One can almost hear the history here. Forget the crowds of tourists, the noise of vehicles, the modern buildings scattered here and there. The battle field is there, much the same as it once was many years ago. The brown, dry grasses rustle in the breeze. The entrenchments still stand, much as they were. Were it quiet enough, you could almost hear the cries of men in battle – hear the gunshots, smell the smoke of cooking fires, hear the drums.
I can picture the men, scattered across the field. Young, devoted men in uniform; soldiers who freely gave their lives, their bodies, their youth, for the cause. Men who loved, who left their sweethearts, their wives, their families; men who agonized, cried, who hurt...and yet who went to battle anyway.
I picture them here, standing on this battlefield. Maybe there''s a break in the battle, and the cannon fire ceases long enough to see the smoke clear away. Evidence of the battle is everywhere – exhausted men, sitting or lying on the grass. Numerous casualties lie on cots, being carried away by their fellow soldiers; some are in great pain, suffering. Others are already gone, having used their last breath to drag their fallen brothers out of the range of enemy fire.
I admire the men who fought here. Their courage and sheer determination – even passion – inspires and amazes me. They were totally devoted to their commander! Just to catch a glimpse of that man, so dear to their hearts, gave them strength enough to press through yet another cold, wearying day. Enough strength to press through the pain, the exhaustion, the hunger and cold. Lying in their beds at night, shivering in the harsh winter weather, something kept them going – something drove them to give, give, give, many of them to the very last drop of their blood.
Standing here on the hill, gazing across this battlefield, I wonder at that passion that blazed in the hearts of these men. They lived lives that they felt were given to the greatest cause possible, and they knew that if they died in that cause, it was worth it all. Mother, sister, wife at home didn't keep them from giving everything for that cause. They gave their lives. They blazed for a very short time – many of these men were young, even in their twenties or teens – but they felt it was worth it all, because that blaze was given to that cause.
I have one life, just like these men did. Can I live with the same reckless abandon, because I'm living every moment, and doing everything I do with a single passion? Can I sew that dress, care for that child, teach those girls knowing that it's just as vitally important to the Kingdom as anything else I'll ever do in my life? And do it with that passion for God? I think of the men on the battlefield who dug ditches for the cause. But it was their passion! Praise God, they got to dig ditches! And just a glimpse of Gen. Washington passing by on his horse, filled them with such love that they did it just a little more passionately than before. Do you see, maybe feel, what I'm getting at?
Just another battlefield. Just a little space in history, lives that were lived, and lives that were lost. But it impacted my heart in a tremendous way. I want to live a life that is not wasted. That whether I die caring for a child, or on a mission field somewhere, I die knowing that a drop wasn't wasted. That's what I want. I'm not there, and you all know that, but that's where I press...living a ordinary, busy life like anybody else's – for a extraordinary God!
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