March

Each March something always happens to draw me to a video that was made in March of 1997.  In that video, our friend Stan relates what happened to him over 50 years earlier. As a young man in March of 1945, Stan was gravely injured by a German 88mm shell.  In the field hospital, thru a half-conscious daze, he heard one of the doctors say of him, “If God doesn’t touch him, there’s no hope.”

Months and months later, recovered and home in Texas, he and other recently returned soldiers, were asked to relate a time in combat when God had touched them.

Years earlier, as a little boy, he’d learned to write ‘funny’ poetry from his grandmother, so he used those lessons to write:

Last night as I sat in my easy chair,

with the Grand Ole Opry on the air,

down in my heart I breathed a prayer,

for I knew a talk I must prepare.

For Mrs. Osborne, bless her heart,

asked me if I would take a part.

Knowing I couldn’t refuse her request,

 I said ‘why sure, I’ll do my best’.

She asked me if I’d try to try to tell,

of some experience I remembered well,

 of how the Lord protected me,

when I was in combat across the sea.

Well, I often think of a three weeks trip,

across the Atlantic on a liberty ship.

As thru the waves those ships did plod,

 I couldn’t help thinking of a mighty God.

Who put the power in Moses rod,

so Israel on dry land could trod.

And when the shores of France came into view,

we all gave thanks, I’m telling you.

There was something we all knew,

we’d see action in a week or two.

Two weeks later, it was like a dream,

we were right up front, where the bullets screamed.

Many a foxhole over there,

was more than once a place of prayer.

Folks back home were praying, too,

that all the boys would make it thru.

All that winter, thru ice and snow,

sometimes morale was kinda low.

But every time we’d meet the foe,

either us or him would have to go.

One day in March of 45, at the Siegfried Line 

we did arrive; our objective was to take the line.

And in this battle I got mine.

Back to the hospital they did take me,

but, I knew the Lord would not forsake me,

and that if my days on earth were o’re,

I knew I’d make that golden shore.

But He saw fit to let me live.

and to Him my thanks I’ll always give.

Then when about three months had passed,

back to the states I came at last.

Rode an airplane flying fast.

Many a time I’ve wondered why,

I didn’t go ahead and die.

But it seemed that He had another plan,

and He’s God and I’m just a man.

So I’m gonna strive to do His will,

and I know His promises He’ll fulfill.

Sometimes when I look about,

seems I might be a missing out,

and I might cause some folks to doubt,

‘cause I don’t holler and hoot and shout,

but I never was one to make a speech,

I know I was never called to preach.

Still in His service I want to stay,

until that glad and glorious day

when I can hear my Jesus say,

“Your job is done, come get your pay.”

When Stan first arrived back in the states, my dad visited him in the hospital. Daddy rarely spoke of that visit; of hugging his dear friend who had come so near death and whose body was still ravaged and emaciated. When he did speak of it, it was thru tears of sorrow at the suffering, accompanied by tears of joy at the eventual victory.

I’m so thankful that God spared Stan. He had been an active partner in introducing my parents before the war, so I’m first of all, grateful for that! But, had he not survived, I would not have had the opportunity to know him. He was a blessing to my life and to many, many other lives with his love, his kindness, his generosity of spirit, his testimony and his humor.

Someday I hope to learn the pivotal
trick, to make that video digital.
Hearing Stan's story in his own way,

is so much better than I can convey.