A Prayer to Salvation
Reba Robinson lay awake night after night, tense and
tired in her little room in Starkville, Mississippi.' Her
imagination raced out of control as her fingers clung to an
old T-shirt that had once belonged to her son and still
carried the scent of his cologne. He was confronting death
in some exotic locale though she didn't know where or what
for, how of by whom.
Dillon was a marine assigned to a covert commando unit. His
assignments were so secretive that even his mother not be
told the time or location of his missions.
But her mother's instincts told her when he was in harm's
way, and during those times she fervently prayed for Dillon
day and night. She was undoubtedly praying the night he swam
ten miles from a submarine to the forbidden coast of a
hostile country. She was praying the night he parachuted
behind enemy lines from a high-flying aircraft. She was
praying the day he jumped from a chopper through a hail of
bullets, his eyes blinded with tears, to retrieve the body
of his fallen compatriot. She was praying the night a
terrorist stuck a gun in his face and pulled the trigger;
and perhaps it was her prayers that caused the gun to jam,
giving Dillon the split second he needed to "resolve the
problem" and escape.
She prayed through nocturnal tears and terrors and torments.
When Dillon finally returned home, he was a hero whose
bravery could never be explained, declassified, or honored.
He couldn't discuss his exploits or seek help in processing
his traumas. He tried making the transition from action hero
to typical guy, but life slowed to a snail's pace in his
little hometown. He began frequenting the local bars, trying
not to remember what he couldn't forget.
Reba prayed on.
At a critical juncture in Dillon's life, a friend invited
him to a revival meeting in a nearby church. He went
grudgingly, intending to bolt as soon as the service was
over. But the message struck home that night, and when the
altar call was given, Dillon gripped the back of the pew as
if trying to choke it. No terrorist had ever pursued him
like the Hound of heaven. He later admitted, "I had faced
death without shaking, but that night I was trembling like a
leaf."
He staggered to the altar in tears, and that night a
muscular, unsung hero fell to his knees and received Jesus
Christ as Lord and Savior.
Robert J. Morgan, The Red Sea Rules. Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2001, p. 2-3, 5-6.