At Grandma's House

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As I mentioned before, this does no justice. But I loved her.

At Grandma’s House

8.31.2010

In my mind’s eye
I always remember you
there on the porch in the middle of the night
passing out blankets and telling us where to sleep
and me tucking myself under that scratchy wool
inhaling the coal dust and warmth
In the morning there were pancakes
for lunch we had soup
and always, forever, homemade bread

You kept your little poems and articles
and letters from the war
and piles of paper in that office
that smelled of newsprint, rubber bands and books
And your stories of people you’ve met
and days gone by
the childhood you had
not colorful, but still interesting all the same
your words enthralled so many
and I was your granddaughter
sitting at the table
listening while you told
the past so alive in your sharp memory

Your voice was so gentle
your words were so kind
and I remember you there, holding my baby
singing softly “rock a bye”
the same voice that sang to me
and all of your offspring
four generations there.
How I miss those moments
and those things

All the ways I remember you
It’s so hard to say goodbye
because it seemed, I never knew you well
you weren’t a peer or really a friend
you were my cherished Granny
who traveled a thousand miles to visit
by train by bus or car
who gathered us in under the wing of prayer
and kept us, no matter how far.

You didn’t have a lot of things to give
but I cherished every gift
and you gave your love so fully
so gracefully you lived
always thoughtful of others
taking time for even the least
the mark you made will carry on
living deep inside of me.

stress

I was thinking about going to the doctor to find out if I'm having anxiety issues. Then I decided that maybe I should just take care of them myself. Way to add another thing to the plate, K.
I've been trying to exersize and eat healthier. I had my thyroid tested and it was normal (just had to check).
But I still feel like crap. Like I start my tank at a quarter full every day and then there's nothing left when I get done. By supper I'm ready to pull my hair out.
I think part of it's the teething toddler who likes to throw fits and make everyone feel her pain. and the whiney 3-year-old who seems to be having teenage angst all of the sudden. And my husband's stupid job with stupid managers who keep making promises to customers that no one can keep.
And me and the bad attitude and negative thoughts that swarm around me all the time. It's a little overwhelming these days.
Tonight we were visiting with a friend who's a missionary with the Navigators. And through the course of the conversation, I just realized how un-focused I am. How self-centered I get and how that makes the stress mount up to unbearable amounts.
Tomorrow's goal: Renew my mind. Put Christ back at the center of the universe where He belongs and stop worrying so much about my heart. Absorb His grace. Be transformed.

I'm thinking of starting a new blog. Call Bad Rap. And it will be a collection of bad poetry, written by myself and others. I think it would be hilarious, although insulting. But people like Doctor House, don't they?
Here's my first sample, written by me in about 3 minutes. Because I obviously have nothing profound to say today.

Sore Throat

I don't want to gloat
but it only took 3 days
to rid myself of the sore throat.
And in that time I spent on the couch
laying there, saying "ouch ouch ouch"
The house became a mess
the weather got nice
and yet I felt the bed entice.
Now my back is sore
my kitchen smells like blore
and I have chores galore.
But it only took 3 days
for the sore throat to go away.

Sick

Went to the doctor today and found out I have strep throat. So I might not write for a few days, since I feel like crap-e-ola. I haven't had strep since I was 18. I used to get it two or three times a year, but it hasn't been so bad lately. I'd forgotten how terrible it makes you feel. So this is me. Signing off. Have a good weekend.

More Writer's Block. And More Mitch McVicer too.

Does anyone else have this problem, where you want to write something meaningful about a significant event, but because it means so much, you can't ever get what you write to say the right thing? I've had that problem a few times. Usually with poetry. I want to write something about my kids, and it never comes together.
When I lost Grace, my creativity re-awakened in a new way, but I could never write a good statement like I wanted to, a beautiful poem that did honor to it all.
Same with my grandma's death. It doesn't help either that she was such a fantastic writer. I wanted to write something in the style she used, but it hasn't quite come out. The idea's there in my head, but the words get tangled and mushed.
I know I'm not the only one who has this problem. I think Mitch McVicker did after Rich Mullins died. He put out a couple of albums before he wrote the song for Rich, and I think it was because he wanted it to say just the right thing, honor Rich's music and memory. I love it because in the background you can hear a hammered dulcimer through most of the song, but not until the end does it become really prominent. It just reminds you or Rich then.
I know you probably hate me posting lyrics, but I'm going to anyway. Because one line in this song reminds me so much of my grandma that I cried the first time I listened to it after she died. And it's the best I've got, since I can't seem to get it together just right.


Rich's Song

If you chase the horizon long enough,
Then you just might lose the dark
And you found the light or maybe it found you and I'm sorry you had to part
Until I think about where you are
You stepped behind a veil and then you just went on in
But you were here for awhile and that was such a gift
Do you know what I'm meaning?

