A Veterans Day Reflection

The date of November 11th for Veterans Day commemorates the end of WWI. The truce took place on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. I lived in Belgium for a few years and this afforded me the privilege of visiting American Cemeteries in the area. I went to all of these cemeteries in Belgium, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands. They are all awe inspiring. There is only one WWI cemetery in Belgium. It is located in the village of Waregem and is the resting place of 368 American soldiers. There is something particularly poignant about this cemetery and on this day I am always reminded of the sacrifice our veterans have made for our country.

There are three American soldiers buried in the cemetery in Waregem that stand out.

Ray A. Kistner from Ohio
William T. Fossum from Minnesota
Andrew B. Horrell from Illinois

What is so heartbreaking about these three is that they all died on November 11th, 1918. The very last day of the war. Just a touching reminder of what price our veterans have paid for our freedoms.

Someday

It is cloudy and dreary
The rain falls
The mist surrounds me
It is dark and somber out
In my soul it is the same
The clouds and gloom envelop and oppress me
But I know that beyond the clouds the sun shines
Someday the clouds will break
Someday the sunshine will pierce the darkness
I will once again feel the warmth of its rays
Its brilliant light will chase the gray melancholy from me
The oppression will be broken
Someday I will smile in the glorious light
Someday

The Rain

The rain is falling again today
The clouds add to the gloom
Everything is wet and cold,
Muddy and miserable
We curse it for the dreariness it brings to our lives
But what about the wildflowers and prairie grass?
Do they complain?
It is life for them
Does the oak and elm grumble?
Without it there is death
Our lives will always have rain and clouds and storms
Will we waste our energy and time ranting against it and feeling sorry for ourselves?
Or will we recognize that it gives life and allows us to grow stronger
Without it we are weak and unprepared for the realities of life
Life’s most important lessons are learned in the rain not in the sunshine

Spirit of 1979

Thirty years ago we looked forward to everything life offered.
We were young and ready to challenge the world
Life was easy, we felt immortal and full of energy
But time and life moved on and we all had to face its realities
Sometime harsh, sometimes joyous
We felt the elation of children, grandchildren and careers
We forever said goodbye to parents, brothers, sisters, friends
We found love, we lost love, we found love again
Time has not always been kind to our bodies
Sickness, fatigue, and weariness have become more persistent companions
Some of us have even stared directly into the face of death
Others of us are forever gone physically but will never be gone from our memories
These realities of life have made us careworn, drained, and weary
We are reminded that mortality is no longer just a distant concept but a harsh certainty

But….

For a magical weekend we came together
Our spirits livened, our steps lightened, our smiles came quickly
The years disappeared as though we stepped into a time machine
We were transported back to our youth
Friendships that were lost became instantly alive
As though the summer of seventy-nine was here again
We realized that we are indeed part of something special
God gave us a chance to shed our cares, share our joys, and grasp our youth one more time
We left this miraculous weekend with something more than what we came with
We return to our busy everyday lives with the knowledge that we are still part of an extraordinary group
The spirit of 79 is in all of us and we will carry it as well as our love for each other forever
We take comfort knowing that when we come together again this spirit will always return
Once again our steps will lighten, the smiles will quickly return and the bonds of friendship will instantly appear

May God Bless You All

Ethics of Forced Charity

In my MBA Business Ethics class lately the subject of charity has come up. Being that the program is at a Baptist school the Christian approach is discussed. It is obvious from the Bible that we are to help widows, orphans, and the poor in general. This is clearly our duty as a Christian. It is ethical and moral behavior.
But is it ethical for an organization to forcefully take my money and give to a charity? If a robber breaks into my house, steals my computer, then turns around and gives it to a high school student that could not afford a computer but needs one for homework is that ethical or moral? I don't think anyone would say it was.
Why then do we accept the premise that it is okay for the government to take our money with the threat of jail and then give it to a charitable cause. Not only do I not have any recourse but to pay it but where my money goes is up to some nameless, faceless, bureaucrat that probably lives 1000 miles from me.
Forced charity is stealing pure and simple. Unethical and Immoral!

What Is Wrong With People

Our 30th high school reunion is coming up this summer. The organizer sent out a list of people in our class that have passed away. There were 7 names on the list. With 250 kids in my graduating class I will admit that I did not know everyone on the list that well. There was one girl though that I was friends with. Donna Scheibner was a girl that I had in several classes in high school and I think that I knew here since 5th or 6th grade. Donna was pretty, she was smart and she was always nice too me and as far as I could tell she was sweet to everyone around her. I decided to look up some information about the circumstances concerning her death just to see what might have happened and when.
What I found out has bothered me for days now. In 1997 Donna was the night manager for a grocery story in Albuquerque. Apparently a 19 year old checker and an accomplice hid in the store after closing. Donna was in the office counting cash from the day when this 19 year old killed her with a shotgun and took the money. He got away with $900. I couldn’t believe it. Donna's life was taken for a measly $900. That wouldn’t even make my mortgage payment. I can’t understand how a person can kill someone for money or things. Killing for self-defense or protecting the life of another I can understand. I even have some understanding of hurting someone in a moment of passion but to take away someone’s life over money is something that I just don’t get. I guess peoples capacity for evil will never cease to amaze me. Then again God told us it would be that way.

