The scars I bear from battle didn’t come from explosives or being shot. They come from the pain of loss.
My scars come from the aching loss my soldiers endured when their buddies were killed. Seeing them—feeling them—with the weight of that loss was—is—a burden for me.
Some wanted a prayer; some did not. Some wanted a word of comfort; some wanted a hand on the shoulder, a caring presence.
I still grieve the losses I suffered, losses that came when my friends died in combat. My grief is compounded by knowing the grief of those I care about. This is my burden as their chaplain.