One that sticks out in my mind-
We were stopped at a little closet size street market at a town in Southern Iraq, trash in the streets everywhere, really crummy looking town, talking to the shopkeeper as well as we could, and buying candy and strange sodas from him. His tiny little shop was immaculate, and lit brightly, Arabic labeled products lining the shelves.
Out of the night walks a man toward us, obviously having a hard time walking.
He came up to us, smiling wide, saying "friend, friend" as well as he could, and pointed to a small design on his ragged sweatshirt. Hard to see at night, but if you got close, you could see it was a small American flag embroidered there.
I'd thought as he walked toward us that he was an old man, but up close- he was much younger than me, probably late 20's. He had some kind of degenerative muscle disease, or perhaps polio, was my thought. Maybe some condition that could be treated, or at least eased a bit here in the States with all our medical resources. We did our best to talk to him, and the other Iraqi men, and spread a few dollars around for more candy.
We stayed a little longer, but it was not a real friendly area, when we pulled out, later on someone yelled "Go Home!" really loudly over the sound of the humvees. We kept driving through the night.
I realized how lucky I was that night to have been given the life I have. I also realized that we have brothers and sisters, not by birth, or citizenship, or politics, or religion, but through the heart, in the most unlikely places. I hope that man is doing okay in his little town as I sit here comfortable, safe, and healthy, in mine.