Connections

Today we went to the Vietnam War Memorial, but there was a large ceremony that included politicians. Will said what I was thinking, to come back later when the crowd was gone. So after a couple hours we went back and there were just a few people milling about. I took photos of the name I knew and the one Will knew, and general photos of the memorial. We brought yellow roses, a symbol of peace, and placed them at the wall.

I noted a man sitting on a bench and I asked him if he were a veteran and he said he was. I said so was my husband and the two began conversing. I moved to another bench and stared at all the names carved into the wall. Each had lives cut short, leaving behind grieving families and untold pain. Then out of nowhere a man in jeans and scruffy shirt marched to the wall stopped and saluted in a perfect motion. Then with perfect military precision, he did an about face, and walked quietly to the bench next to me and sat down.

The introvert in me wanted to ignore him, but I couldn’t. I leaned over to see his face and said, “Excuse me sir, but are you a veteran?” He answered yes. I said I was very sorry for his loss. He looked my way and said a simple thank you. Then I thanked him for his service to our nation, and for that he also thanked me, and then looked back toward the wall. I wasn’t willing to talk further because I was already out of my comfort zone and it was obvious he wanted to be left alone. And yet, in that small exchange I felt a connection had been made. Humans bond over the simplest things and the momentous; over shared joy and heart rending pain.

For a brief moment I felt a connection to that man in his obvious pain. I am not comparing the pain I sometimes suffer to that of a person who has been through the horrid experience of war. Or the pain of losing a son or daughter in armed conflict. No, the connection came because for a brief moment, two introverted people shared a common bond through the simplest communication. I extended sympathy and gratitude. His response was brief, but I cannot help but wonder if there was a moment of pain followed by pride. Not a bad pride but rather the kind that lifts people out of self-pity, and makes the heart feel a beat of joy when it has harbored bitter pain.

Who really knows what goes on in the human heart? I have just offered pure conjecture about what was going on inside that man. But God knows all things and knows what lurks in the deepest recesses of the heart. No love, joy, pain, impurity, hate, peace and a host of other feelings and motives are hidden from him. On one level that is a frightening thought. But to me and other believers, it is a source of comfort. When I have joy, he rejoices. When I sin, his grace is there to forgive. When pain tears at my heart, he comforts in ways no one else can. He has suffered far more than I have.

There is a disconnect between people because we all have something to hide. There was a disconnect between us and God because we first hid and then openly behaved in profane and idolatrous ways. But the connection was regained through the grace of God demonstrated on the cross. We no longer have to hide, but hiding is ingrained and it takes the Spirit to gradually uncover those tender places we want so desperately to keep in darkness.

That vet may be a believer, or not. I’ll never know, but in that short exchange, I hope he felt I cared with God’s care slipping through the cracks in my heart from past and present pain. That’s all I want. God’s love, grace, and care flowing through the broken places in my heart, knowing full well the day is coming when all pain and tears will end. Till that day, thank a vet, pay it forward, help carry a load, turn the other cheek, forgive, and—I say this as much to me—don’t hide. God is light and nothing can hide in it. We deceive ourselves to think otherwise. So, be open to any opportunity to show kindness, and don’t worry about the results. That’s up to God. 

Never Forget

It’s two days before Memorial Day and I am pleased to say I lost no relatives in the wars America has fought. Uncles, cousins, nephew, brother-in-law, father, and my husband all survived. And their wives, mothers and daughters worked on the home front to support them. They and my son’s service will be honored on Veteran’s Day.

I am writing to honor one, though, who served 25 years in the military, rising to the rank of Captain, and was engaged in top secret missions. I remember well his leaving us for months at a time and how hard it was for me to see him leave. My mother ran the ship in his absence, and ran a tight one.

He served as a bombardier initially during WWII. His unit received a presidential citation for sinking so many U-boats. Then he trained to service the extremely secret Norden bombsite. It was so secret that bombardiers were to destroy them if going down so they wouldn’t fall into enemy hands. His job was so important he had two body guards accompany him everywhere he went. He served in Europe, Italy, Africa, and in the Pacific theater. Join the army, see the world.

