Saying Goodbye

When someone you know passes away it leaves a hole in you.  When it's someone you love it leaves a much larger hole - often one that cannot ever be filled back in.  These holes are painful but serve to help us grow as individuals and human beings.  When you lose someone to death and it hurts it means you cared for that person.

My father was a kind and wonderful man even in his years of illness.  Imagine being on a vacation with your wife and in-laws, nearly 700 miles from home, and suffering a debilitating heart attack and stroke.  Imagine waking up in ICU after having a quadruple bypass and realizing you can't use your right arm or leg the way you could just a few hours before.   Then you realize you can't speak very well - the words just won't come out of your mouth the way they are in your head.

Imagine being in one hospital after another, far away from home, and then being flown on a special flight back to your home town where you're place in yet another hospital.  One day you were on vacation having a great time and the next you're basically an invalid. 

Imagine fighting to regain your speech and movement only to have small strokes (TIA's) over and over.  Each time you make progress it is taken from you in a matter of weeks or months due to the unstable circulation activity in your brain.  Imagine getting weaker and weaker over the years, not all at once but it finally gets to a point where each time you lose something else it doesn't come back.

My step-mom, God bless her, did everything she could do to keep Dad active and working to regain his strength and mobility.  She tried once, out of sheer love if not sound judgment, to let him drive a car.  It was a miserable failure since his right leg was paralyzed but she said she had to try.  Fortunately nothing bad happened.

As I have said in my previous blog about my dad, he never lost his sense of humor or his good nature throughout the ordeal, except toward the end when his brain got to a point where he just wasn't himself anymore.  About 10 days before he died this gentle, peaceful and happy man started becoming violent with the staff at the nursing home and sometimes destroyed things in the room he shared with my step-mom.  I don't say this to denigrate him or embarrass anyone but rather so people understand what can happen to the best of us as we get older and our body and mind wear out.  My sister said it best a few years ago (and I may have said this in the other blog but it's still pertinent),  "I just don't understand why God is taking him a little piece at a time."  None of us understood that but I believe there was a reason Dad stuck around as long as he did - even if it was just to show the rest of us how to deal gracefully with adversity.

A few days before he left us he began sleeping almost all the time.  He rarely woke up and even more rarely ate anything.  We knew the time had come but knowing Dad as we did, we also knew it could be days and/or weeks before he gave in.  He had been so close to death so many times and came back that there was just no way to know.  Interestingly,  this time he surprised us all.  I got a message from my sister on Thursday morning that the doctors were starting Dad on morphine.  Morphine not only keeps patients comfortable but it also helps unconscious patients breathe a little easier.  It was then that I knew it wouldn't be long.  Just a few hours later, not a day or two as we expected, my sister called again to say he was gone.

To  say I was saddened by the news is an understatement.  No matter how prepared you are, no matter how  much you know in your heart the person is better off when they finally depart this world, it still hurts.  This was my father, the man who gave me life and the man who instilled in me the morals and values that I carry today.  He was a good man in every sense of the word. 

The funeral was held 4 days later, on Monday morning.  All of Dad's grandchildren (blood anyway) came in.  My niece came from Hawaii and my nephew from Seattle. (Jonathon was a huge surprise.  His parents were visiting there and he came with them, unbeknownst to most of us.)  When we walked in it was almost as if Dad wasn't there.  Of course, spiritually he wasn't but what I meant was the makeup artist for the funeral home didn't do a great job.  The makeup they used was definitely the wrong color, his mouth was in a slight smirk which didn't look like him at all, and his head seemed to be at an odd angle.  I know they try to do the best they can and I'm not faulting them.  It just didn't look like Dad.  When my mother died in 93 they got everything right except her lipstick.  I got there early and when my dad said "It doesn't look like her" I removed the lipstick myself and re-applied it the way Mom wore it.  It may sound  gross but Dad was happier with her appearance after that.  I couldn't do that for him.

My step-mom's pastor officiated the service and my dad's best friend delivered the eulogy.  Phil and Dad had been pastors together.  He had known Dad for years and had introduced Dad to my step-mom after my mother died.  They had gone from friends to brothers and Phil had soon became family to all of us. went from family friend to all of us to family.  He told a couple of stories that related to all of us and made us laugh.  It was enjoyable to listen to him talk about his good friend and brother.

My nephew, Philip, sang two songs during the service, one he wrote himself.  He loved his grampa and it was very moving - something I couldn't have done.  His voice was strong and his tribute to Dad was pretty awesome.

Several old friends from my childhood came to the funeral home.  One couple, whom I hadn't seen in over 30 years, stayed for the funeral and the luncheon afterward.  I didn't have nearly enough time to talk to them in depth but it was great to see them.  Another woman, again one I hadn't seen in 30 years, came by only to say hello and pay her respects.   She brought four pies with her for the family get together.  They were excellent when enjoyed by everyone later that evening.

