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A war unfolds thousands of miles away. I sit in my living room and watch the images flash across the television screen. At home I’m captivated by it. At work, I’m distracted by it.

Bagdad lights up in their very own, and very real, fireworks show. Bush stops by to tell us of the difficulties ahead. A representative of MSNBC rides along with our troops into Southern Iraq. Someone from Fox News chats along with us while gunfire echoes in the background. I can’t help but feel that something is lost in the translation. Unprecedented access can bring us close to battle but not to the feelings of war.

Reports of enemy casualties don’t faze me. Reports of our own dead send a chill down my spine. The sight of Iraqi police literally beating the bushes for a downed pilot that didn’t exist made the hair on my neck stand on end. Shots are fired into the water for an imaginary POW. Real POWs are paraded in front of the camera.

A ticker scrolls along the bottom of the screen. As the fighting intensifies, so do the reports from the field. The big news of the night speaks of a suspected chemical weapons plant – 100 acres of it. We need no reminder why we’re here.

I’m proud to be part of a country that stands up to the despots of the world. I’m proud of our soldiers and the work they do. The television gives me a cloudy lens in which to spy on their frightening world. I pray for our soldiers. I pray for our enemy. I pray for the day when I’m happy to turn the TV off.