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I know are inside of you. Pray, James. I know you have heard us say this time and time again, but pray.
    I remember what it was like to hear orders from our commander in chief. Sometimes I wondered what it would be like to stroll into his tent and ask to sit down and talk with the man.
    Praying is like that, times infinity.
    You are able to stand before your Maker and have His attention. You can do this any time you want. He does not always answer and when He does, it might be in His own way. But He hears you. He sees and loves you, James. So speak to Him.
    When the time comes, you will take care of the family. I know that.
    I already said the things I needed to say to you, but, Son, know how proud I am to have lived long enough to have spent time with you. Know howfortunate I am to have loved you long enough to be able to let you go.
    Know how blessed I am to have gotten to know my son.
    Follow God, Son, for He will never let you down. You will let yourself down, but do not let that stop you.
    Follow your passion and your heart. Take that hurt and confusion and build it into something meaningful.
    I pray that God blesses you with a long and healthy life. But remember that this life is just a tour of duty. It’s a minute tour compared to the long journey ahead.
    I have already started mine, and I believe with everything in me that if I could share what I see and feel now, you would be happy for me.
    I wish I could tell you what I’m seeing and feeling, but I can’t.
    I can tell you this.
    Do not fear. Fear is of the enemy. There is nothing good about it. Do not be foolish, but neither live with fear. There is only one Person who controls everything, and He states, “Fear not, for I am with thee.”
    I love you. You remember that on the days when I can’t tell you in person.
    You remember that love and you keep it alive.
    Forever,
    Your father
    James folded the letter and then stood up and walked over to the dresser. He opened the thin black box and looked at the medal inside. They had wanted to put the Bronze Star on him in his casket, but his father had been vehement about James keeping it.
    â€œThat is your medal, Son. You keep it front and center to remind you.”
    He had given both of his children something. Richard had been awarded the medal for saving another’s life.
    James glanced at the letter, then slipped it underneath the black box.
    He studied the star but his thoughts were elsewhere.
    They were with his father.
    He wondered if his father watched him now. He wondered if his father could read his mind.
    I want to be just like you one day.
    James knew then and there. There wasn’t any question, not anymore.

Part Two

LETTERS FROM TRAINING

Beth

    â€œExcuse me. You’re Elizabeth Thompson, right?”
    The man with the round face and wide eyes stands between her and the registers at the grocery store. She doesn’t recognize the man but instantly assesses that he’s probably not military and probably not media.
    Hopefully not media.
    â€œI’m Stan Maddox. Hi. My son is planning on going into the army. He just graduated from high school. His name is Vince—a good kid, too—and he was inspired, like all of us, really, by the story of James. You are his mother, right?”
    She nods and tries to reassure him with a polite smile.
    â€œWe saw that piece on the news last Christmas. Amazing story. I’m so sorry.”
    â€œThank you.”
    While Beth was used to this, the
Hey, are you JamesThompson’s mother?
comments, she was never used to the
I’m sorry
affirmations.
    It always reminded her of someone saying “I’m sorry for your loss.”
    She wanted to say that he wasn’t lost. But that’s exactly what James was.
    â€œMy son saw that interview and said that’s what he wanted to do. He wanted to be a hero like James. He wanted to battle those evil people overseas. He wanted to fight for this