Coming Home

“The Lord cares deeply when His loved ones die.”  ~ Psalm 116:15

A wispy fog was just burning off the Chesapeake Bay, as Sgt. Ramirez raced to meet a USAF C-17 at Dover Air Force Base.  Its cargo compartment would be nearly void except for two flag-covered boxes strapped down in the belly of the aircraft.   

Driving through tiny towns, passing farms with fields of flaming red columbine and yellow lady slipper, he reminisced about serving in a similar capacity during Vietnam.  When choppers landed, they unloaded the wounded, then those killed in action.  The KIA would be shipped home to grieving families, who would invariably pose the question, "Are you sure that’s my child?"

He’s constantly haunted by how young they are, and by how many leave behind small children.  That’s why Sgt. Ramirez doesn’t investigate their backgrounds.  During the height of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, 10 to 20 bodies arrived daily.

This event is not a "ceremony" but rather a "dignified transfer" of remains.  No families are present; no small children feeling sad or confused.   Just a small group of soldiers who take immense pride in honoring fallen comrades.

Once the plane arrives, conversation ends with a discipline needing no command.  Rodriquez joins a squad of seven who march out to the tarmac.  A General follows, flanked by a chaplain.

The plane's cargo door opens slowly revealing a cavernous space.  The Honor Guard rises on a mobile platform that’s raised to the cargo bay.

The remains have been packed on ice into flag-draped, metal transfer cases that can easily exceed 500 pounds.  Later, the remains will be washed and if necessary, bones are wired together and damaged tissue is reconstructed with flesh-toned wax.  Once prepared and dressed in military uniforms perfectly tailored, starched and pressed, they’ll be placed in a casket.

With marked precision, soldiers place themselves on both sides of the case.  The squad lifts, the soldiers buckling slightly under the weight.  They move slowly back onto the elevated platform and deposit the casket with compelling tenderness.  The process continues until the last casket is removed from the plane.

The caskets are lowered together to the ground, where soldiers salute in slow motion before briskly carrying each box to a white van.  Only muted commands break the solemnity.  A white-gloved soldier respectfully closes the van’s back doors to a half-speed salute. 

Just before the van departs, someone speaks in a hushed tone.  They extend a final, sharp salute.

Our jobs take many different paths.  Sgt. Ramirez prays that he made a difference today, a positive contribution.   He considers it a privilege to escort these War Heroes into the loving hands of their families.  He knows he did his very best to memorialize their soldier.

Lord God, it is our deep and sacred honor to welcome them home once again.  Bless all our soldiers, living and deceased.  May their bravery strengthen our resolve in the difficult work of laying the foundation for peace in our time.  Amen

Ralston's Reunion

“We love because He first loved us." ~ 1 John 4:19

Navy Corpsman Boyd Eppley and his dog Ralston were nearly inseparable.  That was until Boyd was deployed aboard a submarine repair vehicle in the South Pacific for 9 months.  Weeks after his departure, his wife Jennifer, took their aging Lab-Beagle mix for a routine checkup.  The exam revealed a shocking diagnosis: the pooch had oral cancer.  Ralston had only 2 to 3 months to live.

That meant the pup would pass away without her owner by her side; Boyd would never see Ralston again.

Jennifer was determined to prolong their beloved pet’s life long enough for her to see her master one last time.  The tumor in Ralston's mouth made eating and drinking difficult. So she hand-fed the dying pooch special meals to maintain her weight and made sure she took her medication.   

Jennifer wasn’t sure she’d make it.  But the resilient mutt hung on, toughing it out for several more months.

Jennifer became more hopeful.  A week before Boyd was supposed to return home, she received news that his deployment was being extended for three more months.  She feared that Ralston, now growing weaker by the day, wouldn’t make it.

The sweet pooch continued anticipating Boyd’s arrival. When Ralston heard any sort of noise, she’d bolt toward the door, only to let out heartbreaking whines after realizing it wasn’t her owner.  Against all odds, the ginger-colored pooch pulled through, as if knowing somehow that she needed to stay alive for Boyd’s reunion.

