Valuing veterans

My dear friend, Vanessa, welcomed her husband - her soldier - home tonight after 18 months of service to our nation in Iraq. This Army National Guardsman married my dear friend less than one month prior to his departure, and they have been separated by war and continents the vast majority of their young marriage. Deployed into the thick of a forward camp where roadside bombs and suicide attacks are commonplace, this young man stood in the line of fire, leaving his wife and young child at home alone. He was scheduled to come home tomorrow, but decided to surprise Vanessa and showed up unannounced at their door tonight instead. Welcome home!

My sister and her husband, Flint, were married three years ago. Twelve days after their wedding day, they were transported to a Sicilian Naval base, where Flint has been flying dangerous helicopter missions from Kuwait into Iraq, Afghanistan, and Pakistan. Tragically, during their second year there, Flint's entire squadron was killed aboard their helicopter when it crashed shortly after takeoff. Flint was spared this horrible fate only because he was celebrating his second wedding anniversary and was not working that day.

They were scheduled to come home this month, but have been extended an additional year. Flint will be away from my sister for nine months this time, returning just in time to pack and move to their next deployment location.

Coppers' father is a retired Air Force Colonel, having served as a pilot in WWII, Korea, and the Vietnam wars. Bravely flying P-38's in battles that spanned 4 continents, this phenomenal soldier epitomizes the "Greatest Generation".

Today I honor veterans like these who serve our nation, our people, and my own family with uncommon valor, honor, and deep personal sacrifice for America. With my thoughts, my words, my thanks, and my prayers.

Thank you so much. And may God bless your families who endure your absence and live your service with you. We are inexplicably grateful.

my blessed beacon

My sweet, precious, angelic LaLa so often teaches me more about the Lord and this life than I feel I can ever impart to her. Her heart is open to God in a manner which brings me to my knees in it's wise simplicity.

Tonight, her prayer was simple.

"Dear Lord Jesus. Please bless my family. Thank you for this wonderful day, for my cozywarmbedandmypillow. Thank you for my door so that I can open it up and come into my snuggly room and go to sleep. Please bless my dreams and let us wake up refreshed in the morning. Thank you for tomorrow. I love you God, you are doing a great job in my life. In your precious name we pray, Amen."

She is thankful for each step she encounters - each element in her day. And she ends by saying a prayer for tomorrow, trusting God to sustain her whole life and giving thanks that He keeps His promises.

I love this little child, whose presence on this earth blesses it and adds a brilliant beacon of light.

Quippy email forward truth

In any given cycle of day and night, I typically end up with over 200 email forwards in my in-box. They come from all a veritable cross section of society ~ from my friends and family to those loving, altruistic strangers wanting to let me know that a distant family member I've never heard of has recently died in Zimbabwe, leaving a fortune of 40 million dollars n my name, and they wish to assist me in "claiming it". I'm sure I am not unique in this email forwarding trend. Unfortunately, I tend to delete these little ditties lest they introduce the newly improved worm-of-the-moment into my hard drive and ruin my day. Thus, I tend to avoid clicking on the little paper clip icon and discovering the wisdom at the other end of the email forward (or the tragic information that yet another unknown distant family member has met an untimely demise in Brazil).

But today, my dear friend, the Reluctant Blogger, emailed me this worthy gem, and I am so grateful I opened the post and read it.

With hurricanes, earthquakes, fires out of control, mud slides, tornadoes, flooding, and severe thunderstorms tearing up the country from one end to another, with the threat of bird flu and rampant terrorist attacks.

"Are we sure this is a good time to take God out of the Pledge of Allegiance?" ~ Jay Leno

I always liked that man.

Sleep deprivation indicator #311

Is anyone else hearing the dancing scene song from Napoleon Dynamite playing in an endlessly repeating reel in their minds?

No?

Just checking. No, no reason.

Whether by wallet or through window

Copper and I disagree on this one. Now, for long-time tuners-in of this blog, or for all those who find themselves landing on my blog after Googling "Dr. Pepper" (happens a delightfully often, actually) for that matter, please understand that Copper and I adore one another and harmonize on 99% of our lives. It is the remaining, rebellious 1% that adds a dose of feisty to our conversations and gives me ample food for thought and jumping off points for blog entries.

Like this one.

You see, Copper is rational and reasonable above all else, doggone him. *grin* He leads with his head, with his heart playing a supporting, though vital, role in his decision making process. Now as for me, I am one whose whole heart has veto power over skepticism and reason at times, sometimes neglecting even to consult with my brain until it has already instinctually reacted.

So on this, we disagree: giving to the poor.

Not that we should and do. But how to respond to the immediate, messy, stark needs of these confronting us in sometimes uncomfortable ways.

I am speaking specifically of those needful strangers on corners holding cardboard signs, asking for help as cars whiz past. Those signs, those faces, and those people have always been nearly impossible to deny extending my hand to. I hurt for them and with them, and that kind of keening requires response. Action.

I realize all the reasons why NOT to hand money and food from my car to a person on a corner.

I realize there are shelters available for the homeless, where hot meals are served and warm beds await. I realize that a great majority of our homeless are addicts and will likely use any monetary handouts offered in a manner which supports, first, the addiction. I realize that there are people who are self-described "career homeless" and deliberately seek to survive on the generosity of others. I realize there is a personal safety concern involved. I realize all of this as I am no blind to all these elements of reality I see happening around me.