Chorus
I'm sure you smile a lot more than you ever did before
And I can hear you laughing and carrying on from here
But this world took it's toll so you went on through that door
And I could tell it all was drawing near
I just had no idea it was so close
But He was always calling you home
He was always calling you home

And I've never known who heard His voice
But I'm almost sure you did
You had a way of hiding it,
But you walked along with Him
Oh, do you know what I'm meaning?
As I put words to your life they seem to come up short
Words meant a lot to you,
But you are so much more
Chorus (twice)
From the day that you were born
He was calling you home
From the day that you were born
He was calling you home
He was calling you home
He was calling you home
You finally made it home

Coffee Talk

last night i went to the women's ministry kick off at church. I hate the idea of a ton of women gathered together, but my friends were going, and I like having a chance to meet older women in the church too. So I went and sat.
There was a lot of talk about helping each other and passing along our skills and knowledge to younger women. That was kind of the theme of the night. It got me to thinking, though. I really have a desire to do that. I love the idea of teaching, and I think I'm a good teacher. I don't have a lot of skills or knowledge, but I've always wanted to be a "mentor" to younger women. I love kids, especially teenagers, and some day I'd like to be involved with teaching and leading them.
But I don't have a lot of chances to do the things that I really want to. And I think it's mostly my fault. I'm not really outgoing and I'm slow in conversation. So the words that flow so eloquently out in writing don't come to my brain until after the conversation's over. But when I'm talking with other girls and kids, the truth that comes out in my heart doesn't come out in words until it's too late. I wish I could just speak the truth and make it sound more appealing than I do. Instead, I just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind (which is usually right) but I think people blow me off becuase of how I talk. I don't know. I think that my thinking that people blow me off makes me less eager to say what I want to, too.
But that's my problem, I guess.
Sometimes, though, I feel like the "prophet without honor" in her home. It's probably just my imagination, but sometimes I feel like people at church have a hard timet aking me seriously because they knew me when I was a kid. Or because they know my parents, they think that they know me or assume (subconciously) that I don't have as much to offer as my folks do, so I'm not worth taking seriously.
Last night, they talked about how everyone is an "older woman" who has something to share or give to others, and I feel that I do, butthere just haven't been opportunities for me like I wish there were.
And that's about all I have to say. It's mostly complaining. I think I need to take this to heart, though, and look for those opportunities to share. To be quicker to say what i think, but maybe say it slowly. I don't know really. I guess maybe I just need to wait until I actually am older.

the universe laughs [angsty rant to follow]

Do you ever feel like the whole universe is saying, "You suck! You just suck and there's nothing you can do about it."
Yeah. I guess this will just be an angsty post about the problems I'm having. I'm hormonal. Let's just get that out there. I'll feel better tomorrow.
Tonight, I'd like to have a couple of drinks and go to bed. I can't even flipping mow the lawn right.
You know, when you are all stressed out about something, and then when that something happens, you think it will fix your stress, but then it just makes it worse? I'm feeling like that now.
I've been stressed lately. I'll admit it. I was already short on extra time because i helped with camp, and then all that stuff happened with my grandma, and I still don't feel like I'm over that even though I should be. And then there was that gun test, which was supposed to be recreational but it stressed me, and I felt better when it was all over. But i've been waiting for this "procedure" at the hospital for months, hoping it would give some answers to what's causing the pain I'm having. I've been to three specialists now. Had a surgery and physical therapy, and I'm still getting vague answers.
and, I might add, in the last year, I've been told I have THREE life-altering health issues, and all three times I've felt ill-informed and left completely alone with the information. Getting pretty sick of it. I don't want them to keep finding OTHER things that are wrong. I want them to fix this one problem before I have babies again.
So I'm discouraged tonight. It's the kind of thing people with health problems experience all the time. But I don't want to be one of "those" people. I just want to have a normal life and not worry about these stupid little things that keep popping up.
That's all I have to say. Good night.

Christian "Music" Rant

I don't keep it a big secret that I don't like listening to Christian radio. I get so tired of them playing the same three songs all day long, and I don't really like the style of music, which is either:

"dark, depressing guy with a scratchy voice singing about all the things the church does wrong but offering no solution"

"Dark depressing guy with scratchy voice singing about how terrible his life is and it's a good thing he's got God tucked away in there"

"Flighty teenage Miley/Britney/whoever copy who sings ditzy songs with cliches about Jesus or about how great her life is now"

"Rock band with nothing to say who can play five chords"

"dude singer who actually writes good lyrics but has a bad voice and can only play five chords"

"Praise music that all uses the same phrases/clauses/words as the other songs"

"Praise music that has absoultel no theme, but is rather a stream of conscious thoughts on God with no melody for the verses and a decent one for the chorus, which you have to repeat three times"

Okay, I guess I could go on and on. And I guess these categories fit any genre of music. But lately I've just been so put out with the shallowness of "Christian" music. On both accounts, lyrics and/or music. I know there are talented people but the ones who are actually good dn't usually get air time. But maybe that's just me. Who am I to argue with radio executive and producers? And hoards of screaming fans.

