Yesterday as I listened to excerpts from President Trump’s speech, when he addressed the World War II veterans who had stormed the beaches of Normandy in the face incessant machine gun fire and artillery barrages that colored miles of surf with their blood, as he singled out individuals, who - now in their nineties - had returned to the scene of the bloodiest day of WWII to pay respect to their fallen brothers and renew acquaintances with the few who had survived the seven decades since “The Longest Day," I found my eyes becoming misty and my thoughts returning to that day, June 6, 1944, when the Methodist Church in Valdosta, Georgia was packed to the rafters with Americans of every stripe, who had come to beseech Almighty God on behalf of the brave men fighting and dying on a beachhead thousands of miles away.