one Sunday afternoon...

"There's a crazy man standing behind you. Watch your purse!" warned the new
subscriber as we spoke our parting words. "Yup - he's talking to the
aliens on board. I'll be careful!" I replied, wondering what the next few
minutes would bring. The store pharmacist was clearly aware that the man was
challenged, and was wary. Since my last work assignment at this store, an
unmarked security guy had been hired to roam the aisles in search of people who
were up to no good. We had made eye contact earlier and I had given him a
knowing, appreciative look. He was not far from the pharmacy area where I was
stationed.

I turned to observe the crazy man. He was dressed in military camo, fully geared
with field radio peeking out of a pant leg pocket. He was tensely discussing
with his invisible accomplice his near panic over the pharmacy being out of his
meds for PTSD. An occasional odd noise would burst forth from his lips as he
paced and muttered. As suddenly as my radar had gone up a minute earlier,
my heart was rushed with grief over the man's plight. He was strong, handsome,
and looked fiercely confident and capable. I began to pray for him, invoking
God's compassion, intervention, healing and deliverance for this brave soldier
who had paid such a high price to serve and protect total strangers. That man
could have been my first husband, long deceased of a brain aneurysm ( possibly
a result of Agent Orange exposure).

Very shortly after my silent prayer, he was informed by the pharmacist that his drug
had been located at another pharmacy and he could pick it up there. Part of him
was quite grateful, while the other part raged in every weary-yet-taught
muscle. As he strode toward the door, he murmered comments about the difficulty
of not having what he needed readily available to manage his PTSD and
Tourette's. Then... he stopped and turned to me, staring at the floor behind me.
"My late husband was a Nam vet" I said meekly. Almost looking into my
eyes, he swiftly grabbed my hand and said softly, "You know about this,
don't you..." I put my other hand on his vice-like grip, nodding
stoically. His story tumbled out in torrents, of being seriously injured by an
IED, working special forces, and the reality of now dealing with physical pain,
trauma, and the new diagnosis of Tourette's syndrome. He showed no weakness,
only courage and ferocious determination as he spoke. "Has anyone ever
told you that God loves you dearly and has a wonderful plan for your
life?" I queried lovingly. "Yes, ma'am, and I pray every day,"
As he spoke as his countenance brightened and a peace came over him.

"What is your name?" I whispered.

"Donald."

"I will pray for you, Donald." I promised. " He marched away with determined
steps, his lips silent and his demeanor peaceful.

Once back in my world, an awareness set in that the security guy and a few
bystanders were ready to rescue me if the crazy man decided to attempt to snap
my neck or use me as a human shield until they provided the helicopter and
suitace full of small unmarked bills. He could easily have done that, I
suppose, but that was not what he needed...

Thank a vet this week - some of them pay a lot more than we realize.