By Dr. Kevin P. Wallace
Van of Valor
Out of Cody, Wyoming, on a September day
The Van of Valor pointed west to find a better way
With a Purple Heart for courage and a Harvard mind to guide
And a little dachshund sitting right inside
Oh, the mountain stood before us like a cathedral in the sky
With every twist and turning, we had to testify
That the road to grace is winding, and the climb is always hard
But the Van of Valor carries you as far as your heart’s yard
The engine sang its warning song, the dashboard lit the night
“A constellation of concern” beneath the fading light
The tires whispered caution and the wiper fluid ran
But onward through the Bighorns like only old friends can
Oh, the mountain stood before us like a cathedral in the sky
With every twist and turning, we had to testify
That the road to grace is winding, and the climb is always hard
But the Van of Valor carries you as far as your heart’s yard
The switchbacks brought the wagon trails of 150 years
The ghosts of pioneers who knew the same mix of hope and fear
And on the western slope we prayed the brakes would hold us tight
A slow dance with gravity in the fading mountain light
We wrote the names upon her skin of three hundred fallen souls
Each one a story of the price for freedoms that we hold
And when the climb gets heavy and the mission breaks you down
There’s peace in forward movement in this sacred, rolling town
Oh, the mountain stood before us like a cathedral in the sky
With every twist and turning, we had to testify
That the road to grace is winding, and the climb is always hard
But the Van of Valor carries you as far as your heart’s yard
The mountains don’t ask for your diagnosis, no
They just stand there, old and slow
Re-calibrating souls made small
By the weight of hearing duty’s call
So here’s to aging warriors and the vans that carry them
Through the high passes and back again
To sit with Gold Star families and hold their sacred grief
Finding in the granite cliffs a temporary relief
The Van of Valor’s resting now in Cody for a spell
But the memory of the mountain climb is ringing like a bell
A sanctuary in the pines, a moral courage found
In the hum of worn-out tires on sacred, holy ground
Amen
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