A few days before Christmas, Eppley finally came home after twelve long months away.  Ralston ambled straight for him; her tail waggling furiously.  The devoted pet couldn’t contain her excitement as she licked and pawed at her ‘main man’.   Boyd, overwhelmed and speechless by his loyal friend’s reaction, gently carried Ralston to their favorite chair for a much needed belly-rub.

He and his wife were sure that they’d be putting Ralston down within days of the reunion, but then something unexpected happened.   Boyd's return was some sort of magic pill for her; she began eating and drinking again, without struggle!

But the heartwarming reunion was fleeting.  After New Year’s, Ralston’s health began failing again.  She lived to celebrate her 12th birthday in January, but when good days became good hours, they knew it was time.  Just before Ralston’s suffering came to a peaceful end, she licked the tears off Boyd’s face thus sealing a legacy of love and devotion . . . kinda like God’s love for us.

Love - it’s such an overused word.  We "love" apple pie and going to the beach.  But His love has a much richer meaning; a kind of love that transcends our understanding – uncondemning; unconditional; uncommon.

My God, Your love is never contingent upon whether or not we go to church, tithe, witness, pray enough, or even sin; Your affection is always the same.  We didn’t do anything to deserve it, and we can't do anything to keep You from loving us.  Wow!

Aborted

“Human life is sacred to God." ~ Proverbs 6:17

Dr. Rachel Cooper, Head of Pediatrics at Boston Children’s Hospital, stepped to the lectern to address her colleagues about prenatal disability screenings used for abortions.  At 47, her remarks would be based on very personal experiences a decade earlier.

“It’s the news every expectant mother dreads: their baby faces a life of disability,” she began.  “A routine scan had changed everything. The doctor reread the DNA blood test before facing me.  I cringed as he stated somberly: “I’m sorry, but your baby has Downs Syndrome.”

“Later, head in hands at our kitchen table, I wept at the horrible dilemma my husband and I suddenly faced: a choice no parent should ever have to make.  As an adult, I felt a woman should have the right to terminate a pregnancy - but that was an opinion framed by rational thought, not personal experience.

I tried to shake away images of a little boy, lonely and friendless, robbed of the most basic human functions.  I pictured him clumsy and frustrated, as his sisters turned cartwheels in the living room.  The prospect of watching him made me sick.  I hugged my stomach, as if I could in some way shield him from the misery that lay ahead.

A close friend has a son, Robert, with cerebral palsy.  Robert, now 7, spent months in the neo-natal intensive care following his birth, and has undergone several orthopedic and heart surgeries.  He’s still not potty-trained and needs help with many normal body functions like eating dressing, and bathing.  My friend explained that our child’s handicap could prove unbearable for all concerned, especially our son.

Her advice resonated with me in a powerful, almost absolving way.  I couldn’t bring this child into the world, knowing the suffering he would endure.  Her words somehow gave me permission to consider termination.”

She continued her speech for another 17 minutes before ending to a stirring ovation.  As the crowd headed for the exits, a small boy with Down’s Syndrome approached Dr. Cooper.  “I just want you to know Mommy, that I really love people like you who love people like me."

She’d aborted her abortion plans.

The pressure to abort handicapped babies is built on the mere "likelihood" that a child has some kind of disability.  Often, the tests prove wrong, and more often still, these children, if allowed to live, end up with lives of joy and happiness that far exceeds those of their "more healthy" peers.  

Suffering and hardship are not bad things. They are means to a greater end, a crucial part of the human journey.  It is not for us to decide who has a life worth living and who doesn't; I certainly don’t want someone else making that decision for me!

We were created in Your image Lord. But yet, in today’s world, we seem to think that we can selectively place our own values on life and in turn, eliminate births in certain circumstances.  Please forgive us!  Amen

Mom's Sparkle

"As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you." ~ Isaiah 66:13

They burn slowly rather than exploding like firecrackers.  Of course I’m talking about sparklers and my Mom loved them!  The way they crackled and danced like tiny falling stars.

She always brought plenty to our family cottage on the lake.  We'd sit near the water's edge and wave our sparklers, writing our names and drawing intricate designs in the air.  Their magic never dimmed even as Mom’s health did. 

We shared a glass of Chianti one summer night on the balcony of her assisted living apartment.  I’d been mostly quiet, still hurting from a painful divorce.  Mom knew – she always did.

