I think was in 4th grade when the Cuban Missile Crisis occurred, and I remember vividly overhearing my parents ask each other if this was the beginning of WW3. My heart froze.
And after that my fear increased.
It was the era when people were building fall-out shelters,
and we had regular drills at school to practice crouching under our desks to save us in case of a nuclear attack…
(like crouching there was going to save us!??)
Maybe that is when I began to hate the idea of war.
And then there was Roger Rough…
A really nice guy and anything but rough.
Our parents were friends, and he was the big,
older bro of our neighborhood…
tossing the ball and knocking down buckeyes for us
and helping us build a tree house.
Roger Rough was also the first guy from our town to be sent home from Vietnam in a flag draped coffin.
Maybe that’s when I learned to weep over
the killing that takes place in war.
- Luke 13:31 - 35
- Luke 19:41 - 44
- Matthew 21:1 - 11