Remembering veterans with prayer, gratitude, and the courage to serve today

Keeping the porch light on, praying for those who served, and remembering those we miss.

The pain woke me just after midnight, sharp on the left and impossible to ignore. I have walked this road before with kidney stones, so I slowed my breathing and waited for the next wave. Nothing fixed it, not a new position, not a change of pace, only time and a steady prayer. Holy, Holy, Holy kept playing inside, and I held on to the rhythm. Should I wake the family and take a trip to the ER, or try to tough it out. Around four I felt movement, spasms and a hard slide to a pause that told me something was changing. Then the alarm broke the silence and asked a simple question, stay put or keep going. I set my feet on the floor and got ready for the day.

On the way to drop off my son at school, he told me he was reading a petition at the Veterans Day Mass. Veterans Day, and my mind went from the pain I was suffering to those who sacrifice for all of us. I thought of those in my family, many who have served. Some saw combat, others kept the watch in quieter seasons, but each gave years for neighbors they would never meet. This day asks for more than a quick thank you. This day asks for remembrance, prayer, and love that moves.

The night reminded me how pain can turn a person inward. You brace. You guard. You think about yourself. I do not shame that, because the body speaks. Yet something else happened in the quiet. During my prayer and the intentions that I say at the end of my daily Rosary, my thoughts moved from my own discomfort to intercession. I started naming veterans, living and gone, asking God to hold them close. My small ache did not match their nights, and it did not need to. Suffering can become prayer when we hand it to God.

A line from John’s Gospel holds steady here. “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13). I hear those words and see the uniforms, yes, but I also see countless acts of quiet duty. Long shifts on base. Months away from home. A body that still pays the cost years later. Love looks like sacrifice, and not only once. It looks like waking each day and saying yes again.

Here is where I want to be clear about service. My everyday service is not the same as a veteran’s service. I try to serve the Church, neighbors in need, and the person right in front of me. That is charity, the common work of Christians. A veteran’s service is an oath to defend the common good under lawful authority, with discipline, danger, and the willingness to give life if required. My service stays in the ordinary currents of home, parish, and work. Theirs runs through training grounds, deployments, and long nights most of us never see. Both matter, and both can be holy, but they are not equal. Remembering that difference does not diminish everyday love, it honors the weight veterans have carried.

We hold two things on Veterans Day. We honor all who served among us, and we remember the dead with reverence. The Church gives us a clear path for that remembrance. We pray for the departed because love does not stop at the grave. The Catechism teaches the Communion of Saints, the real bond between the Church on earth, the souls in purgatory, and the saints in glory. We can offer Mass for those who have died. We can speak their names in prayer and trust God’s mercy to complete what is lacking in us. That is not a theory to me. It is a practice that has carried me and the people I love.

There are also veterans who carry wounds that do not show. The body keeps score. The mind and heart do as well. I have heard those pauses on the phone and seen those guarded smiles in the hallway. I have watched a hand tremble when the color guard folds a flag. Love does not fix everything in a moment, it shows up and stays. A simple conversation without hurry honors a person’s dignity more than a hundred opinions. A quiet offer to help can do more than a speech.

I think of a porch light left on. A porch light does not end the night; it tells someone you are waiting. Prayer for our veterans is a porch light we keep on. We leave it burning for those who came home and still walk through shadows. We leave it burning for those who did not return and now rest in God’s hands. We leave it burning for families who carry their own share of the weight.

This day also belongs to the ordinary acts that grow from prayer. I can hold the door and say thank you without making a scene. I can drive a neighbor to an appointment or bring a warm meal without asking for a story they are not ready to tell. I can listen with respect when someone shares a memory that still hurts. The size of the task does not measure the love. The heart does.

If you attend Mass this week, consider offering it for veterans, named and unnamed. Many parishes make it easy to schedule a Mass intention, and you can still make your own intention in silence while you are in the pew. You can also bring a small list of names on a card and keep it in your pocket. Each time you notice it, turn it into prayer. I have done that and found it changes the shape of the day.

For those who have died in service, we entrust them to the mercy of God. “The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God” speaks a calm the heart needs when grief stirs. For those who live among us after years of duty, we ask for healing of body, mind, and spirit. The Lord knows how to meet each person where the need sits. Our part is to ask with faith and to be ready to love in small, practical ways.

You might wonder what any of this has to do with a kidney stone at midnight. For me, it comes down to where the pain points me. I could spend a day annoyed, closed in on myself, or I could let the discomfort open a door toward love. The hymn kept me company in the dark. Gratitude did the rest. I believe God uses small nights like mine to train the heart for bigger yeses.

If you need something simple to try today, here are three small steps that fit a full life.

First, pray one Scripture line slowly. Take John 15:13. Say it once in the morning, once at lunch, and once in the evening. Each time, attach a single name. Let love shape your memory.

Second, offer one act of service for a veteran or for a veteran’s family. Keep it simple. A ride, a meal, a repair, a visit, or a quiet cup of coffee where you do more listening than talking. No spotlight. Let the love be the point.

Third, remember the departed by name. If you can, schedule a Mass intention. If you cannot do that this week, write two names on a card and place it by a candle at home. Light the candle and say a short prayer for mercy and rest.

I started the day with pain and a choice. I end it with gratitude and a clearer path. Love shows up. It prays. It remembers. It acts. Veterans Day deserves nothing less from me.

Lord Jesus, hold our fallen in your mercy. Heal the wounded in body, mind, and soul. Teach us to love with courage, and to remember with hope.