She re-entered her residence, brought out a box of sparklers and lit one.  It burst into dazzling white light and sizzled all the way to the bottom of the stick!   The mini-starbursts chased years from her face.  “No problem is too big for God's light,” she said.

Reassurance washed over me like a warm blanket.  Her mere presence acted like a transfusion of her unwavering faith.  I knew everything would be alright!

Years later, Mom passed away peacefully.   I was left the task of cleaning out her apartment - emptying cabinets and closets, donating furniture to a thrift store, and boxing clothes and linens for the church rummage sale.  I scrubbed every inch of that apartment; Mom would've wanted it that way.

Alone now, there were only memories: faded paint on the walls where pictures had hung, slight indents in the carpet where furniture had been.  It was almost as if Mom had never lived there at all, and in that instant all the sadness I'd kept in check in the days following Mom's funeral welled up within me.  She was gone . . . forever.

I began checking kitchen cabinets one last time.  And there it was!  On the bottom shelf of a cabinet that I’d already emptied, laid a thin silvery thing—one lone sparkler.

I immediately too it out onto the balcony, struck a match and lit it.  As sparks popped and sputtered, I was moved by their brilliance; inspired mostly by my mother’s faith.  A spark of heaven here on earth, like Mom's last sparkler.

Some mothers teach their children to knit, bake or garden.  My mom taught me to love, to pray and to have faith.  To me those are the most important life lessons, the rest can be learned from a book.

Just as a skillful mother is able to pacify and quiet the woes of her child, so is God with us.  He will soothe you . . . calm your troubles . . . enable you to unburden your pain to the One whose wings we shelter under.

Lord, like the brilliance of a sparkler in the night’s blackness, fill us with Your holy light.  Let the radiance of Your coming expel the darkness of sin.  May our lives mirror our love for You whose love comforts us and whose wisdom guides us.  Amen

Blood, Sweat and Fears

“There is no greater love than to give your life for your friends." ~ John 15:13

Molly walked down a flight of stairs to the women’s bathroom.  There in front of a mirror, she splashed cool water on her face.  Nausea had painted a strange pallor on her face.   She patted herself dry with a paper towel before stepping back into the hallway and heading back up the steps to the Blood Donor Center.

Pale and sweating, she found an empty seat and read the donor manual for the umpteenth time.   

Observing blood seep from a wound, flow into a syringe or spatter on the ground always caused her heart rate and blood pressure to skyrocket.  She fought dizziness and tried to calm herself by focusing on the serenity of a clear, blue mountain lake.

A sympathetic nurse called her number and Molly proceeded to the exam room to begin the endless list of personal questions she’d soon be confronted with.  Thankfully, she had nothing to hide.

“Just to remind you,” Molly said.  “I’m deathly afraid of needles!”

“Dear, you’re not the first,” the nurse named Colleen replied.  “We’ll take it slow; as long as it takes.”  She’d drawn Molly’s blood many times before and knew that the next question would bring some peacefulness.  “Tell me again honey, why you keep subjecting yourself to this?”

Molly began.  “Thirteen years ago my twin brother Monte had a close encounter with an oak tree along a winding Tennessee back road.  Let’s just say – the tree won!  He managed to squeeze through an opening between the side window and door frame despite multiple injuries.  Once free of his mangled truck, he collapsed in shock.”

She continued.  “With every beat of his heart, blood gushed from Monte’s body.  He’d lost more than a pint of blood before an off-duty pediatrician discovered him along the side of the road.  He lost another two pints in the ambulance.  By the time Mom and I arrived at the hospital, surgeons were standing in puddles of my brother’s blood.   Monte was cold and ashen.  The surgery team looked grim.

As Molly spoke, a certain calmness seemed to wash over her.  Confidence growing, she finished her tale: “Because the team refused to give up, and selfless people had donated blood, my brother lives today!  He’s a miracle – few people lose that much blood and live to brag about it.  They saved his life.  Now I come every 8 weeks to save others.”

“But I still hate needles,” she laughed.

When we’re truly selfless and compassionate, we also become fearless.  Our desire to help replaces our anxieties and indecision - in some extremes, even fear of death or painful injury.  There is power in self-sacrifice – the power of the Holy Spirit.