At the lastconcert I went to, Mitch McVicker said he knew that the world didn't need another Christian musician. "What they do need is truth, so I'm just trying to put those together and reach out."

There's music that I like. There are musicians that I like who even get played on the radio. But it does seemlike the majority of what I hear in church and on the radio fit into the "annoying" category. And annoying doesn't glorify God.

There is no point to this. I just wanted to vent about the radio lately. I was raised on "oldies" and that is my default (although, I could complain about those stations too. They need to get their labels figured out. If it was written in the 90's, it isn't classical rock.)

Success!

I passed my permit qualification! You need 80 points, and I got 80. Barely. But I did! (Thanks to the great instructors who had extra time for me this morning in practice since I was the only one there).

Quitting and Failing

I'd rather quit than actually fail at something. I've heard that's an attribute of a middle child. I don't know, and I guess I didn't realize it about myself. I don't like failing. In high school, this evidenced itself in slacking. Because if I didn't try, I didn't look like I was trying to get straight A's, and then I wouldn't fail if I didn't get good grades. (They were fine; not as good as they could have been).
In the Spring, my husband talked me into excersizing my second amendmant right to bear arms, and we signed up to get our concealed carry permits. [Side note: I hope this doesn't piss anyone off. I'm not doing it to make a point or push an agenda. I'm doing it because a) I believe we should exersize what rights we have or they will more easily be taken away b) it was something to do with my hubby and he would have done it without me anyway c) If you're going to be near guns, you oughtta know how to use them d) I want to be familiar enough that if I ever am in a situation where I need to protect my kids, I won't endanger anyone unnecessarily. Hopefully that keeps anyone from jumping down my throat. Don't worry. I won't run out on the streets shooting whatever moves, and I won't try to push my opinions on anyone (and please don't try to push yours)].
Anyway, we took a four hour safety class together, and then I took a written test and passed. Then all that was left was qualifying by shooting 8 out of 10 rounds at a target 30 feet away. It's really not that hard. We've been practicing, but it turns out, I'm not super great. I have a left-hand problem, because it tries to take over, and my left eye tries to take over too, and it just doesn't work out great. We went in to practice and qualify on Saturday, and of course my husband scored perfect because he's like that and does perfect at everything he ever decides to try.
I am not perfect. I do not have a burning inner determination that gets me through whatever I want to do. I'm not that smart, and I'm not talented at much of anything, so... naturally, I did not pass my test. (I also missed out on a lot of practice time I could have had because of my grandma's funeral, not to make excuses).
Anyway, it really bothered me. My left hand took over in my nervous subconscious and I started firing with my left finger instead of my right, even though I was holding the gun with my right hand. So all of my shots went to the left, and it sucked.
I want to quit. I don't ever want to go back to the stupid range or put on the stupid earmuffs again. It's really bothering me that I suck at everything I try.
And I know that it's because I don't practice enough or learn well enough or whatever. But it's just crap for me. I don't know why it's depressing me so much. I only have one try left to get my permit, and it's this Saturday. So there are some options that might increase my chances, but really, it's a lost cause at this point. And quitting would be so much easier. Because then it wouldn't look like I failed. And I wouldn't feel that dark, overwhelming sickness that comes when I can't preform as well as I should. I hate that feeling, and I've spent a good portion of subconscious brain effort avoiding it.
Now I need to just face up to it. Because really, I think quitting is a bigger failure than just failing. That probably sounds pithy, but I don't know. I think my generation is full of quitters, and I don't want to join ranks with those who could have, should have, and would have. I'd rather fail legitimately. So I will next Saturday. And maybe, by some miracle or grace, I won't fail. I don't even care if I get the permit. I just don't want to look stupid.
For the record, I will have achieved my goals for doing the course, but... it just ain't the same without the little card to carry around.

I miss her

I'm home from Montana. My heart is so sore from being at my Grandma's house without my grandma there. I'd like to have a day to myself to brood and mourn and think everything through, but that won't happen. I've hardly had any time alone in the last week, and everything's been so busy.
But. That's just me. On to her.

My grandma was a writer. She wrote a lot of poetry and stories. And I'm glad she left it behind for us, so we could always have those parts of her.

On Thursday my girl cousins and I went through some of my grandma's jewelry boxes. She had a lot of old and new things all mingled together. She liked to keep things. My cousin thought it was because she was a pack rat, but I think it was partly because she cherished things, sort of like I do. Things that seem like junk, really aren't, when you realize she kept it because a grandkid gave it to her as a gift, or because she wore it on a special day.

