the Navy, but I have no other particular connection to the military.  It just seems to me that I would never have the wherewithal to do what they do routinely, and even enlist for.

I think that we’ve failed our soldiers in terms of helping them find their way once their service is finished.  It’s almost as if we need to repatriate them. I’m not saying they need to be more patriotic, I’m suggesting that returning from a war zone to your hometown is like coming from Pluto back to Earth.  They’ve been in another country and in another world.

Who can ever unclench from the reality of sleeping in Kevlar, never knowing where your enemy is, home-made bombs disguised as children?

When soldiers come home, they don’t stop being soldiers.  They don’t magically feel safe and let their guard down and say, “Ah!  I’m home.  All is right with the world.” Many can’t shake the practice of “hyper-vigilance,” even on the couch in their condo.

We make time to get our hair done, our mani-pedis, we’ve got hours to kill playing Farmville on Facebook.  I think we’ve got a minute or two to send up a good thought for our men and women in uniform.  We owe them so much more, but for now, a prayer will suffice.

Battle Cries
 

This is war.
Every time I beg You to keep them safe.
Every time the news has a new tally to share.
A new death toll.
Dashing young faces appear.
Dates of beginning and abrupt ends,
scrolling below their smiles.
Is my baby there?
Only You know.

-Karen Laven