Dear God Letters--Wheeling Valor

In my distress I called out: Lord!"1.
I sat on the bench looking about, and wondered the experiences they encountered as many of them wheeled along, coming and going--the automatic doors opening and closing--brave men and women arriving or leaving their doctors appointments. The VA Hospital had just reopened its newly constructed front entrance with the attendants assisting many of the wheeled chair patients to and from their cars.
I lifted myself from my bench as my appointment drew near, walked towards the new entrance with vets walking or wheeling pass often with a wink or a nod as kind of salute in recognition that I too was a vet like they.

I was able to walk unlike many of my brothers and sisters in arms.
Many wore baseball caps with insignias showing either their branch of service or the American flag. It's not like at the Army/Navy game where you root for one--it was more like seeing a lost relative--more like family. A wink or nod was a salute. I gladly participated. You could tell the vets from civilians even without a hat like chess pieces all the same color, but you knew which side. A wink or a nod.
I marched through the halls knowing the corridors leading to my appointment to the elevator assigned nearest the check in area. A vet wheels in with one leg missing--a wink or a nod--and to myself, I have to say to him thank you for your service young man, may God bless you. May you find some happy moments.
Another vet wheels along strapped to a service dog--a dog that was careful of his master's needs always turning to him looking to see if he was in need of something or needed to turn a corner it seemed, but always acute to his master in a wheel chair.
Some vets walked along with walkers that were seemingly all of the same kind of device perhaps all issued from the same source here at the hospital.

I finished my appointment and marched down to chapel. Luckily it was near noon for Holy Mass.
I walked down the middle isle, and a wheel chaired vet sat praying up front.
At one point of the homily the priest said that there would be hardships in life not unlike those early Christians who were martyred.
There was a kind of brotherhood I felt receiving Holy Communion alongside these vets.
They are not to be pitied--they are to be saluted. "It is not true that men in our time are turned toward only the things of this earth and have forgotten to look to heaven."2.
There is a kind of sadness in their eyes, they live in a wheel chair, but also that they can no longer fight for their country the way they did before. Some I see wheel pass, and they have a smile, perhaps a certainty in their heart that they fought the good fight, perhaps a sense of accomplishment.
Mass ended and I made my way through the halls--I like to think the halls of justice--and to the front door exiting. I can only pray as I left.

Dear God, protect and help these brave men and women soldiers as they served with valor to protect our country against the forces of evil. Protect them from harm, and from those who carelessly are unaware of the plots of demons. Protect those service dogs who serve with courage and honor of those in their need. Let us pray for an end to wars, where people can live in peace--what God intended. Let us pray to truly know and love God--let us know and love each other, not with a weapon, but perhaps a wink or a nod. We pray through Christ our Lord. Amen.

1. Holy Bible, Catholic Companion Edition. Psalm 18.
2. St. Josemaria Escriva, from "Devotions to the Holy Spirit" taken from, The Daily Roman Missal--Midwest Theological Forum.