After the funeral the church put out a small luncheon that was just right.  About 100 people stayed at the luncheon before we (the family) had to leave to go to the gravesite about 2 hours away.  Deb,  a special friend of the family, was asked at the last minute to perform the graveside service since Phil couldn't make the trip.  She is a hospice minister and has plenty of experience.  Arden and I were riding with her and my sister and we got there early so Deb could prepare.  Soon after we arrived, some other old and dear family friends arrived.  We had all known them since I was a young boy.  The youngest daughter and I have been great friends since childhood.  It was wonderful to see Julie and her new husband, Ron, and Debbie and her husband Joe.  I hadn't seen Joe in years.

Eventually all the family members arrived at the cemetery and the service was ready to commence.  Dad was being buried next to my mother.  I hadn't seen my mom's grave in many years but the tent and chairs were over it so I still didn't get to see it.  Someone suggested that I wait until after the service and ask the funeral director to move everything for me but I wasn't trying to do all that.  I'll visit another day.

Another nephew, Anthony, announced that he had written a song for his grampa and his girlfriend was going to sing they lyrics they had written together.  Who knew we had such talent in the family?  Anthony is an accomplished guitarist and Miranda's voice was incredible.  Once again it was very moving.

Deb did an excellent job.  It was the first time I'd heard her speak and I was very impressed and thankful.  And since she had known Dad well it was more personal.  Dad developed a hobby working with rocks - cutting and polishing them and turning them into  beautiful jewelry and display items.  I don't remember when he started it,  although I think it may have been after he retired.  (I was already gone from home when he started.)   Deb mentioned Dad's rock hobby and the fact that his faith in the Lord, his Rock, bled over into his personal achievements.  (There had been a large bowl of rocks that he had polished on a table at the funeral for anyone who wished to take one.)  I was very touched by her words.

After the graveside service we all went on our way.  My step-mom headed back up North with her family, my friends headed to their homes and my siblings and I  headed to my sister's house near Columbus.  We were all spending the night there so we could talk and visit.  It's pretty  rare that we all get together in the same place at the same time.

There was plenty of food and we all sat around for hours just talking and enjoying each other's company.  We were all tired and emotionally exhausted.  Even though Dad's death in many ways had been a blessing it was still an emotional drain.  I started falling asleep in the chair on the patio.

The next morning most of us were leaving.  (Arden and I were staying until Wednesday morning.)  My sister and brother-in-law were headed back to Virginia in the early afternoon and my other sister was leaving for NE Ohio later in the evening.  Michael (my b-i-l) and I met my nephew, Aaron, at a local disc golf course to play a round of my favorite pastime.  I had never played against Michael but my nephew had taught me the game. We spent a couple of hours just enjoying being outside and having fun. 

When we returned to the house I sat out on the patio.  My sister came out carrying the folded flag that had been on my dad's casket at the funeral.  The funeral home had put it there since he was a veteran.  We had talked about being sure to get it and keep it but I thought my step-mom would have it.  My sister walked over to me and handed it to me.  "You are the only one of us who ever served in the military.  We thought you should have this."  I was deeply touched.  She went on.  "You know Dad has a display box on the wall in the nursing home with his military medals and insignia.  Next time I go over there I'm going to get it for you.  You should have that too."

Talk about your sudden jolts to the heart.  I was not expecting this at all.  My siblings had given me things now and then in the past that had to do with Dad's military service since I had served too.  But handing me this flag that had been on his casket touched my heart deeply.

Wednesday morning Arden and I said our goodbyes and headed home.  We were tired emotionally but we always enjoy traveling together.  We like driving.  Driving is "us" time.  We look at the sights, talk about anything and everything and stop when we want for food, coffee, or just to stop.  Besides the fact that we saved well over $1000 in last minute air fare.  And we got to unwind on the way. 

We got back home Friday evening, got our dogs from their vacation homes and settled in.  The dogs were happy to be home and barely left our sides for the rest of the evening.  They weren't thrilled with the baths they received, however.

The funeral experience was sad but good.  Thank you to all who sent prayers, good wishes, thoughts and comments.  A special thank you to Bob and Paulette, Marsha and Steve, Barb, Julie and Ron, and Debbie and Joe, for coming out to see us and honor Dad.  It was wonderful to see all of you.  I wish it could have been under different circumstances.  If I've forgotten anyone I apologize.  It's sometimes dangerous to name names.

To those of you who planned to come but couldn't make it, know that I appreciate your thoughts and we'll see each other another time.

