by Edie Melson
If you say
"The Lord is my refuge," and you make the Most High your
dwelling, no harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your
tent. For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in
all your ways. Psalm 91:9-11
I will never hear
the rumble of a motorcycle again without remembering that day...
It was the
funeral service of an army medic, killed by an IED two days after Christmas. He
was barely 20 years old and graduated high school in 2010 with my middle son.
While none of
us was looking forward to the service, our anxiety was increased by advance
knowledge of the planned protest. The group had announced they would be
present.
The mindset of
people who think they are doing anything productive by harassing families struck
by tragedy is beyond me. I know, no matter whom they claim to represent, they
are nothing more than ignorant hate-mongers. But my heart ached at the thought
of this brave family enduring anything additional on this day.
Then we found out
the Patriot Guard would be on duty.
This amazing
organization has banded together to stand, as a wall of avenging angels, between
the family and those who sought to harm them. I could try to explain their
mission, but it’s most aptly stated in the mission statement found on
their website.
Outside the
church, they surrounded the mourners, standing at attention and shielding them
from all uninvited interlopers. Their respectful silence said it all. These men
and women travel hundreds of miles to show the respect of a grateful nation . .
. and the provision of God.
Inside the church
I listened with one ear to the moving service, and the other straining to catch
any sounds of the protestors. I prayed that nothing would interrupt the tribute
to brave man. As the service progressed I began to relax, nothing from the
outside penetrated the sanctuary.
Then I began to
hear—or more accurately feel—a deep rumbling roar. It was an almost inaudible
hum, a vibration that seemed to ebb and flow. As I strained to identify the
source of the noise, it suddenly hit me. It was the sound of a thousand
motorcycle engines, their owners revving the motors to cover any possibility of
disrespect.
I smiled to myself.
God had set his angels to guard around those who were grieving. And in those
engines, I heard the voice of God daring anyone to protest the sacrifice of
this young soldier.