You couldn’t tell he had been through a horrid war he was such a mellow man. He kept his temper in check and was always upbeat. He loved my mother very much as we discovered in the love letters she kept for her whole married life. Even a few before they married. And he loved us, despite typical childhood antics. When I wandered from the faith and became a hopeless addict, he never stopped praying every night that I would return to the fold. He prayed that prayer for 15 years before he saw it answered. But God heard his pleas and answered his faithfulness and trust. Throughout my rebellion, he never stopped loving me or wrote me off, disowning me as some parents do with their difficult children.

He was a good airman throughout his service and was proud he was able to serve his country. He could have had to have been called back to action any time throughout the cold war. The terrible and terrorizing nuclear bombs placed in Cuba almost triggered what would have been a catastrophic war. He was ready.

My father is buried in a national cemetery and had a full honor military funeral, with a 21 one gun salute, the folding of the flag over his remains and presented to my mother with the words, “On behalf of the president and a grateful nation I present this to you.” Then Taps was played. In my estimation, he was not just a good man, but a great one. His example of living a life of faith and service has been passed down to his children and also his grandchildren. Before he passed away I had the last chance to say I loved him and that he was the best father I could have had.

I know there are plenty of people out there who could share similar stories about their fathers, and I salute their relatives who served honorably and bravely. The generation of WWII is quickly passing away and before it’s too late, we need to honor them and declare their greatness and be solemn in thought of the thousands who never made it home to the arms of loved ones.

My immediate and extended family served America in the military and some still do. I sometimes wonder if it’s passed down genetically. Probably not. What is there is love of our country and the freedoms we enjoy. Countless lives have been lost defending the life we would not have were it not for them. As the saying goes, “All gave some, some gave all.” Don’t let this Memorial Day be just a day to cookout.

In my city, there is a wall of local names of those who died in Vietnam. My husband is a Vietnam veteran. I think we will go there because I am just not ready to visit my father and mother’s grave yet. But I will fly my flag Monday and save time to quietly remember those who died in all our wars. They deserve at least that much. May their sacrifices never be forgotten. 

Seize the Day

Today I posted a youtube video of Christian singer/songwriter, Carolyn Arends, a favorite of mine on Facebook. The song I posted is “Seize the Day.” Whenever I hear the song I have one of two responses. I will feel empowered to step out of my comfort zone and not give a rip about what anyone thinks of how I serve the Lord. The other is deep regret over lost days, which in my life have been many.

The chorus is “Seize the day, seize whatever you can, ‘cause life slips away just like hourglass sand. Seize the day, pray for grace from God’s hand then nothing will stand in your way, seize the day.” I drowned in alcohol and was wasted on drugs for fifteen years. Not one day of those years was lived for anyone but me. Remorse overwhelms the present and I get derailed, unable to function. I don’t lose faith in God, I lose faith in myself. Suddenly the bright future of living for the Lord and being a conduit of his grace gets clogged and I isolate from my brothers and sisters in Christ. Worse, I isolate from my Redeemer, keenly aware of years misspent and irretrievable.

Seize the day. King David asked the Lord to teach him to number his days, knowing God had allotted only so much time for humans to live. I think what David meant was teach him how not to waste his days. He understood the average lifespan was miniscule in relation to eternity and what we do and how we live have eternal consequences.

Those who have been washed clean in the Blood of the Lamb and believe they are forgiven and made righteous by the grace of God should have no fear. The apostle Paul said perfect love casts out fear for fear implies punishment. If we fear we have not yet reached perfection in love. Can anyone claim to have absolutely no fear? I don’t think so. There are things in life that cause us to tremble, not the least of which is keeping our eyes fixed on our sins instead of fixed upon our Savior.

If anyone demonstrated a lifestyle of seizing each day, it was Jesus. He wasted no words, actions or prayers. He wasted no time or pity on those, such as the Pharisees, who willingly closed their ears to his words of life, and lavished it all on sinners who knew they had no chance of gaining heaven. Those who longed for hope and forgiveness, who prayed to see the day of the Messiah.

After his death and resurrection, misconceptions about what the Messiah’s true purpose was became clear and literally thousands came to believe unto salvation in just one day by the working of the Holy Spirit. The early believers possessed a zeal and fervor that would make some Christians today uncomfortable. And they seized the days they were granted, carrying the message of salvation to the known world. Persecuted and doomed to horrible deaths, they faced down fear and praised the Lord for allowing them to be martyrs.

