Put up another banner

I guess I've known this kid since he was seven years old. He wore glasses, had an easy smile on his face, was a skinny lad, and seemed to be liked by everyone.

Nothing about that picture changed much as he got older. He finished middle school, was part of the youth group at church, graduated from high school, and went off to college. And then he joined the United States Marine Corps.

I was as surprised as anybody. Kyle was not the macho, testosterone-filled, "I gotta prove how tough I am" kind of braggart that one sometimes expects to go off to Parris Island, that dreaded place known for making or breaking young men and women. Kyle was one of those young Americans who, in the period following Sept. 11, quietly stepped up to the plate and decided to give something back to the nation of his birth.

Parris Island is a tough, unforgiving place and I knew that he would need all the courage and grit he could muster. The Sunday before he left, we prayed for him in church. His mother and sister cried, and I came close to it myself. To me, he was still the skinny kid with the glasses and the easy smile. I wrote him almost every week, sometimes more often, giving words of encouragement. I spent some time myself on that island in 1970, so I knew how vital news from friends and family can be.

He did well and, three months after he first encountered his drill instructors, I drove to the South Carolina coast to watch him graduate. I knew what it took to do what he did, so my own pride knew no bounds. There he was, this kid I knew since he was seven, wearing the uniform of a United States Marine. He still had the glasses, the easy smile, but he wasn't skinny at all. As I gave him a congratulatory hug, I felt the firmness of the muscles that marked him as grownup and a man. I relaxed, finally, knowing that he had finished the challenge.

Then came the war in Iraq. When his mother telephoned me to report that he had received orders to Iraq, I had to sit down. I was silent for a long time after the conversation ended.

Before he was deployed, we met for lunch. Kyle was unafraid and there was a determination in those eyes behind the glasses. He would do his duty. He was ready to go.

The Sunday before he went off for war, we prayed for him again. We recited and prayed the 91st Psalm, sometimes called "The Soldier's Psalm," over him. This time there were more tears, and not just from his family. Then, he was gone. We put up a banner on our church lawn asking the community to pray for him.

I wrote him again, usually once or twice a week. But I prayed for him every day, sometimes several times a day. Sometimes in the middle of the night. It's funny how one can be so concerned for a kid that's not one's own; but that is all part of being a spiritual father. Whenever the news would report that a Marine was killed, I held my breath and braced myself for a call I hoped would never come. Then one day a call came. Kyle would leave Iraq in three weeks, God willing.

At 10 p.m. on a Friday evening, I met at the family's home and we caravanned to the Naval Air Station in Atlanta. Finally, at 2:30 a.m. Saturday, the plane touched down bringing home its precious cargo of 155 United States Marines. The crowd of 800 to 1,000 family members and friends who had been waiting so long erupted with joy and cheers. When they played Lee Greenwood's song, "God Bless the U.S.A.," over the loudspeaker, I guess just about everybody lost it. It was 3:30 before they fully unloaded the plane and the Marines would have to endure Naval Corpsmen drawing blood prior to their final formation and dismissal sometime around 5 a.m.

Kyle Bond still has an easy smile and he stills wears glasses but, not quite 21 years old and standing at 6-foot-3, he is a buffed out, hard-muscled veteran of a vicious war. I didn't shed any tears on that cold night. That would come on Sunday after he received a standing ovation as a welcome-home gift from our congregation and, again, as I stood before him as he knelt at the altar to receive the bread during Holy Eucharist.

"I've waited a long time to do this, Kyle," I shared as I placed the bread into his hand and said, "The Body of Christ given for you." It was hard to see after that because of the tears that filled my eyes. He was home and he was safe.

More tears were shared later in that same service as we called a couple up to pray for them. They were among the most joyous in their expressions to Kyle. But, now, they shed tears of their own. Their son Andrew Harris is a Marine, too. He got married not too long ago and will be a father before the year is out. Andrew's dad is a veteran of the Vietnam War. Last week, Andrew left for the war in Iraq.

Donnie Tubbs, another young man from our church also left for Iraq this week. He's a Marine, too. Another of our men, Cabot Gatlin, a retired Special Forces officer, is still in Iraq as a security specialist. It seems that our period of rejoicing was all too brief.

It's too soon to stop praying. And it's time to put up another banner.