Wisdom and the Proverbs

I am reading through the book of Proverbs now and much of the book extols the virtues of wisdom. But what is wisdom? Is it knowing the mind of God? Is it learning from our experiences. Is it only valuable if it comes from God, or is there some value in human wisdom? I know that wisdom from God is valuable and that is ultimately what I seek. I guess that my prayer is that I can discern when I am relying on my own faulty wisdom. Unfortunately for me that is something I struggle with on a regular basis.

Baseball and Memories

We went to a baseball game last night and it brought back a rush of memories. My dad and I went to see the Albuquerque Dukes play almost every weekend they were in town. I was about 12 or so and it really was our thing. The sights, sounds, smells of the ball park are indelibly burned into my memory. There is nothing like watching the game being played on the brilliant green grass, the pop of the ball in the glove, the crack of the bat, the vendors yelling "ice cold cokes", "peanuts","get yur cold beer". It is without a doubt one of the best memories I had as a kid.
Then there is the game itself. While baseball to the novice is incredibly simple and almost boring it is to the initiated incredibly complex and cerebral. Homeruns are overrated. Give me a double play, a squeeze play, a beautifully executed sacrifice bunt moving the runner to second base, a diving catch in right field, a running catch on the warning track. Give me a pitchers duel where every pitch is meaningful.
Now I love watching NFL and particularly following the Titans, college basketball is a blast to watch, especially in person. But for pure flashbacks to a simpler time and food for the senses and intellect give me baseball any day.

Omaha Beach Normandy

This was something that was on my mind lately. Then it suddenly it dawned on me that tomorrow is the 65th anniversary of D-Day. This is based on a visit to Normandy that my family made when we were living in Belgium.

The sand stretches serenely out in all directions, brown and smooth, long and flat. No holes, no pock marks. The ocean laps peacefully at the edges of this unmarked landscape. The waves are a surprisingly long way from the hills and cliffs. On these cliffs at the edge of the beach are houses that are most likely vacation homes. Families no doubt spend countless hours enjoying looking out over the smooth sandy expanse that is before them and into the sometimes peaceful English Channel. For them it is just a short easy walk from the house to the waters edge. The only sounds you hear are waves crashing and rolling onto the sand. Perhaps a sea gull screeches. The scene is peaceful. A place where you can relax and ponder your troubles that seems so great. The entire picture belies what occurred sixty-five years ago. A more extreme contrast would be hard to find.
Sixty-five years ago the air was full of unnatural sounds, roaring motors, explosions, the scream of artillery shells, gunfire, bullets careening off of boat hulls. With this are the dreadful sounds of men, screaming, dying, bleeding. It was unbearable to listen to.
As unforgettable as the sounds were the sights were worse. The normally perfect smooth sand is full of shell holes and bomb craters. Even more shocking is the humanity or what is left of it. Hundreds are dead, the bodies and parts are everywhere and in surreal positions. Machinery and metal is ripped, torn and burning. The grayish channel water is tinted red.
Those who are still alive on the beach are either waiting to die from their wounds, or they are frozen in fear. Those not in these two categories are bravely moving up the excruciatingly long stretch of sand to get to the base of the cliff. They all try but few will make it. For hours they endure the screams, the explosions, the choking smells of burning machines and flesh, the sights no man should see.
One both sides these are sons, husbands, dads, and brothers. They are mechanics, teachers, school kids, bus drivers and factory workers. Both Americans and Germans have loved, hated, been sad, and happy. Most have been in love or are in love. For too many their last earthly thoughts will be of their mom in Cleveland or in Munich. They will die with the name of Mary on their lips or perhaps Hilda. For those who survive they forever will be haunted. Some will be able to move on, but some will never be able to.
For us as we walk along this non-descript piece of beach we can only image the horrors that were. For them it could never be the same. But knowing this makes me look at Omaha Beach differently. I must not see it as a patch of oceanside, I must see it as holy ground, a place of honor, a place of reverence, a place of remembrance.
Today politicians will wax eloquently about sacrifice, courage and honor of this disappearing generation. My cynicism will make me wonder how much is truly felt and how much is show. But I have been there, I have truly felt it and I will never forget.