THE PRAYER CALL |
March 21, 2014
Returned from: Iraq
There was a lull in the battle of Samarra and most of us retreated into the upstairs master bedroom of the safe house we were fighting from. Some threw their kevlars to the ground and sat on the floor panting and guzzling down water. I collapsed face first onto the bed. Covered in sweat, lying there exhausted, I could smell my feet through my boots. It had been days since my sniper team had gotten to Samarra and every day we fought in the blistering heat continually sweating. The sweating only stopped at night when we would then freeze in our wet uniforms as we sat on rooftops enforcing curfew through precision marksmanship.
As I lay there, battling off the after-shock of combat, a prayer call began. There was a window half open just above my head. It was a small window covered in hot dust, but still clear enough to see the city skyline from. As the prayer call continued, the city fell silent. For the first time in months, I began to feel a strong calmness in my soul. The calmness soothed my entire body as the old man in the mosque tower a few dusty streets away beautifully sang the prayer, and the warm September breeze blew onto my face from the dusty window. For this brief moment, I was at peace.