In our book, Whispers From the Soul, the Divine Dance of Consciousness, Don and I wrote about the spiritual experiences of a man we called "David," and I share it here with you:
"THE BRIDGE ACROSS
We met a most absorbing man a few years ago, who here we will identify only as David. He served in Korea as a combat medic then entered the seminary following the war, became an alcoholic, and later was a leader in the Alcoholics Anonymous Twelve-Step Program. He is an unusual man in many ways but we were particularly moved by his wartime experiences in Korea, which especially meet the theme of our book. As a young medic in Korea, David had shielded many wounded soldiers with his own body while attending their injuries and carrying them across mine-fields and other combat hazards to sanctuary, often to the point of total exhaustion. During one of those mine-field rescues, in the middle of a snow storm, confused even as to his exact position and the direction of safety as he crawled along with a wounded soldier slung onto his back, he became convinced that his mother's voice was guiding him toward safety. He followed that advice and completed his mission without harm. Even today, all these years later, his face becomes wet with tears as he recounts this story. This young medic's mother had died when he was but nine years old. This was not his only encounter with a guiding hand on the battlefield. Another time, totally emotionally drained and probably on the verge of combat shock, he had staggered to the ground and was just sitting there, unable to continue, when a uniformed stranger paused beside him for a moment to reassure him with a smile and a nod, and said, 'It'll be okay.' The stranger went on his way and somehow that brief encounter with a kindly face amidst all the terror reinvigorated David and gave him the strength to return to his unit and safety. It was not until later that he realized that this 'helping hand' was not dressed like the other soldiers in the area and displayed no recognizable insignia on his uniform. To this day, David believes that he had been given the strength to go on, by an angel."
We met a most absorbing man a few years ago, who here we will identify only as David. He served in Korea as a combat medic then entered the seminary following the war, became an alcoholic, and later was a leader in the Alcoholics Anonymous Twelve-Step Program. He is an unusual man in many ways but we were particularly moved by his wartime experiences in Korea, which especially meet the theme of our book. As a young medic in Korea, David had shielded many wounded soldiers with his own body while attending their injuries and carrying them across mine-fields and other combat hazards to sanctuary, often to the point of total exhaustion. During one of those mine-field rescues, in the middle of a snow storm, confused even as to his exact position and the direction of safety as he crawled along with a wounded soldier slung onto his back, he became convinced that his mother's voice was guiding him toward safety. He followed that advice and completed his mission without harm. Even today, all these years later, his face becomes wet with tears as he recounts this story. This young medic's mother had died when he was but nine years old. This was not his only encounter with a guiding hand on the battlefield. Another time, totally emotionally drained and probably on the verge of combat shock, he had staggered to the ground and was just sitting there, unable to continue, when a uniformed stranger paused beside him for a moment to reassure him with a smile and a nod, and said, 'It'll be okay.' The stranger went on his way and somehow that brief encounter with a kindly face amidst all the terror reinvigorated David and gave him the strength to return to his unit and safety. It was not until later that he realized that this 'helping hand' was not dressed like the other soldiers in the area and displayed no recognizable insignia on his uniform. To this day, David believes that he had been given the strength to go on, by an angel."
Copyright, 2000, 2003 by Linda Pendleton.
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