To my siblings - it's always good to  spend time with  you.  This summer we've seen each other more than usual but that's not a bad thing.  I love you all.  Now it's time we make plans together that don't revolve around Dad and Akron, although visits to Esther will be important.  We are always open to suggestion but Gail says no camping....

Pop - I miss you.  Thank you for all your years of wisdom and love.  I learned a lot from you - more so after you fell ill, I believe.  You were an inspiration to so many people.  And you still are. 

I know you already have given hugs to Mom and Christopher but do me a favor, please?  Do it again for me.  I love you.

Racism And The Presidential Campaigns

There have been several people in the news lately talking about people who are going to vote for Mitt Romney  being racists. 

Virginia State Senator Louise Lucas, during a radio interview when asked about Obama’s changing fortunes in the state claims racism is behind the president’s changing fortunes in Virginia stating:

“Mitt Romney - he’s speaking to a segment of the population who does not like to see people other than a white man in the White House or any other elected position.   Let’s be real clear about it.  We know what’s going on here, and some people may be afraid to say it, but I’m not.  I’m not afraid to say it.”

“I absolutely believe it is all about race and for the first time in my life I’ve been able to convince my children finally that racism is alive and well all across this nation, and especially in Virginia.”

NPR's Cokie Roberts on Monday said "You remember well the Reagan Democrats, those ethnic white voters who had been Democrats for many years, turned out for Ronald Reagan and have been fairly predictable Republicans since then. Now, it's a smaller percentage of the population, of the voting population than it used to be, but white voters are still much more Republican than any other group in the electorate."

"They went for McCain in 2008 by 55 percent, and I think that, you know, getting those ethnic voters excited is really what Romney has in mind here. It's more for the folks at home, the descendants of the people that he will be speaking to in Poland."

These are two examples of what has made the news recently but they're not the only ones.  Supporters of President Obama have been playing the race card continuously since his election in 2008.  Anyone who disagrees with him is automatically deemed a racist by many on the left.  It matters not what reasons are given for the disagreement - only that you disagree.  Black people who disagree with the President are labeled Uncle Toms and vilified as traitors to their race.

All this leads up to my point which is - why does it seem only people on the right can be racists?  I won't even attempt to deny there are racists in this country and that race will be a factor for some people in the upcoming election.  There will certainly be many people who vote for Romney or President Obama based solely on skin color.  But isn't it just as racist to vote for a black man because he's black as it is to vote for a white man because he's white?  Or is it different somehow?

I haven't heard Senator Lucas or Cokie Roberts cry racism over President Obama's "African Americans For Obama" campaign.  Yet how is this not racist?  If the Romney campaign launched "White Americans For Romney" it would be headline news for weeks and Romney would be crucified by the media.  So why is it different?

In a recent Rassmussen poll, 56% of white voters said they will vote for Romney vs. 35% for Obama.  Racist?  Maybe.  In that same poll 91% of black voters said they will vote for President Obama.  So which is more indicative of racism?

There are some who will say "Well, black people were hated and mistreated for years so they have a right..."   Sorry, I don't buy that.  Certainly ethnic minorities were mistreated and abused in the past but look how far we've come.  There is an African-American man in the White House as President of the United States instead of only serving the President.  That's progress. 

There is a huge demand nationwide to end racism and treat everyone equally.  It's a noble and necessary cause.  But racism can't end if it's only on one side.  I read something yesterday that's absolutely true.  "There is no such thing as 'reverse racism'.  There's only racism."  If you hate or dislike someone for the color of their skin it's racist, whether you're white, black, red, yellow or purple.  And those who would decry racism need to decry it on all sides, not just one.

Hating someone for their skin color is one of the most stupid things human beings do.  Martin Luther King, Jr., said it best.  "I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."  If we must judge people (as is simply human nature), why use skin color?  Does your favorite vehicle become unfavorable if it's the wrong color?  I suppose some will answer that question affirmatively but that simply demonstrates their shallowness.  People are people and a product of their raising and somewhat of their environment.  There are enough reasons to dislike or distrust someone based on their actions and attitudes.

I say let's all stop playing the race card in the upcoming election.  There are plenty of things for us to disagree about without race or skin color being one of them.  The majority of Americans want to elect the person who is best for the country and race has nothing to do with it.  So to those who continue to stir the racism pot - please stop.  The country is in bad enough shape as it is.  

The Chick-fil A Controversy; One Man's Opinion...

I was going to leave this topic alone because I don't want to stir the controversy even more, but I find myself compelled to voice an opinion.  I keep reading various other opinions, mostly ugly and hateful, and it leaves me with one burning question - why do those who demand tolerance and understanding refuse to display that same tolerance and understanding?

