A Soldier Comes Home

        My son is coming home this week from a brief overseas deployment with the Air Force.   His wife and two young sons are beside themselves with joy and anticipation….and I’m right there with them.  As we watch the news each day we realize there are thousands of such reunions happening across the nation as our men and women return from war. 

        There was another homecoming on September 17, 2004 when Brad Weaver, an American Marine, came home from the war.  I don’t know Brad.  I’ve never met him and wouldn’t recognize him if he were standing beside me.  To be honest, I know absolutely nothing about who this man is or what his life is about.  Brad had an amazing group of friends and family who were so overjoyed about his home-coming that they had posted dozens of eye-catching red, white, and blue signs along the highway from the I-75 Richwood, Kentucky exit, miles out into the country to his home.  The day I saw those signs, curiosity got the best of me and I followed those signs to his home. A waiting crowd of family and friends had gathered to give him a proper and grand welcome home.  Tears streaked down my face as I choked back the emotion that had urged me forward to see this place.  According to the signs, Brad was a true red, white, and blue hero- he served his country well, and his home coming had been a joyful reunion day. 

       As I remember the joy and emotion of that day when I saw those signs, and anticipate my sons’ homecoming, I ponder another type of homecoming. 

        Sixteen years ago, September 21, 1995, my mother was welcomed home.  It was not the type of homecoming we associate with joy from our particular viewpoint, but I’m quite sure her perspective was different. She was a loyal, honorable citizen in her duties to her family and friends, and had served her 68 years well. As she lay dying in the OwensboroDavisCountyhospital, pain was relentless on her broken body after being struck by an oncoming car.  She looked one last time at the face of a citizen of this world; a nurse, and said, “I’m in a lot of pain, but it’s okay – I’m going home tonight.”  Her pastor said a prayer, sealed it with an “amen”, and her spirit left.  Her citizenship was instantly transferred from this world to her heavenly home.   What a glad reunion there must have been when she bid her temporary tour of duty here on earth farewell, and made her journey to her eternal Home in heaven. Welcome Home, Mom. 

         To my son and the thousands of men and women in uniform, thank you for your service to America.  And Weaver, thank you for causing me to reflect once again upon the beauty of a true welcome home celebration that we may each anticipate at the end of our journey.

The Healing

The Healing

Sad Days…
Sad Days… Good Minutes.
Sad Days,  Good Hours.
Sad Days… Good Days.
Good Days, Sad Hours.
Good Days, Sad Moments
Good Days,
Painful Memories
Good Days,
Precious Memories
Good Days…

 

Ritchie D. Hale - copyright 1996 

Missing Mom

August 11, 2011 Thoughts of My Mom

This evening as we were driving across town, my husband and I both called attention to each other regarding the brilliant pinks etched with gold lace as the sun painted on the canvas of the horizon.  For just a few moments my emotions were raw as I recalled the evening of September 25, 1995 – the day we buried my mother. That evening we had taken my dad back over to the graveside before making the long journey home.  As we drove away, the sunset was extraordinarily brilliant.  From the back seat we heard Dad begin to sing,

“Beyond the sunset, oh blissful morning
When with our Savior heaven is begun
Earth’s toil is ending oh glorious dawning
Beyond the sunset when day is done”

Tonight, once again I watch God’s majestic artistry of various shades of pinks, crimson, and gold etchings around the royal purple clouds, and I ponder about the place where Mom now lives.  She is there, beyond the sunset.  There, beyond the ever darkening shadows of nightfall that creeps steadfastly across the horizon of the living.  There, taking in His presence.  Moments ago I tried to sing, “if we could see beyond the clouds as God sees…” – but my voice was constricted – emotion choked my words.  As I have watched the ever-changing sky, victory and triumphant joy have flooded my heart. God brought to mind a different melody, and with freedom and victory I sing in my heart, “O the blessed contemplation, when with trouble here I sigh; I’ve a home beyond the river, That I’ll enter by and by.

Magic Dust

October 1995 

     I hurt. Bed had been my habitat now for the past 2 weeks.  To move, to cough, to sneeze, to breathe too deeply, put so much stress on my herniated disk that the pain was unbearable.  It was raining.  It had rained for most of the past 6 days.  It was dreary.   Four weeks ago my mother had been out walking.  She was struck by an on-coming car, and her life ended a few hours later.  Tonight, I was hurting more intensely physically, emotionally, and spiritually than ever in my life.  I wept silently alone in my bed.  I couldn’t sleep because all the pain was too much.  My soul ached.  My heart ached! 

      My husband came into the room to be of comfort, but there was nothing he could do but pray.  After kneeling beside my bed and pouring out his heart to our loving heavenly Father, he left the room.  The pain was no less intense, so I prayed for death.

      Then God, who loves His children said, “Dear child, I’m here, How can I help?”  With a timidity and hesitancy I had never known before, with a releasing of my own willful pride, and an understanding that there was nothing that anyone in the world could do to lift this pain, I spoke aloud; “Father, Abba, Daddy…this is the relationship you have promised to me your child.  You have said that you would send the Holy Spirit to be the Comforter.  I am hurting so intensely tonight.  I don’t know exactly how you do it…maybe it’s a bit of magic dust you sprinkle upon your children when they reach the end of themselves…however You do it, please right now, send the Comforter. In Jesus name, amen”.

     There in that dark room, in that dark hour, God gave me peace.  I awoke the next morning and was able to get up from the bed with no pain.  I had a song in my heart and suddenly realized that I was singing aloud the praises of God. The Comforter had come.

     I had known God the Creator since I was old enough to explore the world. I had know Jesus, the Savior, since my mother led me to accept Him when I was 7 years old.  Now I truly for the first time knew the Holy Spirit, the Comforter.

Sermon in Shoes

Obion County Marching Band, Troy, Tennessee

Sermon in Shoes – 1994

     The Obion County High School Marching Band was wearing their new uniforms for the first time. On their home field, they were marching a special show, exclusively for the parents. It was Friday night, one week before they would march for the state finals.

     As the show drew to a conclusion the band was given a standing ovation by the cheering, exultant crowd of parents and friends.  As the band turned and began marching off the field, we were able to see the 30 or so pair of empty shoes left behind by the seniors. They had decided to leave behind a part of themselves to live on forever at their alma mater. 

     One senior, Jamie, could not have known that this would be his final band show, his last march, his last day on earth.  He died in a tragic car accident the next morning.

      Six months later when I attended a band banquet, one of the students mentioned the night they left their shoes on the field.  As I reflected upon the events of that tragic weekend, I contemplated the brevity of life.  None of us knows when we will have marched our final show on this earth. 

     Lord, help me as I journey through life to walk in such a way as to be pleasing to You.  Help me to encourage those who walk beside me, and to leave behind steady footprints for those who follow.  May my life be a sermon in shoes that will testify of the love of Jesus, and radiate a joy and kindness that can only come from You. Amen.