The blasts tore the Humvee in half and the four-man fire team went up into the air, drifted mid-air like a slow-motion picture, and then they fell to the ground. Two men were in pieces and shrapnel ripped the other two men. Philip opened his eyes and thought he was adrift in a sea of dirt. He came to, got his med kit, and struggled to sit up, but his rib stuck through his skin, his skin was burned, and his lung punctured. Months later, the VA released him and he fought with life after the Army. He spent two years as a rifleman and six years as a combat medic and, now, he took job after job, move after move, and there was no satisfaction like the excitement, the adventure, the challenge of the Army. At the VA, Philip took the PTSD classes; he did DBT, peer support, groups, CBT, and acupuncture. On the outside of the VA, he changed religions like people change clothes. He converted to Mormonism, then to Methodists, then to Baptist and with every religion he hoped to break through the funk, to get out from under the oppression of the ambush. But the oppression persisted, images of his friends torn into pieces, the smell of burned flesh, blood on the street, gun fire, and enemy chatter caved his good spirit. The therapy, the religion, the meditation, the acupuncture didn't do it, didn't hit a homerun, but he cut and the cut worked. His wrists and forearms were a relief map of the rain forest with deep scars. It wasn't just the ambush, he survived and his friends did not survive. The suffering was too much, too intense and he wondered where was God in all his suffering? He was safe, for now, at the c-store, safe selling impulse items, safe selling lotto tickets, and safe selling tobacco. ` Behind the counter at the c-store, he pondered and regretted and hated the enemy, because they put him here. It was their fault, they attacked the convoy and, now, turned him from combat medic to clerk. In his apartment, he looked over his credit report and it added insult to injury. He moved over and over, he changed jobs over and over, but he did not change. Then, an angel came to him and offered him a way out of his suffering. Deliver answers to prayers. Philip hated the idea of a choice. If he had a choice, he'd have never let his buddies go with him on that convoy. But the angel offered him a choice to stay at the c-store or, like a disciple, take up a cross and deliver answers to prayers. The angel left a satchel for him and told him the rules. He can't read the answers, he can't tell anyone, and he must leave his life, his possessions, his car behind, and go on foot with just the satchel. Philip struggled with the idea, but it was a new mission and, he hoped, a chance to get out from under the oppression and out from under the suffering.