Waiting and Wondering

We got the call Saturday. A friend has a son in Iraq. His platoon had been hit. There was a fatality, and there were injuries. He was not the fatality. Otherwise, we would just have to wait for more information. And wait. And wait. And wait.

Through all the rest of Saturday. Through all of Sunday. Who knew a day could be so long, could drag on and on and on? His wife was getting updates every hour on the hour, yet still his name wasn't coming up. Going on the hope that no news was good news, the waiting went on. And on. And on. Through Sunday night and into the early hours of Monday.

And then, finally, Monday morning, a short phone call. He is fine. Tired, dirty, dejected. And he can't talk about what happened or what is about to happen, what has his family and friends praying yet again for his safety. He can tell them it's not yet over, and so the waiting goes on. And on. And on. But so does the praying, for this man we love to be safe yet one more time; for all of them to be safe yet again.

And so we wait, and so we pray. Again and again, over and over, until the next phone call.