Short Days Ago We Lived

This weekend, we celebrate Memorial Day, a day set aside to remember and honor those who gave their lives in the wars of this nation.

Memorial Day is not for us who served and survive. Neither is it to honor those who continue to serve this day, no matter how grateful we are for their service. No. This weekend is dedicated to the memory and honor of our dead, those who fought and died for us. it is set aside that we might hear their voice in the silence that transcends the clash and clamor of our daily lives.

What do these honored dead say to we who live and remain? Major John McRae captured it most eloquently in the second stanza of his poem "In Flanders Fields"

"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."

For these honored dead, there is no time. No life remains for them to enjoy the pleasures of this earth. Short days ago they lived, laughed, loved, and enjoyed even as we do today. They were once, and are no more.

What have they to say to us? To McRae, the words were clear,

"Take up the quarrel with the foe.
To you from failing hands we throw the torch!
Be yours to hold it high.
If you break faith with us who die
We will not rest though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields."

The torch! We are to lift and hold high the torch of light and freedom, to be a beacon to all who long to be free, to become the city on the hill that cannot be hidden.

Long before Major McCrae, PresidentAbraham Lincoln voiced the same sentiment in "a few appropriate words" uttered in late November 1863 at the dedication of a portion of the Gettysburg battlefield as a cemetery for those who died in that battle.

Lincoln stated that "The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here." Then, he called upon we who live and remain to complete the work begun by the brave men who gave their lives at Gettysburg.

There have been other wars since Lincoln spoke at Gettysburg, other wars since Major McCrae penned his poem in Flanders. Even today, flowers remain unwilted on fresh graves in Arlington and other cemeteries and churchyards around the nation. Even today, the torch is passed. Even today, the work continues.

In the words of Lincoln, "It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

What measure of increased devotion will you take?

What part of the work falls to you?

How will you spend your Memorial Day?

May Song

Birdsong is my music,
The flowers sweet perfume,
White clouds are a tapestry
Wove on cerulean blue.

The sunshine is my brother,
The earth, my faithful friend,
The beeze it is a lover's kiss,
That one hopes never ends.

It's Only a Number

This week, I attained the age of seventy. I am told that officially makes me old.

Hate to disappoint you, but I'm not sure I agree with that.

Yes, I am aware that according to Scripture, "the days of a man shall be three score and ten, or, by reason of strength, four score." According to myriad external sources I am "past my prime", "over the hill", and potentially "headed for the last roundup".

I beg to differ.

I remind you that age, wisdom, and treachery will always triumph over youth and skill. I may not, in fact, be as good as I once was, but I remain "as good once as I ever was." And once is usually sufficient.

Over the hill implies coasting downhill to the finish. My experience says life is always a climb and rarely level. In a climb, the two options are to continue climbing or quit. Coasting is not possible, and quitting is not me, so I will continue to climb. And I intend sprint to the finish no matter how slow my sprint becomes.

I am not "headed for the last roundup" but embarked on my next great adventure. Who knows that it will not be the greatest adventure of all?

Life continues to fascinate me. People continue to fascinate me. How things fit and work together continues to fascinate me. Exploring and experiencing new things fascinates me. Revisiting and appreciating familiar things fascinates me. My world abounds with interesting and wonderful things.

As I turn seventy, I feel like Calvin in the comic strip "Calvin and Hobbes". In the last strip of the series, we join Calvin and his friend Hobbes the Tiger as they burst into the wide world with the caption "There's a wonderful world out there. Let's explore!"

Seventy is only a number.

I intend to keep exploring.

How about you?

On Holiday Decorations

Make you house fair as you are able,

Trim the hearth and set the table!

People look East, and sing today.

Love, the Lord, is on the way!

-- Traditional English Carol

For me, few things reflect the joy of the Christmas Season like the decorations and the traditions behind them. Each year, I am reminded that, if such a thing is possible, we have far too many ornaments for our house and modest tree. I am also reminded that we no longer have children at home to help put them up or take them down, or to play with delight under the tree on Christmas morning. 

Several years ago, we went from a floor-standing to a table tree. There have even been times like last year that we didn't drag them out and put them up. Last year was one such year.

This year is different. This year the decorations are out and in their appointed places. Opening the crates and boxes, taking out and placing the various objects was like greeting an old friend.

The creche, lovingly molded and painted by my mother in law, has been lovingly unpacked and set in a position of honor in the living room. She gave it to us so our children would have a nativity set.

Santa Claus in his dirigible has assumed his place of honor on the tree, as he has every year since my Dad was a boy. In his jaunty red hat and robe, carrying a fresh Christmas tree, this particular Santa has amused more than three generations. Over time, his robe has lost some of its luster and the dirigible has faded from white to tattle-tale grey, but he shows up every year to grace us with his unique Christmas presence. Hopefully, he will continue to do so for at least a hundred years more.

And so it is with other decorations -- the glass peach, complete with fuzz, from my mother's tree, balls from my wife's girlhood trees, objects from our children' childhood. Each carries its own treasured memories of good times with family. 

How do you decorate for Christmas?

