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The Soldier
The following passage is from a sermon of John Hagee:
I want you to close your eyes and picture in your
mind the soldier at Valley Forge as he holds his musket in his bloody hands. He stands barefoot in the snow, starved from
lack of food, wounded from months of battle and emotionally scarred from the eternity away from his family, surrounded by
nothing but death and carnage of war. He stands though, with fire in his eyes and victory on his breath. He looks at us now
in anger and disgust and tells us this...
I gave you a birthright of freedom born in the
Constitution and now your children graduate, too illiterate to read it. I fought in the snow barefoot to give you the freedom
to vote and you stay at home because it rains.
I left my family destitute to give you the freedom
of speech and you remain silent on critical issues, because it might be bad for business. I orphaned my children to give you
a government to serve you and it has stolen democracy from the people. Its the soldier not the reporter who gives you freedom
of the press. Its the soldier not the poet who gives you the freedom of speech. Its the soldier not the campus organizer who
allows you to demonstrate. Its the soldier who salutes the flag, serves the flag, and whose coffin I draped with the flag
that allows the protester to burn the flag!!!
Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect
them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need. I ask
this in the name of Jesus, our Lord and Savior. Amen.
When you receive this, please stop for a moment and say a prayer for our U.S. ground troops in Afghanistan, AND all
over the world.
TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF PLASTER AND
STONE.
I HAD COME
DOWN THE CHIMNEY WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.
I LOOKED ALL ABOUT, A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS, NOT EVEN A TREE.
NO STOCKING BY MANTLE, JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES
OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.
WITH MEDALS AND BADGES, AWARDS OF ALL
KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT CAME THROUGH MY MIND.
FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT, IT WAS
DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER, ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.
THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING, SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.
THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE, THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED A UNITED
STATES SOLDIER.
WAS THIS THE HERO OF WHOM I'D JUST
READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO, THE FLOOR FOR A BED?
I REALIZED THE FAMILIES THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.
SOON ROUND THE WORLD, THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD
CELEBRATE A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.
THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM EACH MONTH
OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS, LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.
I COULDN'T HELP WONDER HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.
THE VERY THOUGHT BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES AND STARTED
TO CRY.
THE SOLDIER AWAKENED AND I HEARD A
ROUGH VOICE,
"SANTA DON'T CRY, THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;
I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM, I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD, MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS."
THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT, I CONTINUED TO WEEP.
I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS, SO SILENT AND STILL
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED FROM THE
COLD NIGHT'S CHILL.
I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE ON THAT COLD,
DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR SO WILLING TO FIGHT.
THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER, WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA, IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS
SECURE."
ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH, AND I KNEW HE
WAS RIGHT.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT."
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