Yesterday, we walked Juno Beach, where the Canadians landed on D-Day. As we walked, the wind washed over my ears like the waves washing up over the beach. Constant, incessant roar.

And in it, did I hear the echoes of that day, roaring wind, crashing waves, aircraft engines, landing craft, bombs and bullets whizzing by, taking so many, to capture a pillbox? 

I wondered, who were these pilgrims, who had found their way to these very beaches sixty-six summers ago? What inspired their journey, giving them the grim courage to attempt a landing, to confront well-armed, monstrous evil, bunkered down in reinforced concrete, with little more than a prayer to protect them?