I'm talking, of course, about the controversy created when Chick-fil A President, Dan Cathy, responded to a reporter's question about the issue of gay marriage.  Mr. Cathy dared to give his honest opinion - that he supported traditional marriage due to his Christian beliefs.  Whether you agree with him or not, does not Mr. Cathy have the right to his own opinion and beliefs?  And does he not have right to incorporate those beliefs into his business practices if he so chooses?

Chick-fil A has operated their business with Christian morals and values since its conception.  They do not open on Sundays,  instead remaining closed in observance of the Christian day of worship.  Personally, I find this refreshing since the company obviously worries less about profits than they do about worshiping the God of their beliefs.  I don't see this as a bad thing.

To my knowledge, Chick-fil A does not discriminate against homosexuals, either in service or in hiring.  During a lecture once in Alabama, a spokesperson for Chick-fil A said "If a man's got an earring in his ear and he applies to work at one of my restaurants, we won't even talk to him."  Tracy Baim, an LGBT blogger for the Huffington Post, finds this to be bigoted and hateful.  Interestingly, Publix Supermarkets, one of the largest and most successful employee-owned grocery chains in the US, has the same policy.  Men are forbidden from wearing earrings at work.  They also have restrictions on hair and tattoos.  They haven't made a similar statement as Chick-fil A but is it not the same basic thing?  Or is it just assumed that Chick-fil A thinks any man who wears an earring is gay and therefore not employee material?  I don't feel that way but I'm sure some do.

Now comes the real problem in all of this - at least as I see it.  The lesbian/gay community demands and expects people to understand and accept their lifestyle.  Those who support the gay and lesbian community demand and expect people to understand and accept it as well.  They (collectively) want full access to free speech to promote their cause and their beliefs without interference.  Yet those people who demand such understanding and freedom of speech and expression want to stifle those same rights of the people who disagree with them.  Why is it that disagreeing (not condemning) with a lifestyle on personal and/or religious grounds is seen as hate speech and bigotry?  (Certainly there are those who are the exception to the rule.  The Westboro Baptist Church, a truly vile group of people, is a good example.)

I have known gays and lesbians both who have stated matter-of-factly that they think heterosexual relationships are disgusting and that they just don't understand how people can be with the opposite sex.  Is that hate speech and bigotry?  Or is that OK because, after all, they've been discriminated against for years?

 

Christians, as a whole, and others believe the two sexes were created by God for a specific purpose - to live together and procreate the species.   Biologically, sex is the means by which humans procreate that just happens to feel good.  And while there are many variations of what people do for sexual pleasure, without the joining of the male and female in some way, be it physically or in a Petri dish, humans would have expired from the Earth centuries ago.  Why then, is it so wrong for many people to believe that homosexuality isn't "normal" by the laws of nature?  Is that bigotry or simple science?  And no - I'm not interested in debating whether or not some people were born that way because I do believe that's true in some cases.

Before anyone gets angry at me understand that I am not here to judge anyone.  That is not my role in life.  There are several gays, lesbians and even transgenders who are important in my life.  I am simply tired of the hate speech that has been leveled at Chick-fil A in the last week simply because Mr. Cathy had the courage to speak his mind.  If we disallow freedom of speech for someone simply because someone else doesn't like it, where does that stop?  Do we next only allow free speech for those who are "politically correct" but disallow it for those who aren't?  I'm thinking we have some politicians who would answer that question affirmatively.

My other beef with all of this (no pun intended) is against the mayors who want to stop allowing Chick-fil A to open restaurants in their towns because Mr. Cathy had the audacity to express an opinion.  Mr. Cathy did not condemn anyone.  He did not say "No gays or lesbians will be allowed to eat our food."  Nor did he say he would not hire anyone who is gay or  lesbian.  He said he believes in traditional marriage.  Rahm Emmanel, Mayor of Chicago, said "Mr. Cathy's beliefs are not the beliefs of Chicago."  Mr. Mayor - with all due respect, have you asked the people of Chicago?  You might be surprised at what you learn.  And what other businesses operate in Chicago that don't agree with your personal views.  Will you close them down and run them out of the city next? 

The rhetoric in this country is only getting worse as the years pass.  Hatred of those who don't share your opinion is getting more common all the time.  I, for one, would like to see it stop.  Can't people disagree without hating the other person for it?  Think about it - can someone disagree with  your opinion without being labeled a bigot or a hater?  If not - where does the problem lie...?

A Miracle Inside The Aurora Shooting: One Victim's Story

Here is the second story I wanted to share.  It was written by a church pastor about one of the surviving victims of the Aurora tragedy.  This victim received a miracle - that's really the only way to put it.  Read her story and see for yourself.

