Just so you know…..I wrote this letter before I knew who was going to get it. I rarely (if ever) write to people to dispense information. My day-to-day existence isn’t so interesting that I would presume that others would find it intriguing.

Most men I know enjoy a good war movie. Have you ever seen a war movie that did not have the letter writing scene? The soldier crouches in a fox hole or seeks cover from the rain in an inadequate shelter while he writes his letter. Almost always he is writing to a parent or his true love. Why is that? The soldier will only write to the people that matter, that’s why. Another thing about the soldier in the movie, what does he do with his letters from home? Does he read them once and toss them in the mud? Does he receive his letter and save it until it is convenient to read it? If you don’t already know the answers to these questions then I am writing to you by mistake. But know this: I identify with the war-torn soldier. I am writing to you because you matter. I am anxious to hear from you. I will read your words to me over and over until I see or hear from you again. At mail call time I am in the front of the line waiting for my name to be called.

I have often heard my life described as a journey with Jesus. My life is something else also. It is war. The journey with Jesus description brings to my mind warm feelings of friendship and guidance by a kindly God who is always holding my hand. Does anyone really enjoy such an existence? Because such is not my experience. My inward life isn’t warm, friendly, and peaceful. I am at war almost all the time. It is cold. It is hard. It is brutal and bloody. I lose the same battles again and again. I fall down and I get up and fall down again. Where is the peace and warmth I’ve heard of? Why am I so desperate to survive? Why can’t I fall down and just stay down? Why do I always get back up? I know why. I look at my wounds and realize that I should be dead, but I’m not. I live. Why? Here’s the secret: I am indestructible. I can be battered and bloodied but I cannot be killed. I believe this. The enemy’s rounds whistle and ricochet around me. Some even strike me. Without fear I can walk into the enemy’s fire and realize that the peace and warmth that seems to elude me is not so elusive after all. Is it true and can it be that the warrior’s peace with God is best experienced during the fire fights with the enemy?!

Remember the war movie? Why is it that the letter writer always seems to be the one later in the story who has to deliver the satchel charge to the enemy’s machine gun nest or pillbox? Why is it that the one who has the most to lose is called on or volunteers to make the greatest sacrifice? I don’t know. One other thing, remember the guy in the movie who carries the radio on his back? When he cries over the mike for reinforcements who is he shouting at? Doesn’t it usually seem to be some officer in a clean and pressed uniform miles away from any danger? We all know his line: “hang in there son. Help is on the way.” Who is this guy? I always resent him. I resent him because help isn’t coming or it arrives too late. The officer at the other end of the radio is at best inadequate or at worst a liar. I confess that in my war story I sometimes equate God with the officer dispensing meaningless encouragement. I forget that my commanding officer has worn the grunts uniform, victoriously fought the same battles, and was KIA.

Taking cover,

Caleb