Everyday I spend my morning (from 9 am to 12 noon) listening to the Internet rebroadcast of the previous evening's Hugh Hewitt program. Today, I am listening to the Monday night program. Hugh is currently reading the New York Times piece on the Battle for Fallujah. I am choking back tears as I am writing. I am not a particularly emotional person; if anything, I find my life is filled with joy. But the only thing that can evoke the welling up of such emotion is the stories of brave men and women in our armed services who are sacrificing themselves not just for you and I, but also for complete strangers. There is nothing more precious than the blood shed in the name of freedom. Though many do not know if consciously, they follow the divine example of Jesus of Nazareth.

Why should I be to involved in this noble struggle? Because I served. I spent just over 11 years in the U.S. Army and Army Reserves. There was no especially valorous service I performed. Nothing particularly exciting about most of it. But I served. And those of you who have served know what I mean. There is an almost mystic bond between all who have work the uniform. My wife first saw this side of me when, while we were dating, we went to see the movie We Were Soldiers -- an adaptation of Harold Moore's book We Were Soldiers Once...And Young. This was partially instilled in me when I was young. My father taught to me to value the freedoms we, as Americans, have and those who paid the price for that freedom. But it became even stronger once I had joined the U.S. Army back in 1986. It does not matter what branch of the service. Soldiers, Sailors, Marines, and Airmen are all my Brothers in Arms.

Why do I tell you this? I'm not really sure. I guess I just have to emote. And also to let you know just how deeply run the ties of shared sacrifice.

Hooah!