At Columbine, I have seen this before. But not up close.  As a church pastor in Denver, I have worked as a chaplain with several police and fire departments. I was privileged to counsel parents just hours after the Littleton Columbine shootings. However, in this new tragedy at the Aurora Theater Dark Nightshooting, one of the victims was a 22 year old woman from my church, Petra Anderson (pronounced Pay-tra). Petra went to the movies with two young friends who are biking across America.  You and I have been inundated with news about what happened next. A joyful movie turned into bloody, unbelievable chaos. Petra was hit four times with a shot-gun blast, three shots into her arm and one bullet which entered her brain. This a bit of Petra’s miracle story.

With awesome people from our caring and pastoral team, I spent all day Friday in the ICU with Petra and her family. Her injuries were severe, and her condition was critical. A bullet had entered Petra’s face through her nose, and then traveled up through her brain until stopping at the back of her skull. The doctors prior to surgery were concerned, because so much of the brain had been traversed by the bullet. Many areas of brain function were involved. They were hoping to keep her alive long enough to get her into surgery. The prognosis was uncertain—if she lived, Petra might struggle with speech, movement, and thinking due to considerable brain damage. With Kim, Petra’s mother (who is in the final stages of terminal cancer), we simply cried, hugged, and prayed.

It is pressed into my memory now. Motion and emotion…

Other families come and go into the ICU waiting room. Some sit with us, and we talk. Others are visited by doctors with “Family Advocates” in tow. The families listen, sob, and then are moved like stunned cattle to a more private space to grieve. We pray. Petra is finally taken into surgery, using two different surgical teams. One team of neurosurgeons will open up the back of her skull to remove the bullet and clean up brain damage as best they can. Another ENT-specialty surgical team will then work through Petra’s nose by scope to follow the bullet’s path up into her brain.  Their hope is to remove bone fragments, clean up damaged brain tissue, and reseal her brain to reduce infection.

If you have lived any of your days in a hospital waiting room, you know how long the enduring process is. It has a woeful pattern to it. Sit. Walk. Grab a drink. Sit. Walk. Answer a phone call. Sit. Walk. Hug someone. Sit. Talk to the FBI. Sit. Pick at the food. Sit. Walk. Go down the hall, but not too far because you’re afraid to miss something. Back. Hug. Pray. Sit. Sit. A picture of a five year old waiting for next Christmas from January 1^st comes to my mind. FOREVER. Only this feels worse: a heavy forever, with no promise of presents, Santa, or good news at the end.

Petra Anderson and her world class violin.

After the waiting drags for over five hours, tired doctors and nurses spill back into the room, one or two at a time. I look for “Family Advocates” but can find none. I exhale. The doctors update us: “It went well, and she’s recovering now. We found very little damage to the brain, and got the bullet out cleanly. It went better than we hoped for.” Each brings a warrior’s smile, and a bit of information—information that we turn into hope as we regurgitate it over the next hours.  Still, the medical team remains professional and reserved, “Something might still go wrong. We just need to wait and see if she makes it for the next 48 hours.”

Tears and thank you’s abound. We are so thankful for these men and women. We hug. Everyone hugs. Then, round two. Sit. Wait. Pray. Fully dressed people cuddle into small snails and try to sleep on the floor. Some are shuttled to a room donated by the Holiday Inn across the street. Thank you, Lord, for every little thing. We sit. We pray. “We’ll understand better tomorrow.”

Petra is moved back to ICU. She looks, surprisingly, wonderful. With a small hole in her nose, and her arm wrapped, she almost looks uninjured. She is medicated and sleeping when I come to visit her on Saturday. I sit, talk, and pray quietly with Kim amid the darkened room, lit by glowing medical screens and power switches. Nurses, like quiet soldiers posted on guard, come in, march attentively through the machines, and go out.  These men and women really care. Finally, one of the surgeons comes in to check on Petra. He has had some sleep, and looks more like a movie star this time. As Petra sleeps, he retells the story of the surgery, and we ask questions.  The doctor reads the perfect script, as if he is on Hallmark Hall of Fame. He fills us in on the miracle. Honestly, he doesn’t call it that, he just uses words like “happily” and “wonderfully” and “in a very fortunate way” and “luckily” and “we were really surprised by that.”  Kim and I know a miracle when we see it.

It seems as if the bullet traveled through Petra’s brain without hitting any significant brain areas. The doctor explains that Petra’s brain has had from birth a small “defect” in it. It is a tiny channel of fluid running through her skull, like a tiny vein through marble, or a small hole in an oak board, winding from front to rear.  Only a CAT scan would catch it, and Petra would have never noticed it.

But in Petra’s case, the shotgun buck shot, maybe even the size used for deer hunting, enters her brain from the exact point of this defect. Like a marble through a small tube, the defect channels the bullet from Petra’s nose through her brain. It turns slightly several times, and comes to rest at the rear of her brain. And in the process, the bullet misses all the vital areas of the brain. In many ways, it almost misses the brain itself.  Like a giant BB though a straw created in Petra’s brain before she was born, it follows the route of the defect. It is channeled in the least harmful way. A millimeter in any direction and the channel is missed.  The brain is destroyed. Evil wins a round.