“Loving God, grant that I may not try to be comforted, but to comfort, not try to be understood but to understand, not try to be loved but to love.  Because it’s in  giving we receive.”  Amen

Wakeup Call

“You Lord, are the light that keeps me safe; I have no fears." ~ Psalm 271

Jackie was tired.  Exhaustion seems to be the burden of motherhood.

She once believed that after her children were no longer nursing at night that she’d be able to sleep.  But having four kids just takes you from one phase to another.  Fatigue changes but never quite goes away.  It didn’t help that her husband traveled frequently for his work. 

A toddler with a bad dream, a frightening thunderstorm, a neighbor’s barking dog.  Ear, tooth, tummy aches; the list never ends.

With an exhausted yawn, Jackie heaved herself onto the couch, searching for some solitude.   She lit a scented candle hoping to center herself.

Fire is almost irresistible; it’s difficult to keep from getting drawn into its hypnotic spell.   She softened her gaze and took a few long, deep breaths.  Rapt by the dance of the flame, Jackie quickly felt a week’s worth of stress leaving her body. 

She soaked in the delicate aroma of the beeswax’s honey scent.  It provided an almost mystic ambiance: soothing, clarifying, profoundly relaxing.  These rare moments were like heaven on earth she reminded herself.

She didn’t plan on falling asleep.  She just did! 

Blissful serenity was abruptly interrupted by an urgent voice.  “Jackie, wake up!  Wake up honey,” her father screamed.

She woke disoriented, confused.  Jackie barely remembered falling asleep.  Through the black, choking smoke, she could see a glowing firestorm.   The candle had burnt down and tipped forward, landing in a pile of newspapers and unfolded laundry.

“Get the kids and get out!” her Dad yelled.  “The house is on fire!”

Gathering her wits about her, and her four small children, they rushed out of the house just as the night’s silence was broken by the shrill echo of emergency vehicles.  They all ran across the road to the safety of their neighbor’s front porch.  Together they watched as their home burned.

Tears stung Jackie’s bloodshot eyes.  Not in desperation for the loss of property, or in gratitude for the safety of her family.  She sobbed for another reason altogether.  Why? 

Because her father had died 27 years ago when Jackie was only 9.  Daddy’s don’t just love their little girls every now and then.  It’s a love without end.

Dads, it doesn’t matter if you’re helpless to know what to do with a baby doll, if you feel totally out of place at your daughter’s tea-party table or if you can’t figure out your teen’s latest mood swing – your daughter needs you, probably more than you or she will ever know.  So take a deep breath, sip your imaginary tea . . . and don’t forget to push her chair in for her.

Holy Father, protect us until the evening comes, and the busy world is hushed, and the fever of life is over, and our work is done.  Then, in Your mercy, grant us a safe lodging and a holy rest, and peace at last.  Amen.

For Them

“Don’t fear bad news.  Be confident due to your trust in the Lord.” ~ Psalm 112:7

Most of us have spent some time thinking about our own deaths.  We do it with a sense of dreadful curiosity, and then quickly push it aside with “Well, we’ve all got to go sometime.”

Unlike most people, I probably know the how, and maybe even the where and when of that event.  It’s intense reality that turns the world upside down for us, our families, friends and caregivers.

I have cancer that is incurable, aggressive, and offers little hope for survival.  Chemotherapy is a long shot.  I will leave a spouse, children, siblings and a life that I love and cherish.  I can’t imagine life without them.

There’s no bucket list.  There are no plans to sky or scuba dive, visit the Great Wall, or cruise the western Carribean.  We look to the small things we’ve known for decades that have become precious to us now: gazing at the stars, movie nights at home, decorating sugar cookies, daily quiet time with God.

From nausea and hair loss, to so-called "chemo-brain" and "metal mouth," the side effects of chemotherapy are unpleasant.  Muscles and bones constantly talk back at me.  Today self-pity matches the painful of chemo drugs assaulting my body.

Salty tears remind me of the ocean, so turquois, calm and vast.   In my mind’s eye, I see my husband and three children splashing in the warm water.   I’m beginning to feel the distance between us, it feels like a lifetime.   Sobbing now, I feel like an outsider, wondering how it will be without me.   

