Let no errant bullet find my son.
Let no screaming shrapnel shred his limbs
And mar a life that’s just begun.
Nor let the carboned dead curled in the sand
Begin to stir his mind into a bitter brew
Of fear, disgust, contempt for humankind.
Let his desert march through death’s shadow
Reveal to him not just what man to man can do,
But let him see the need for him to trust in You.
Kenneth Wayne Hancock
For his son, Joby,
A sargeant in Iraq,
3rd Infantry Division,
March 21, 2003
These words rushed into and out of a heart feeling vacant, lonely, and helpless that day. War has a way of doing that to a man. It puts things into a new perspective, far away from the bravado of foolish ego. Being close to death does that to you–makes you come down off your high horse. That this is good for the soul is one of life’s mysteriously sad ironies. I felt this first hand in Vietnam and was feeling it again vicariously with my son that morning.
And so my only recourse was to call upon the Giver of life to become the Sustainer of life, the life of my son. And He did answer this prayer. KWH
Immortality Road 