Which decorations trigger pleasant memories for you?

What are your Christmas traditions?

The Wonder of Anticipation

Face it.

Late November and early December can be pretty dismal. This was true in Maryland where I grew up and remains true in Virginia where I live today. Daylight is scarce as days grow shorter. Sunlight, though brilliant in pale beauty is too often pre-empted by purple clouds scudding across the sky before a gusty and biting wind. Rain and drizzle hit one's face with the force of frozen BBs. A lingering chill sinks into one's bones.

The chief urge is to hibernate.

When I was a child, the end of November was marked with excitement and December with anticipation. The chief emotion was impatience. Santa Claus was coming to town!

The anticipation always began the day after thanksgiving when the mailman delivered the Wishbook. The Wishbook was a profusely illustrated one-inch thick listing Sears and Roebuck's Christmas and seasonal merchandise. Half of the pages were given to clothes and other grown-up stuff. The second half was devoted entirely to toys and games for kids of all ages.

Anticipation shifted to high gear as my sisters and I eagerly examined the kids' section page by page and dreamed of the fun it would be to play with this, that, or the other item. Pages were first scanned for items of interest, and then examined in detail to identify the one special item we absolutely had to have and which remained our top choice until we turned the page and were confronted by the next gallery of wonder.

We spent hours spread out on the floor with the catalog open before us, anticipating the fun. Our imaginations danced from item to item as we dreamed how we would play with this toy or that.

We compiled list upon list of what we wanted and in which order of importance. We annotated our lists with the page numbers so Santa could see for himself what we wanted. The lists made yesterday were seldom the same as the ones made today, but that was alright. Each list was a snapshot in time of where our imagination had carried us.

And behind it all, the song kept running through our heads "He's making a list, and checking it twice. He's going to find out who's naughty and nice. Santa Claus is coming to town!" And we all tried, some of us harder than others, to be extra special nice.

And judging by the things we found under the tree on Christmas Morning, we were.

For us, the days of November and December were anything but dismal. For us, these cold, raw, and gray days were filled with anticipation of great and wonderful things. For us, half of the fun of Christmas was the expectation of getting there.

How about you?

What do remember that filled you with pre-Christmas excitement as a child?

What did you most look forward to?

What do you eagerly expect this Christmas?

We Give Thanks

The season of growing is over. September harvest is past. Crops, fruits and vegetables are gathered in. Animals are settling into their dens for the cold season; winter is fast upon us.

It is the season where Americans traditionally look back, reflect, and give thanks for the blessings of the year. In this country, giving thanks is a tradition with roots stretching back to the earliest English speaking colonies on the North American Continent. The most popular story attributes the first thanksgiving celebration to a feast celebrated by Puritan settlers at Plymouth Plantation in Massachusetts with the local Native Americans in 1621. An older less-well known story attributes the first thanksgiving to a celebration by arrived colonists in Virginia on December 4, 1619.

Regardless of origin, the tradition of pausing to give thanks to almighty God was firmly fixed in the American character by the mid-ninteenth century when President Abraham Lincoln requested "fellow-citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next as a Day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the heavens."

So it is that we today set apart the final Thursday in November to gather, feast, and give thanks for the blessings of the past year, for food, for family, for friends, and for freedom. We give thanks for health and happiness, for trials overcome and for strength to endure trials in the future. Sometimes, survival itself is sufficient reason to give thanks.

Each year, I sit and make a list of things for which I am thankful and why. During the year, when I need to, I pull out and review my list. Doing so always gives me a lift.

Will you join me?

Will you write your own list of things for which you are thankful?

What will be on your list?

Why?

Why I Write

I looked and beheld a blank piece of paper before me and a pen inclined toward my hand.

I heard a voice say "Write!"

"But what shall I write?" said I.

"Just write!" said the voice.

"If nothing else, practice your penmanship. Learn to form the characters quickly and legibly. Writing is an art. Make yours beautiful. Make it a joy to look at.

Then, cover the paper with words. Craft those words into sentences. Make each sentence concise and to the point. Craft those sentences into paragraphs that clearly convey your thoughts and ideas, observations and emotions.

Fill copy books and tablets and legal pads with your skillfully crafted words, sentences and paragraphs. Fill reams and quires of paper. Fill memo books, notebooks, and journals. Write things you want to remember and things you'd rather forget.

Write a story -- write your story! Your story is yours alone. Only you can tell it correctly. It needs to be written.

Write about what makes you happy and what irks you, what lifts your spirit and what makes you grieve.

Write poetry; write prose!

Write fact; write fiction, write fantasy. Write opinion; write conjecture; write truth.

Write essays. Write reports. Write a blog.

But write. Always write.

The paper before you is your gateway to lands and peoples and universes you have only dreamed.

Visit them and tell me about them.

Now, take up the pen and write!"

Hearing the voice, I took the pen and began to write. I have been writing ever since. As long as pen and paper exist, I will write.

The blank sheet of paper lies before you. A pen inclines toward your hand.

Will you join me? Will you pick up the pen?

Will you write?

Will you share what you've written?