Lest We Forget…

“When You Go Home, Tell Them Of Us And Say,
For Their Tomorrow, We Gave Our Today”

Today is Veterans’ Day. That means that banks are closed, government offices are closed, the mail won’t run, and stores will undoubtedly hold sales trying to capitalize on this day on the calendar that has been given a name. Actually today has many names: Poppy Day, Armistice Day and Remembrance Day are among them. It is a day that is meant to be anything other than a day of shopping though.

Eighty years ago today, four score, a lifetime ago, at the Eleventh Hour of the Eleventh Day of the Eleventh Month, The Great War was finally over. No war is good, but sometimes war is necessary. This war was far from pretty. It was quite possibly the most horrific war ever, but it had to be fought. War today is rather a clean affair compared to the all-out total trench warfare that began in 1914.

It was a world war because the world was truly involved. Every citizen made his or her sacrifices, at home and on the front. We’re so ungrateful today, and we’ve not had to sacrifice a blessed thing while our men and women fight in Iraq and Afghanistan. We’ve not done without certain food items, we don’t do without anything obviously considering the current credit crisis in the country. We don’t know what true sacrifice is. Though every life if precious, the loss of life in the current wars is so small compared to that in The Great War. The casualties from WWI are astounding. Had most of today’s people seen lists so long, they would have cut and run ages ago, but these people couldn’t. It wasn’t a consideration to them. Victory was the only option.

We could learn a lot from those who sacrificed their all and those who mourned their dead in the years 1914 to 1918 as well as those who gave their all in The Second World War. Lest us not forget.

Without shedding of blood there is no anything,” said Mr. Meredith, in the gentle dreamy way which had an unexpected trick of convincing his hearers. “Everything, it seems to me, has to be purchased by self-sacrifice. Our race has marked every step of its painful ascent with blood. And now torrents of it must flow again. No, Mrs. Crawford, I don’t think the war has been sent as a punishment for sin. I think it is the price humanity must pay for some blessing–some advance great enough to be worth the price–which we may not live to see but which our children’s children will inherit.”
- “Rilla of Ingleside” by Lucy Maud Montgomery

“In Flanders Fields”

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
— Lt.-Col. John McCrae

My Joyful Heart

Sometimes I wish every day was Sunday.  I’ve always loved Sundays, I guess because of the joy and peace that fills my heart before, during, and after church services.  Some Sundays Bart and I struggle with the decision of whether of not to attend church due to fatigue, slight illness, and other reasons, but we never regret it when we do go.  Today was one of those days when we could have slept till ten.  I’ve personally been struggling with my sinuses for about two weeks, but I’m glad we went to church.

Today we were blessed with listening to not one but two wonderful pianists on Steinway Grand Pianos playing as the choir and congregation sang those wonderful, old Gospel songs that can’t help but bring out the “Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy, down...” in your heart.
Why do I have this Joy in my heart? Why is it that I can’t help but be happy when rejoicing my Lord? This joy comes only from Him who washed away my sins with his own blood, shed for me on the cross.

“Without shedding of blood there is no anything… Everything, it seems to me, has to be purchased by self-sacrifice. Our race has marked every step of its painful ascent with blood. And now torrents of it must flow again… I don’t think the war has been sent as a punishment for sin. I think it is the price humanity must pay for some blessing – some advance great enough to be worth the price which we may not live to see but which our children’s children will inherit.” – Rilla of Ingleside Chapter 5.

22And according to the Law, one may (A)almost say, all things are cleansed with blood, and (B)without shedding of blood there is no forgiveness. – Hebrews 9:22 NASV

You see, I have joy because all of my worries, my cares, my burdens were nailed to the cross, and Jesus has carried all of my burdens for me. Does that mean I will never worry, that my life will never see trying times and tribulations? No, but I have Faith in One who is greater that all the things this world can throw at me. That, that is why I have “… joy deep down in my heart…”

The Great Cat and Mouse Game

Anyone who works in downtown Fayetteville must know the great cat and mouse game that we all play with the city parking management employees, or as I like to call them, “The Male Meter Maids.” Like Jerry trying to get to the cheese before Tom can trap him, we all attempt to put as little money as possible in each parking meter. Too often we’ve all lost money to malfunctioning machines or have been but a minute or two late and have found that irritating little, light green envelope expertly placed between our windshield and our driver’s side wiper.

It has become increasingly apparent that those who give the tickets enjoy playing the feline part in this game, so much so that a coworker was actually told, “I’ll get you next time!” when he managed to pull out of his spot just before a ticket was issued. We’ve all done it, and there’s a certain exhilaration that comes from beating the guys in the blue t-shirts before they get us. I personally have almost run over a male meter maid who was trying to get my tag number down before I could leave, even though I still had a minute left on the meter.

I think my greatest triumph over the male meter maids had to have not had anything to do with my own car though. I was walking back into the office after lunch when I noticed what had to be one of our vehicles in the process of getting a ticket. The red light on the meter was blinking and the aptly ugly city Honda Element was parked behind it. A male meter maid was banging his hand-held ticket machine against his leg. It was apparently jammed. So, I took that moment to grab a quarter out of my purse and slammed it into the meter, foiling the issuance of the ticket.

I felt somewhat like how Wellington must have felt after Waterloo. OK, maybe that’s taking it a bit far, but to quote Gilbert Blythe in Rilia of Ingleside, “by George, Anne-girl, it was satisfying.”