"War is Hell," said Union General William Tecumseh Sherman, speaking to the graduates of Michigan Military Academy on June 19, 1879. Anyone who has actually served in combat knows that this is a reality — experiencing the carnage of war changes you in ways that are hellish.

I'm not sure how Civil War veterans processed their wartime experiences, but I do know that in the 20th century, the horror of combat and its impact on soldiers, while called by different names, had the same end result. During World War I, it was called "shell shock" — referring to the bombardments experienced in trench warfare. During World War II and the Korean War, it was called "combat fatigue." During Vietnam, we gave it a more psychological name: "post-traumatic stress disorder" (PTSD).

I have not called it PTSD for a number of years, but simply PTS, because I see no "disorder" in how war impacts those who have experienced it. You can agree to disagree — I'll be the first to admit that I am not a healthcare professional — but I don't see a disorder in veterans who have been emotionally and psychologically wounded.

Years ago, while I was working with a ministry in Bogotá, Colombia, the pastor wanted to do something for soldiers who had been wounded in battles with communist guerrillas and drug cartels. He told me that Colombia does not honor its veterans like America does.

The pastor arranged for 80 wounded soldiers from the military hospital to come to a service, with a luncheon to follow. Some came off the buses in wheelchairs, some on crutches, and some walking on their own. During the service, I shared my testimony of being critically wounded and nearly dead, and of crying out to God to spare my life. I also shared how dramatically my life changed when I kept my part of the promise.

I then invited those who wanted to have that same life-changing experience to come forward, and they did — all of them! Every single soldier stood at the altar, wanting to pray. The pastor and I both cried, and it was with considerable emotion that I led them in prayer to receive Christ.

After the service and during the luncheon, one of the young female interpreters asked me to talk to a soldier who sat in a wheelchair — he had lost one eye and both legs, and his right arm was mangled. He did not go to college after he turned 16, so he was drafted into the Colombian Army.

During a patrol in the jungle when he was 19, the soldier's unit was ambushed and he stepped on a mine. The explosion threw him into the air, and when he landed on the ground, he found himself standing at the Gates of Heaven with Jesus there. The young man asked Him, "Am I coming into Heaven?" The Lord said, "You're not ready yet!" The man then regained consciousness and found medics working frantically to save his life.

As I knelt by the soldier in his wheelchair, he looked at me with his one good eye and said, "I believe Jesus spared my life so I could be here today and give my heart to Him!" I wrapped my arms around him and we both wept with joy.

I remember hovering between life and death. At only 22 years of age, I knew that I was not ready to die. I knew that I would not go to Heaven. But there is a God who loves us and shows mercy to us, even when we don't deserve it. In reality, none of us deserve God's love and mercy, but He is always there, waiting to drive away the darkness and bring us into His outstretched arms.

We live surrounded by darkness, but we don't have to stay there. I hope you will also make the choice to receive His free gift of eternal life and enter into His marvelous light.

Something to pray about!
Semper Fidelis