War and Me

   What is it about war that is so fascinating to me?

   When you grow up in Chattanooga, as I did, you are surrounded by reminders of the civil war. Even in the daily acts of life, I could look around me and see the fields of war. We lived at the eastern foot of Missionary Ridge. When we travelled to town, our views were of Lookout Mountain. When I trained for and ran my one marathon, I was running through Chickamauga battlefield.

   There were monuments, signs and cannons scattered all over these places where the Union and Confederate forces fought and died in America's great conflict.

   Yesterday, while Mayre was out with a friend, I took some time to visit parts of Missionary Ridge where the Union forces under Grant and Sherman routed the Confederates under Bragg. This battle was the beginning of the end for the South and opened the way for Sherman to move on to Atlanta and Savannah, effectively cutting the Rebel territory up and destroying its capacity to make war.

   As I walked up a small hill at the north end of the Ridge, I looked up and saw the cannons at the crest. I read the signs that were posted about this portion of the battle, and the units of men that fought on both sides. I stood and wondered about the men that had to charge up this hill into the mouths of those guns, and the men that waited to shoot them down as they came. What were their emotions? How did they make themselves do all of this?

 

   I also wondered about my fascinations with all of this. Why did I choose history as my field of study? Why do I read so much of men and wars, especially this one? Was it because I never had to fight in one? Was I trying to vicariously to feel what it is like?

   I stand and look at those cannon facing down the hill toward me and not only wonder about those men that charged upward, but I wonder how I would have fared in that situation. Would I have the courage to go and maybe die?

   I read in the Psalms today these words:

   "Blessed be the Lord, my rock,
who trains my hands for war,
and my fingers for battle;"
   I realize that war has always been a part of this world, and I am thankful that I have never had to be a part of one, but I am thankful also for the men and women that have fought and died that I might live in the peace that is mine right now.

   But the question still lingers, "how would I have done?"