As he shares, the doctor seems taken aback. It is an odd thing to have a surgeon show a bit of wonder. Professionally, these guys own the universe, it seems, and take everything in stride. He is obviously gifted as a surgeon, and is kind in his manner. “It couldn’t have gone better. If it were my daughter,” he says quietly, glancing around to see if any of his colleagues might be watching him, “I’d be ecstatic. I’d be dancing a jig.” He smiles. I can’t keep my smile back, or the tears of joy. In Christianity we call itprevenient grace: God working ahead of time for a particular event in the future. It’s just like the God I follow to plan the route of a bullet through a brain long before Batman ever rises. Twenty-two years before.

While we’re talking, Petra awakes. She opens her eyes, and sits up, “Mom.” Movie-star doctor spins to grab her, to protect her from falling. The nurse assures him she’s been doing this for a while. He talks to her, and she talks back. He asks questions, and Petra has the right answers. “Where do you hurt, Petra?” “All over.” Amazed, but professional, he smiles and leaves the set shaking his head. I am so thankful for this man.

Petra is groggy and beat up, but she is herself. Honestly, I look worse before my morning coffee. “I’m thirsty,” she proclaims.

“You want an ice cube, honey?” Kim replies.

“Please.”  Wow. She lays down, back to sleep, a living miracle who doesn’t even know it yet. Good flowering out of the refuse pile of a truly dark night. “Thank you, Jesus,” I whisper.

Kim and her daughter.

Petra, you are amazing. Kim, you, too, are amazing. I am so proud of you both. But God, you are in a league of your own. (Duh.)

There is much ahead. More surgerys. Facial reconstruction, perhaps. And for Kim, chemo therapy to stretch every moment out of life. But life remains.The ending is yet to be written for this family.

One final note: I am told Petra will take her first steps today. Time for the miracle to go for a walk.

The First Time He Could See Me Play

Today I'm going to post two things I read this morning that I thought needed to be shared.  I guess I'm cheating a little by not writing something original but I have nothing to offer that comes close to the messages in these next two stories.  This first one I can't verify as being true but the message is powerful.  I'll let you decide for yourselves.

I have no idea who wrote this originally.  I saw it in a post on Facebook.  It was posted by a man named Scott Sonnen.  Maybe Scott wrote the story about someone he knows.  He went on with some other things but this story struck something inside me.  I hope you like it.  Thanks to Scott, whoever he is.  Hope you don't mind me sharing...


A teenager lived alone with his father, and the two of them had a very special relationship. Even though the son was always on the bench, his father was always in the stands cheering. He never missed a game. This young man was still the smallest of the class when he entered high school. But his father continued to encourage him but also made it very clear that he did not have to play football if he didn't want to.

But the young man loved football and decided to hang in there. He was determined to try his best at every practice, and perhaps he'd get to play when he became a senior. All through high school he never missed a practice nor a game, but remained a bench warmer all four years. His faithful father was always in the stands, always with words of encouragement for him.

When the young man went to college, he decided to try out for the football team as a "walk-on." Everyone was sure he could never make the cut, but he did. The coach admitted that he kept him on the roste because he always puts his heart and soul into every practice, and at the same time, provided the other members with the spirit and hustle they badly needed. The news that he had survived the cut thrilled him so much that he rushed to the nearest phone and called his father. His father shared his excitement and was sent season tickets for all the college games.

This persistent young athlete never missed practice during his four years at college, but he never got to play in the game. It was the end of his senior football season, and as he trotted onto the practice field shortly before the big play off game, the coach met him with a telegram. The young man read the telegram and he became deathly silent. Swallowing hard, he mumbled to the coach, "My father died this morning. Is it all right if I miss practice today?" The coach put his arm gently around his shoulder and said, "Take the rest of the week off, son. And don't even plan to come back to the game on Saturday.

Saturday arrived, and the game was not going well. In the third quarter, when the team was ten points behind, a silent young man quietly slipped into the empty locker room and put on his football gear. As he ran onto the sidelines, the coach and his players were astounded to see their faithful teammate back so soon."Coach, please let me play. I've just got to play today," said the young man. The coach pretended not to hear him. There was no way he wanted his worst player in this close playoff game. But the young man persisted, and finally feeling sorry for the kid, the coach gave in. "All right," he said. "You can go in."

Before long, the coach, the players and everyone in the stands could not believe their eyes. This little unknown, who had never played before was doing everything right. The opposing team could not stop him. He ran, he passed, blocked and tackled like a star. His team began to triumph. The score was soon tied. In the closing seconds of the game, this kid intercepted a pass and ran all the way for the winning touchdown.