I just want to see my son play baseball, watch him wave at me standing on 2^nd base.  I just want to take my daughter shopping for makeup, applying powder to her porcelain skin.  I just want to read with my youngest, snuggled in bed together turning pages of a book.  I just want to grow old with my husband, continue to share our lives as we have for twenty-two years.   The darkness of depression crashes in on me now like a hammer.

I search for joy, but sometimes fear and sadness are overwhelming. 

My misery is suddenly interrupted by a little boy with a bald head, no older than 5.  He snuck up behind me, handed me an orange popsicle, gave my leg a big hug and said, “My mom says we have to keep smiling.”

I smile graciously and mouth “I will.”

My mood brightens.  I gather strength.  I re-commit.

I’ll do what I can every day to find that joy, and share it.  If I can’t find it I’ll make it.  That’s my pledge – to him, for them!

The bad days will come someday.  But that day is not today.  I am blessed.

Healing Lord, bless all those who face cancer’s uncertainty – those awaiting test results, undergoing treatment, and living with the fear of reoccurrence.  Please bring them comfort and strength, knowing that You hold them in Your precious grasp.  Amen

On Earth as it is in Heaven

"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." ~ Matthew 5:8

"Have you ever seen God?" the small boy asked his sister.  Preoccupied with more important things, she replied briskly: "Of course not, silly.  God’s in heaven - nobody can see Him."

Time passed; his question lingered.  “Mom,” he probed.  “Has anybody ever seen God?”  "No, not really," she said gently. "God’s a spirit.  He lives in our hearts, but we can’t really see Him."

Partly satisfied, the youngster’s curiosity remained.

One day his grandpa invited the lad on a fishing trip.  They were having a great time together; it’d been an almost-perfect day.  As the sunset sipped what was left of a hot day to quench its thirst before nightfall, his angelic blue eyes looked at his grandfather with an intensity not to be ignored. "Grandpa,” he began.  “I wonder if you can answer a question that’s been bothering me for a long time.” 

“I’ll try,” suggested the old man upon whose weathered brow the history of 72 summers had been etched.  “Can anybody ever see God?" asked the young boy, content that his would be the final word.

The old man stopped fishing and turned his full attention to the exquisite beauty unfolding before him.  The sun, like a magnificent orange fireball was partially cloaked by hovering clouds.  Random hues of pinks, reds and even hints of purples and blues splashed across the horizon.  The sun, so large that he felt he could almost touch it, took its final bow and seemed to whisper "Farewell" to the world as it sank behind the epic landscape; almost as if it never wanted to leave.

Glimmers of light reflected off the still water.  The boy continued to watch his grandfather’s face as it reflected the deep peace and contentment of an ever-changing sunset.  Soon the sun disappeared, leaving behind a sea of dark, lonely clouds in a twilight sky.  The heavens began to litter the stars about; it was now their turn to shine.

Finally he spoke from a heart still fresh as the morning dew and with adoration for the Giver of every good on this blessed earth.  "Son," he said modestly.  "My God is everywhere.  It's getting so I can't see anything else!"

Friends, when we pray, “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven” we’re asking God to bring about His heavenly purpose on earth.  We’re making ourselves available and praying that He use us to do His will.

But just maybe, it’s also a recognition that God provides a hint of heaven here on earth, with beautiful sunsets, amazing wildlife and the evocative eyes of loving children.

Father, thank you “For the beauty of the earth, for the glory of the skies, for the love that from our birth, over and around us lies.  For the wonder of each hour, of the day and of the night, hill and valley tree and flower, sun and moon and stars of light.”   ~ FS Pierpont

It Takes a Thief

“You were saved by faith in God, who treats us better than we deserve." ~ Ephesians 2: 8

I really don’t belong here.  But let’s come back to that later.

I’d been mugging, cheating and stealing all my life.  Even as a kid, I'd run through the market, snatching fruit from the vendors.  While others studied in school, I was perfecting my skills at armed robbery.  I could steal from anyone, anytime, anyplace.

Waving an imposing weapon usually did the trick.  Threaten people with a beating and they'd give up without much of a fight.  I'll admit to cracking a few skulls in my day, but I don't think I actually killed anyone.  Then again, I never stayed around long enough to find out.

