After Cowpens

I see my children playing in a field once soaked with blood.  Laughter and joy exuberantly skip and leap down a road that was once trod with thunderous blasphemies and violence against human life.  Now the grass grows tall and the children play where the wild turkeys strut and memorials decay.  Cowpens, a battle not wanted yet masterfully planned.  Both sides praying to the same God in the same language yet one side would not win.  One hour and souls hurled into eternity left bodies broken, shattered by the hate that flew intent on death.  One hour and wounded men lay scarred and marred by mettle bound enshrined by epic lore. One hour to walk the one mile loop and let the children enjoy a warm summer day.  A little sprinkle from the clouds then sunshine falls on a wooden silhouette representing a Patriot sniper that set his sights on British brass. The end of the mile comes.  Reflection starts.  I watch the children play and I am glad.  I hope the field once soaked with blood enjoys the innocence that now skips and leaps upon its lay.  Their freedom fearfully forged by those who were willing to die yet did all they could to stand hoping to see their children play.  The freedom now enjoyed is the fruit of hope sown in suffering.

Reap the harvest and prepare to sow.