It’s Veteran’s Day. And this street minister who takes in foster babies sits down to rock the infant to sleep. It’s quiet. No one around. I think: Turn on the TV. See what’s on.
Saving Private Ryan.
Yeah. Great movie. Veteran’s Day. Makes sense. Cue it up.
And then this scene:
Yeah. The soldier dying there cries for HOME and for his mama with his dying breath. And I come unzipped. There’s that word. That soooooooo very important word. That beautiful word of which there is no comparison except maybe God’s “REST”.
I sit there rocking the infant as she sleeps, quietly weeping for this fictional character, who of course stands for soooooooooo many real men who paid with their lives to fight for “HOME”.
And then I look at this angel whose head rests on my shoulder.
She is HOME, thank God. She is HOME. And HOME is so important. The most beautiful word.
Met a bum in a café this morning. I had joined some Christian men from church there for coffee and noticed that some do-gooder had bought him breakfast and left him there to eat it.
The bum then fell asleep over his plate. I approached, woke him, and asked his name so I could pray for him. I found out he lives on the streets in my general part of town.
I am praying Jesus helps him find his way HOME.