In Flanders Fields
John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.
My grandfather was just a kid from the prairies when he went away to war.
He was shot on a hill in a pre-dawn raid.
He fell to the ground and laid there while everyone around him rushed past.
Laid in the mud while it rained.
And he bled from his thigh, unsure if he would live or die, desperate for help.
A buddy of his pulled him to safety that day.
He told us once that he'd never been so afraid in his life as he was that day
on that hill, alone,
surrounded by the sounds of his friends running, screaming,
falling and dying in the dark.
He came home.
War is a complex thing. As a Christian, I abhor war and seek peace.
But I am and will always be incredibly thankful for the sacrifices made
by our "greatest generations" right through the years to our military
and their families, serving in Afghanistan, fighting new wars.
May they know how deeply we grieve with them,
pray for them and for peace.
May they all come home.
I am so proud - and so blessed - to be Canadian.
I will not break faith with them.
Lest we forget.