For those like me, who have a shameful past, seizing the day becomes all the more necessary to move beyond fear and to break the shackles that bind us to wasted time. The key is in finding the ways in which sin-ridden pasts can work for the increasing of the kingdom of God. In his kingdom, nothing is wasted, not even sin. All works together in ways we cannot fathom now, but will be revealed at the right time. So seize the day and all that comes your way. The past is paid for. The future is yet to unfold, but one day at a time, with God’s grace we can overcome all that stands in our way, as long as we fix our gaze on Jesus, and not on ourselves.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7lmqtYR5tJo

Mother's Day

Mother’s Day is tomorrow and I will not be celebrating with family. Without my mother, my sister and I cannot bring ourselves to have a gathering. We are both mothers, but Mom was the real focus of the day. I am having a hard time keeping tears from blocking my vision as I type.

I’ve been told grief is a process and all the first holidays without a loved one’s presence are the hardest. Mom’s birthday was April 29^th and she wasn’t there for me to call and wish her a Happy 94^th Birthday. We had a big bash for her 90^th birthday and told her we’d be having another one when she hit 100. But God only granted her three more years with us, and right before Christmas she silently slipped into the waiting arms of her Lord and Savior. She had often talked about seeing Dad again and now they are sharing the joy of the Lord.

To say I miss her is an understatement. Every holiday was made special by her presence. When someone reaches 90 and up, it’s pretty difficult to come up with gifts. But I managed to always surprise her. I think the thing that meant the most to her is when we invited her to come to New York with us to see Matthew graduate from West Point. Her still living siblings demanded photographic evidence that a 91-one-year old grandmother was actually able to make the journey. It was sheer grit and determination that made it happen. She wanted to see all her grandchildren graduate from college, and Matthew was the last. Her dream was fulfilled.

Being married to a serviceman meant moving frequently and having to manage a household often without his help because of missions he would be on. I didn’t see my father a lot in my younger childhood, but that wasn’t his fault. Because of his frequent absences, my mother became a stronger woman. She pretty much raised us. And by the time I came along she was 35 and having to keep up with the demands of a toddler while keeping tabs on my older siblings. I have always felt I was the one who turned her hair gray. If Ritalin had been available, I would have been on it.

My mother could be gentle and caring, but there was the ferocity of a bear that could arise if anyone slighted her children. I have a memory of being sent into a store to get some thread. I was around 8. I stood at the counter for the longest time because the cashier was waiting on adults and ignoring me. When I finally gave up and came back to the car empty-handed, my mother took my hand and marched me into the store and proceeded to ream that woman out about not taking care of me. She was hot! I was not embarrassed, I was in awe of this person who I called Mom. It was pretty impressive. She taught me by that incident that children are important. In my job today, I never ignore children who come for help.

But the upshot of this meandering blog entry is that I miss my mother and it hurts. No more hugs, no more motherly advice and the wisdom that comes from such a long and well-lived life. And hardest of all is not hearing her voice telling me she loves me, and grieving all the years I wandered from the faith, breaking her heart. No amount of wishing can turn back time.

What comfort I do have is knowing my parents are in heaven. And the promises of God that “As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you…” (Isaiah 66:13). “Can a woman forget her nursing child or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands…” (Isaiah 49:15-16a).

But my mother never forgot me or forsook me. She modeled the tender love of the Lord. That is the inheritance of a God loving woman who bore me and nurtured me in the faith. And true to God’s word, when I grew older I did not depart from the faith, I returned to it. I feel raw with grief for I have no mother to honor tomorrow. But I knew her for 58 years. Some don’t get that much time, and some don’t even care. That is their terrible loss.

I wish all the mothers I know a very happy Mother’s Day. I have my precious son and we love each other. I tried to instill in him the same faith I was taught. I have loved him without fail. I have done my best to bring him up to be a good man. Perhaps in this I can still honor my mother, though she is no longer with us. To see my son, her grandson, live life as she did. Never giving up, never losing faith, and never stop loving. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I still love you more than I can say.