We as a family of believers daily living in a soup kitchen became faced with the decision about what we termed as 'our local war hero.' It turned out that he had a fake war service history. His embellished war time sagas held us captive and we loved the question and answer periods we shared with the man. Finally ending with some antidote or another to emphasise a point in our own personal encounters. His service in Vietnam became our war cry against poverty and loneliness in the life style of homelessness.
The shock came when John failed to gather the support from the Veterans Administration. There was no aid for him. There was no financial assistance or pensions for war veterans. John when filing applications hadn't fully understand his true enlistment and services. His war was far away in another land, stories he had embellished from movies and television shows of the war times. John wanted into the battlefield, on the artillery tanks, and holding a service rifle between his able-bodied hands. His stores were alive, brilliant, and very realistic. Sometimes he would even wear metals on honorary service days, and work in events to celebrate special war memorials along with others retired, wounded, and disables veterans. Many days he'd hobble around on those crutches with one or another tale on twisted bones now needing a medical reset. Street corners became John's place of rest. Holding out the rubber, tipped end towards persons passing by a street corner seemingly pointing out someone he knew, generally gathered smile and warm hand waves. His lingering war wounds are now known as simply 'faked'. Just something he needed to give life abundance to his stories as well as a place to live outside the hobo camps. Everyone believed he was a real warrior. We fought for veterans rights always thinking of John Willis, but John had no military service not one single day. Wounded on street corners by holding out a crutch, surviving in street camps with blessings and prayers, and getting medical attention while living at tables in soup kitchens.
Well, where is the love of Christ but for those who's mind has been taken into the depths of hell. Christ's service after death began in those every depths. Dragging out the wounded and helpless, HE rose them to the earth and many into heaven. Our war hero must be on that chain reaching up into heaven itself while John's crumbled feet still touch the dirt of the earth and his crutch pointing out at you! We have to salute you John for your faithful service to those who carried your food to you on those ruff, crutch filled days, held open the washer lid while you piled your laundry into the tub well ahead of the many others waiting in line, but even more so, that sleeping mat by the bathroom door sure helped, when someone new arriving at the emergency shelter to begin life again. Teach them John the way you taught the many others before them...they will be your reward to faithfulness in Jesus! War heroes never die, they come 'Saints'.
