I had a great aunt whom, I was told (she died before I was born), had four sons, all of whom were draft eligible during World War II.  Three of her sons were indeed drafted, shipped to the Pacific Theater and, unfortunately, died in combat on the islands.  She never saw them again.  When her fourth son was drafted, however, my great aunt, though she believed in the U. S. war effort, spoke up and asked, through her congressman, that her son be spared overseas combat.  In an action reminiscent of the movie Saving Private Ryan, the military granted her request.
     Memory can be wonderful and grand, but enormously painful, too.  As those of us in the West remember people we knew (and those we never knew) who have fallen in war, we can also remember that even if it does not bring anyone back, remembering nurtures hope.  It enables us to look beyond ourselves, to see and experience the enduring grace of existence, to realize anew that life is something bigger than we can ever make it to be.  Life has a life of its own, a purpose, a future.  It's a drama, a drama of space and time infused with the transcendent meaning of a creator God.
    On this day, the day after Memorial Day, we pray for the fallen, we pray for those who gone.  And we pray for the life to come.