The fans broke loose. His teammates hoisted him onto their shoulders. Such cheering you've never heard! Finally, after the stands had emptied and the team had showered and left the locker room, the coach noticed that the young man was sitting quietly in the corner all alone. The coach came to him and said, "Kid, I can't believe it. You were fantastic! Tell me what got into you? How did you do it?" 

He looked at the coach, with tears in his eyes, and said, "Well, you knew my dad died, but did you know that my dad was blind?" The young man swallowed hard and forced a smile, "Dad came to all my games, but today was the first time he could see me play, and I wanted to show him I could do it!"

A True Love Story With A Happy Ending

You know - I sometimes enjoy when I don't have to write something original.  This story, which I verified on Snopes.com, is true and very touching.  John Glenn is an American hero.  Unbeknownst to many Americans, his wife, Annie, is too.  Love like this is difficult to find in 2012.  Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Glenn, for an inspiring story and service and sacrifice for our country.  

John Glenn's true hero

For half a century, the world has applauded John Glenn as a heart-stirring American hero. He lifted the nation's spirits when, as one of the original Mercury 7 astronauts, he was blasted alone into orbit around the Earth; the enduring affection for him is so powerful that even now people find themselves misting up at the sight of his face or the sound of his voice. 

But for all these years, Glenn has had a hero of his own, someone who he has seen display endless courage of a different kind: 

Annie Glenn. 

They have been married for 68 years. 

He is 90; she turned 92 on Friday. 

This weekend there has been news coverage of the 50th anniversary of Glenn's flight into orbit. We are being reminded that, half a century down the line, he remains America 's unforgettable hero. 

He has never really bought that. 

Because the heroism he most cherishes is of a sort that is seldom cheered. It belongs to the person he has known longer than he has known anyone else in the world. 

John Glenn and Annie Castor first knew each other when -- literally -- they shared a playpen. 

In New Concord, Ohio, his parents and hers were friends. When the families got together, their children played. 

John -- the future Marine fighter pilot, the future test-pilot ace, the future astronaut -- was pure gold from the start. He would end up having what it took to rise to the absolute pinnacle of American regard during the space race; imagine what it meant to be the young John Glenn in the small confines of New Concord. 

Three-sport varsity athlete, most admired boy in town, Mr. Everything. 

Annie Castor was bright, was caring, was talented, was generous of spirit. But she could talk only with the most excruciating of difficulty. It haunted her. 

Her stuttering was so severe that it was categorized as an "85%" disability -- 85% of the time, she could not manage to make words come out. 

When she tried to recite a poem in elementary school, she was laughed at. She was not able to speak on the telephone. She could not have a regular conversation with a friend. 

And John Glenn loved her. 

Even as a boy he was wise enough to understand that people who could not see past her stutter were missing out on knowing a rare and wonderful girl. 

They married on April 6, 1943. As a military wife, she found that life as she and John moved around the country could be quite hurtful. She has written: "I can remember some very painful experiences -- especially the ridicule." 

In department stores, she would wander unfamiliar aisles trying to find the right section, embarrassed to attempt to ask the salesclerks for help. In taxis, she would have to write requests to the driver, because she couldn't speak the destination out loud. In restaurants, she would point to the items on the menu. 

A fine musician, Annie, in every community where she and John moved, would play the organ in church as a way to make new friends. She and John had two children; she has written: "Can you imagine living in the modern world and being afraid to use the telephone? 'Hello' used to be so hard for me to say. I worried that my children would be injured and need a doctor. Could I somehow find the words to get the information across on the phone?" 

John, as a Marine aviator, flew 59 combat missions in World War II and 90 during the Korean War. Every time he was deployed, he and Annie said goodbye the same way. His last words to her before leaving were: 

"I'm just going down to the corner store to get a pack of gum." 

And, with just the two of them there, she was able to always reply: 

"Don't be long." 

On that February day in 1962 when the world held its breath and the Atlas rocket was about to propel him toward space, those were their words, once again. And in 1998, when, at 77, he went back to space aboard the shuttle Discovery, it was an understandably tense time for them. What if something happened to end their life together? 

She knew what he would say to her before boarding the shuttle. He did -- and this time he gave her a present to hold onto: 

A pack of gum. 

She carried it in a pocket next to her heart until he was safely home. 

Many times in her life she attempted various treatments to cure her stutter. None worked. 

But in 1973, she found a doctor in Virginia who ran an intensive program she and John hoped would help her. She traveled there to enroll and to give it her best effort. The miracle she and John had always waited for at last, as miracles will do, arrived. At age 53, she was able to talk fluidly, and not in brief, anxiety-ridden, agonizing bursts. 