Life in my neighborhood was rough.  I was abused as a child; neglected as a child, despised for being a child.  If I hadn’t stolen, I wouldn’t have had anything.  I just lived to survive.

I didn’t know God then, but God knew me.  He saw everything I did and patiently waited for me to change, but that wasn’t going to happen.  Greed blinded me.  Eventually you “reap what you sow” and the day finally came when God withdrew His mercy from me.  

Arrested and convicted, and I was sentenced to die.  It’s a day I’ll never forget . . . the day Christ saved me.  Yep, I’m one of the thieves that was crucified with Jesus nearly 2000 years ago.  

From my own cross, I knew the pain He was going through.  But Jesus didn’t fight them; He didn’t resist.  I thought about my wasted life.  The sign above Jesus' head said that He was a King.  “Was He really who He said He was?” I wondered.  “How could He show so much love to such terrible sinners?  He must be the Savior!  

I had nothing to offer.  I couldn’t’ promise to walk the path of righteousness - my feet were nailed to the cross.  I couldn’t start doing good deeds because my hands were also nailed to the cross.  I couldn’t promise to live a cleaner life.  My life was just about over.

So I cried out, “Jesus, when you enter Your Kingdom, will you remember me?"

He opened his piercing, loving eyes.  Though parched lips, I still remember His labored words: "Truly, I say to you . . ." His voice cracked, then He added calmly. "Truly, this very day you will be with Me in Paradise."

I really don't belong here.  Paradise is the last place I expected to end up after all I've done.  My greatest moment in life was my last: the moment I put my faith in Christ.  That day on Calvary, the glory of the cross was demonstrated in my salvation.  What an amazing and clear-cut picture of grace!  Total forgiveness; pretty amazing!

Lord, we’ve all sinned and fall short of Your glory.  Thank You for giving us hope for eternal life, not because we deserve it, but because of Your unfathomable grace.  Amen

Happy - or Joyful?

“God uses His glorious riches to provide everything you need." ~ Philippians 4:19

Justin woke to the wailing sounds of wild dogs and roosters.  By this the third day of his mission trip, his whole body ached.  It seemed that no amount of stretching or moving would ease the pain from days of moving dirt and mixing concrete.  Still there was much work to be done.

Struggling to ease tired, swollen feet into cracked leather boots, he noted that this pair would soon need to be replaced.  If only he could exchange his aching back along with them.

After enjoying a glorious Honduran sunrise, a mug of Copan coffee, and his morning talk with God, Justin started to feel better.  His back pain had faded and his smile had returned.  Only then did he begin to reflect on his good fortune for living in the USA!

While most Americans are fortunate enough to have shoes to coordinate with almost every outfit, footwear for the children of the small village of Guatchilpilin are a bare necessity that’s seldom granted.  They walk miles on mud, dirt and rocks to go to school, get water or seek medical attention, putting themselves at risk for preventable diseases and infections.

In a country poor in sanitation, walking can actually be harmful to one’s health.  The ground is covered with feces; soiled with diseases, sharp rocks and other bits of trash.  They walk miles to find clean water, medical help, and food. 

But they are polite . . . and content . . . and joyful. 

Which made him think - it’s easy to see ourselves as privileged rather than as servants of God.  Happiness is based on material things or events – like a new pair of boots.  It’s a fleeting emotion that depends on things outside ourselves.

But these shoeless children radiate something deeper, joy that can only be present during the most challenging times; peace in the middle of a raging storm.  Thiers’ is an attitude of the heart.  They serve each other with no possible personal gain, embracing God's grace and feeling His love.

“So who’s luckier – them . . . or me?” he wondered.

When asked what we want from life, most of us answer "I just want to be happy."  There’s a common belief that happiness is something that can be achieved and held onto.  We think, "If I can just find the right job, or get married, or have children, or retire."  Those goals remain elusive.

While joy is related to happiness, it’s a much deeper experience.  Enduring joy comes as we persevere through trials, with God’s help, and our faith matures and is fortified.  True joy is eternal because it is based on our relationship with Christ, which is itself an everlasting source of joy.

Merciful Lord, instead of growing older every day, help me live as a joyful soul that remains forever young.  Remind me that true discipleship means putting purpose over position, service over safety, and Christ over convenience.   Amen