Black Watch

We were told on the way to be aware of the spiritual atmosphere, that it was a very desolate place. Most of the staff hate their jobs and don’t want to be there. The people living there do the same things almost everyday with not much hope of anything else. So when we got there, I wasn’t surprised to walk in and get choked up almost immediately. The place smelled of cigarette smoke and must, mixed with cleaning solution and food. Walking down the hallways past the bedrooms, we saw their lives strewn out everywhere. Every room was the same. Each had two single beds, two dressers, a sink and a fan going for lack of air conditioning. There were also thin hospital-like curtains that could give them a bit of privacy. We walked outside into the courtyard where a lot of people sat, smoking tiny cigarettes that they had rolled themselves. This is what they did everyday.

I talked to a few different people there, all of them sweet and just looking for someone to listen to them. I was happy to oblige. Stuart was the last person I talked to that day. He was sitting already talking to a few of my teammates. I joined them and listened to what he was saying. I found out a lot about his story. He became a soldier at the age of twenty-four. And not just any soldier. He was in the special forces, part of Black Watch regiment. He was among those who went all over the world to rescue POWs. There are things he can’t talk about for another fifty years. His real name isn’t even Stuart. He went on to tell us stories of experiences I’ve only seen and heard of in movies. He told us story after story of him killing men, women and children…with weapons or his bare hands. They trained him to be a killing machine. He can also fly just about anything, and shoot with anything you put in his hands. We all sat mesmerized, mouths open, listening to these crazy things that a part of you doesn’t want to believe as more than just a cool story. It’s one thing to see them in movies or read them in books, but to hear them first hand felt…off. Watching him speak, seeing his eyes take him back to those places, something in my spirit felt sick. So I said,

“These are cool stories, but they’re hard for you to talk about aren’t they?”
He replied, “Yes, they are. I’d like to stop now please.”

So I tried to change the subject, asking him to tell me a happy memory. But even that was a story from war. It’s all he could remember. I asked him what he did before he became a soldier. He told us he was a mechanic. He also told us that he used to play guitar, and was so talented that he had an agent. He said he’s played with Queen, with Status Quo, and with tons of other famous bands. I asked him if he was saved and he said yes. He said he talks to God all the time.

“Does God ever talk back?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“What does He say to you?”
“To take things one day at a time, and that everything is going to get better.”
“Have you found peace?”
“No, not yet. I’m still searching for it.”