Tuesday, October 17, 2006

War in Iraq, (part 1)

Twas a beautiful Sunday afternoon and we were sitting under the old oak tree on a small knoll, my grandparents and me. The sun was warming us as the nice cool breeze made sure it was not too hot that day. A picnic basket sat behind us on the blanket we sat upon filled with grandma’s fine picnic vittles. Grandpa had never put this section of land under the plow but left it in its natural beauty. ‘Twas a Sunday after church tradition that grandma said they started when they first was married and settled upon this land.

Grandpa said once that while the church was considered as God’s house he felt closer to the Almighty out here. The reason he gave was that it was the hands of man that built churches while the Word of God built all we see here. How can you argue against that type of reasoning?

Grandpa was unusually quiet this day. It was one of those times both grandma and I knew it was not a good time to interrupt his thoughts. He was thinking on what happened at church this morn. The pastor had a guest speaker this particular Sunday and he spoke of the war in Iraq and how he thought wars should be fought by certain rules if they are to be seen as justified. Then he went on talking about all of the things that was being done by our troops that violated those rules. With this said he asked the congregation to vote for those politicians that promised to get the troops out of Iraq.

Grampa placed his callused hand gently upon my outstretched leg and surprised me by asking “What did you think of the guest’s talk this morning, boy?”

I sat there quietly for a few minutes collecting my thoughts hurriedly at the unexpected question. Then I spoke quietly but hesitantly. “ Well, Grandpa, he ended his talk by saying how important it was that we petition the President to pull the troops out.” Then I scratched my head in wonder as I added, “ but how do you win a war by pulling the troops out before they have achieved victory? What value is there in losing a war?”

Grampa just gently patted my leg as he chuckled and replied, “ good questions, boy, very good questions and ones deserving a good answer, hope I can give one that honors those that sacrificed their lives.” Then grampa went quiet once more.

Can an answer be given or is there really an answer to these questions?



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