John has said that on the first day he heard her speak to him with confidence and clarity, he dropped to his knees to offer a prayer of gratitude. 

He has written: "I saw Annie's perseverance and strength through the years and it just made me admire her and love her even more." He has heard roaring ovations in countries around the globe for his own valor, but his awe is reserved for Annie, and what she accomplished: "I don't know if I would have had the courage." 

Her voice is so clear and steady now that she regularly gives public talks. If you are lucky enough to know the Glenns, the sight and sound of them bantering and joking with each other and playfully finishing each others' sentences is something that warms you and makes you thankful just to be in the same room. 

Monday will be the anniversary of the Mercury space shot, and once again people will remember, and will speak of the heroism of Glenn the astronaut. 

But if you ever find yourself at an event where the Glenns are appearing, and you want to see someone so brimming with pride and love that you may feel your own tears start to well up, wait until the moment that Annie stands to say a few words to the audience. 

And as she begins, take a look at her husband's eyes.

 

Thoughts on Independence Day

On July 2, 1776, the Second Continental Congress voted to approve a resolution of independence from England that had been proposed in June by Richard Henry Lee of Virginia.  The resolution declared the colonies free from the rule of Great Britain.  Following the vote the Congress focused on a document prepared by a committee of five members but mostly authored by Thomas Jefferson.  They debated and revised some wording of the document and finally approved it as the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776.

John Adams had written to his wife, Abigail, on July 3^rd, telling her of the vote on July 2^nd, without realizing it would be a different day that turned out to be celebrated. 

“The second day of July, 1776, will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more.”

Little did he know that even though he had the date wrong, the other things he had said would turn out to be true, even 236 years later.  Independence Day is one of the largest and most celebrated American holidays with parades and fireworks in many places.  As it should be.

But I wonder how many people sit back on July 4^th and truly contemplate what it means?  Independence from England was not free.  It cost thousands of lives in the Continental Army and the militias that had sprung up all over the land; volunteers one and all.  They fought for a dream – a homeland where they were truly free from government interference in their lives.

I believe the first time I realized exactly what Independence Day meant to me was when I was in the Air Force.   I wore the uniform for eight years and during those years I realized just what a great country we are.  I suppose I always knew but I think I took it for granted until I was a part of the group who volunteered to defend her. 

I was in basic training on July 4, 1977.  There were no backyard barbecues or fireworks for us.  What we did was celebrate with a parade of all the young airmen in front of the base general and base commander.  I remember how proud I was to be a part of it.  Another great memory I have is my first retreat ceremony – standing with about 1000 other young men and women listening to “Taps” and saluting as the flag was lowered and folded.  I have never forgotten that feeling of honor – and I never will.

My family has been traced back to the famous Clark family of Albemarle, Virginia, who gave birth to General George Rogers Clark and William Clark, two important explorers who helped settle this great nation.  Although they did not sign the Declaration of Independence or the Constitution, they knew many of the men who did.  Both George and William reported directly to Thomas Jefferson on several occasions and also knew Mr. Washington.  George was instrumental in furthering the cause of freedom on the Western front of the war.  With a small brigade of volunteers he took the towns of Kaskaskia, Vincennes, and Fort Detroit from the British, capturing Lieutenant Governor Henry Hamilton.  Clark was often credited as the “Conqueror of the old Northwest.”  And William, of course, was the first Clark in recorded history to cross the United States all the way to the Pacific.  I have done it twice in my life.

We, as a nation, have fought several wars since those early days.  We have gone to the aid of other countries who were struggling for their freedom and have been a friend and ally to many peoples around the world.  Our flag stands for freedom – a freedom after which many other countries model themselves.  And I’m very proud to be a part of it.

I spent a total of 30 years serving my country in the military and in federal service.  Even though I have disagreements with the government now and then, I would do it again in a minute.  I didn’t serve for glory or fame.  In all honesty, when I joined the Air Force it was to get away from home and get a good job and when I took the job at the Lompoc penitentiary it was to feed my family.  But both jobs surprised me in the way they effected my thinking about the USA.  If anything the work made me even more proud of my country than ever.

Yes, I am a proud American and tomorrow I will celebrate her independence with friends and family.  Regardless of what some people think, America truly is the greatest nation on Earth.  We have our problems, sure.  But you don’t see millions of people a year trying to get into other countries any way they can as they try to get here.  They know what I’ve known for a long time.  God has truly blessed the USA and her people.  In the words of Lee Greenwood:

“I’m proud to be an American – where at least I know I’m free.

And I won’t forget the men who died who gave that right to me.

And I’ll gladly stand up next to you and defend her still today.

For there ain’t no doubt I love this land….

God bless the USA.”