But beyond that, I see pain, helplessness, and a fellow human being standing on a street corner begging me to see him. Asking me to treat him as I would, myself. Wanting me to care about him, even for the briefest of moments. Just long enough to extend a few dollars I can spare and would not miss. So that he can eat or drink or sleep safely as I do every night. So that he can make it until tomorrow. So that he has hope.

I can't pass that by. I rarely do. It hurts me deep inside and I find myself wondering about the life meanderings which led that particular person to this particular corner. I hope it never ceases to pierce into my heart, to carve into my thoughts. I pray I never become numb to those in our world who need our help. Even when they stand on street corners and we secretly wonder about their motives, situation, and integrity even as we cannot deny their need. Few would stand on a chilly street corner holding a handwritten sign on cardboard at oncoming traffic for the sheer thrillof the experience. I have chosen to not allow the few who would take advantage of the kindness of strangers to overcome my hearts' cry to do what Jesus would do.

Copper hears that same cry. And he hears it with a tender heart and a willing spirit, and in answer to the Lord's call to love and care for the poor. But his sense of reality prohibits handouts from car windows or along sidewalks. He is a police veteran and his view of the world juxtaposes the teachings of Jesus with the sad, stark reality of the dregs of society: predators, scammers, and lost souls. He believes in supporting those who create more lasting and stringent systems, programs, and solutions to poverty through charities and shelters. His generosity inspires me, even as the methodology we favor to answer the cries of others differs.

As for me, I lower my window and take the chance.

May God bless those without homes, money, safety, and hope as we enter the winter season of holidays and celebration. In whatever manner, whether through a window, from a pocket as we stop along a sidewalk, as a financial donation to charity, or as a gift of time and care, may we all be led by Jesus' example to rise up to care for our fellow human beings in their season of need.

Imagine all we could accomplish if we each cared for others as we would wish to be cared for ourselves. Because, but for the grace of the Lord, it could be me on that street corner. And I would be praying for you to see me. And care about me enough to do something.

Soli Deo Gloria

Above, within, and even though

Many years ago, an Italian painter was approached and asked to paint a picture encapsulating the meaning of "Peace".

No small task.

Undaunted, the painter uttered not a word at the weighty assignment handed to him, but ensconced himself in the rectory of the local church, seeking divine inspiration. For three years, he undertook to create the commission. To create the portrait of peace.

When at last emerging from his secluded artisans' roost, the painting he had crafted was unexpected. His vision of "peace" included a city in chaos overshadowed by mountains. The city streets were packed with people, their faces a mixture of angry, bitter, lost, sad, tired, and drawn. There was a war evident, with images of soldiers dying, burning buildings, guns bursting, and smoldering wreckage. Thunder clouds, thick smog, rain, and blustery wind peppered the devastated, pulsating, wrecked town.

The artist revealed his completed painting at an event attended by everyone in his village. The collective reaction from those who viewed the artwork was, quite predictably, not favorable. Some questioned whether the artist had understood the assignment, some wondered aloud if his skills were up to the task, and some openly mocked him and declared his work artistically bankrupt. This represents "peace"? Surely this artist is a crazy man.

Quietly, a small child approaches the large canvas. Staring silently at the painting for a few long minutes, she turns with tears in her eyes and walks to the artist. Spontaneously, she hugs him and says, "It is above, within, and even though. You have painted true peace."

In the midst of all this chaos, high above the cityscape, nestled in a mountain crevice, was painted a tiny child. Kneeling in prayer.

Peace is not found by looking around us and hoping for inspiration. If we are waiting for peace to come upon us in this manner, we will be in that line an awfully long time. Peace is found in a transformation of the heart, encountered by looking above to the Lord to transform our hearts within, causing us to know Truth. And that knowledge leads us to a reservoir of peace the surpasses all understanding, even though the heartbeat of the world works against us at every turn.

The artist became a phenomenon, his work heralded as glorious, a lesson in truth. For you see, PEACE was there all along. We just needed to seek it with the eyes of a child: above, within, and even though.

Back from bathtub banishment

Have you ever luxuriated in a frothy, extravagant bubble bath so long that the warm relaxing water turns tepid enough to cause shivers and compels you to finally relent and get out?

That has pretty much been me over the last ten days or so. My absence from my blog implies nothing catastrophic or even particularly meaningful. I have been soaking and the water was just too inviting to get out of with any degree of haste.

Sometimes the swirl of life is self-perpetuated. Busyness becomes its own purpose, and conspires to slowly poison the soul. When I find myself increasingly dismissive of my blessings and instead bogged down by the simple tediums and tasks in my daily life, it becomes a necessity to recharge, renew, relax, and rewind. To deliberately carve time out to strengthen and reposition my commitment to keep the promise of a life lived, deliberately.

Enter my literal and figurative bubble bath. Ten days. A new personal record. But though I am emerging with a keen sense of blog withdrawal and an impressive case of pruney fingers, my heart and body are well saturated in renewal and joy. Amazing what a little exile can do for the soul. I am joyful to be back.

Miss me?

*grin*