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An American flag was draped over a coffin to the speaker’s right side. His voice was shaking and somber as he read from the pulpit.
Dear Dad,
I know you worry about me in Iraq. And, I know you’re praying for me to come home early; alive. But, I believe it would be better if I came home in a body bag than be sent home because we were pulled out of here.
I think a lot about the ramifications for our country if we’re ordered stateside before the job is done.
I know it sounds strange, but I feel the Lord’s Spirit here. There’s a peace knowing both mine and His destinies are intertwined in this region.
What’s the job? I believe it’s fulfilling His will in this country, whatever that may be. I don’t question; I’m a good soldier.
I could tell by your last letter that you’ve been listening closely to the banter of the liberals during the presidential primaries. They want to bring us home so parents like you don’t have to worry about losing another child in this conflict. And, that is not a bad thing. But to us, each day we’re here is another day we don’t worry as much about another senseless terrorist act in our country. We are a proactive cog in evil’s labyrinth.
Granted, our job here is like trying to keep a broken down shanty, with no windowpanes or doors, swept free of sand in the middle of a desert storm. And, yes, it does get frustrating and we do get angry when we not only have to continually re-sweep the floor, but mop the blood of friends.
We figure, at least my buddies and I, that each life lost here saves a hundred back home.
This place is evil, don’t let anybody fool you, and it will remain evil until the final battle when Jesus returns.
I had a dream the other night. I saw an army riding with Jesus in white garments and many of the faces I saw were those of my friends who were killed here. They were coming back to finish the job.
Even if God decides it’s my time to go, Dad, I want you to know that I’m volunteering to be on one of those horses. This place is my destiny, and one way or the other, I’m going to be a part of getting the job done.
I only write this letter so you know there is more to it than if I come home alive or not. If our government acts rashly and hastily to win points with our liberal countrymen, and pulls us out of here before the job is done, it will do a greater harm to the United States of America and the rest of the world than if we stayed and a young man like myself was killed.
Dad, I love you, but I am going to finish the job.
With much love and respect,
Lt. Joshua Abraham
Your Son
The pastor folded the letter back into its worn envelope. He glanced over at the coffin. Tears streaked down his face as he grabbed a hold of the dais for strength.
“My son wrote me that letter. I hope it brings you the same comfort and strength it has given me.”
Army Sgt. David King’s body laid in the casket next to the pastor. He looked before him at the soldier’s grieving father.
“Your son was a brave man. The United Nations bombing was a tragedy. His heroic efforts saved the lives of hundreds of people from around world. My son always highly respected him, as did I.”
Pastor Abraham grappled for the right words.
“I know most everyone here thought our children would be safer when the new President brought the troops home. Now, we can only look to God as good soldiers and trust His will.”
The pastor closed his eyes and clenched his son’s letter in his hands.
“Looking at it now, my son‘s letter was almost prophetic. I wish he could have made it home from Iraq alive. But, I know he is preparing for that final battle, just like he said he would.”
The Pastor reopened his eyes.
“I don’t have all of the answers, but I too am a good soldier. And I’m confident, Mr. King, that our sons proud faces will be amongst the Host of Heaven riding behind Jesus on that final day of battle, to finish the job.”
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