I wrote a poem, trying to use the same style she always did, and it's not great, but I thought I'd share it anyway.

Grandma's Jewelry Box

Grandma's jewelry box was filled with many things
pins and brooches, watches beads
and pretty little rings.
What delight her granddaughters found
in trying on each piece
along with her old hats and gowns.

And now, the time has come for us to inherit these treasures
and as we look, we discover Grandma's life
was full of simple pleasures.
She loved the elegant along with the bold
so she kept all of those pretty things
and cherished the the stories they told

Grandma's jewelry box,
saved through generations
the great and small, she loved them all
as she did her grand children.

So much to say, so little time.
I would love to share all that's been happening these last few days And I will, but right now I'm enjoying time with my cherished family, savoring our time together. I haven't seen some of them for almost 15 years!
Sitting here on the couch with my aunt and enjoying some peace and quiet now that the busy funearl day is wrapping up. My cousins went to the bar, and some of us stayed behind and did music stuff with my cousin, second cousin once removed, and hubby and all who cared to watch. It's been a good day, but a sad day too. I miss my grandma already.

Royalty

You descended from royalty
and high-classy folk
yet you chose the simple life
of praying for your daily bread and scraping and saving
and you lived there all those years
finding contentment in something outside of
home and garden and family and life
outside of the way people viewed you or how you were treated
Blossoming like a rose in the thorns
and all who came into your presence
found solace and rest
and comfort of down-to-earth and being liked just as you were
Those who met you out of context
knew you were beautiful and full of class
you who could have lived among royalty and riches
who took the way of the worker
and it probably wasn't all you thought it would be
there in the Montana desert
hanging laundry and baking bread
but you pressed on
growing your garden of peace and honor
in your trail, all those who felt your care
And you found the value in simple things,
and looked for stories in the everyday.
You lived a noble life, like those you knew who went before
and you painted the stories of so many folks, of family and friends
and years gone by.
the words you wrote meant a lot to us
And you mean so much more.

No Compromise

Ever since I met my husband, he has raved about Keith Green. I didn't know much about him at all. He happened to have written a song I really liked, "There is a Redeemer", but that was about all I knew. Over the years, I've put together details to know a little more. I didn't really like him. His music is abrasive and his voice is annoying. He was an amazing pianist, but I just haven't been a big fan of his. But a couple weeks ago, I picked up his biography in the church library. I thought I should read it to know a little more, and I recently found out that they're making a movie about him, so i wanted to read the book first. [editor's note: having read it, I can see why my husband respects him so much. He's so similar!]

It was a really good read. I think everyone should read it (especially you, Scarlet because the beginning half reminded me a lot of you). He has a really amazing story. Starting with his childhood popularity and fame, stretching through his teen years of searching and seeking the "Truth", and then into his married life and the development of his ministry and music.

He set aside music for a while to see if it was what God wanted. In the meantime, he'd tell people about Jesus and pray with them to be saved, and if they needed a way out of what they were stuck in, he'd have them move in with him and Melody. He and his wife adopted an 11 year old girl when they'd been married a year. They eventually picked up songwriting and music again, and picked up a record label. He rose to popularity so fast, despite his controversial opinions about things. As his housing of new converts and seekers overtook the neighborhood, they became official, calling themselves "Last Days Ministries". As the ministry spread with more music, preaching and newsletters and literature, they decided to move to Texas, where you can still find them. Of course, if you hear anything about him, you know he died after 7 years in ministry in a plane crash. So the book talks about all that time.

I'm the same age he was when he died, and I have very little to show for it. He had so much. But that was his personality and his calling.

Now, coming from someone who's never been a big fan of the "Jesus Movement" (but whose parents were saved because of it), but who's facinated with history in general, this was really fun to read. I had so many challenging thoughts during all of it. Keith was a person who decided what was right and went with it all the way, hard core. He wasn't always right, and sometimes he had to correct himself, but he was honest.

It's made me think, looking at his life and the things he said, how much have I watered down what I believe to fit into the mold? WHere have I compromised my passion? What would a person like Keith Green think of my life, and what would that reflect about what God sees and thinks? The album art for his second album was really cool. It's a picture of Mordecai from the Bible, not bowing to Haman (and apparently I copied a bad quality version but I'm too lazy to change it).

I can't really explain everything I've thought while I've read the book, but it has endeared a person to me who I didn't like before, and reading it has caused me to think about what I'm sharing with others. How lost the world is, searching for their answers, but not finding them. And what responsibility I have, if I claim that I hold the truth in my heart, to share it. I'm not going to camp out listening to Keith Green albums any time soon, but I really enjoyed discovering the story behind his songs, and the way God used one man so profoundly.

Sweet river Roll

I listen to this song sometimes when I'm in the right melancholy mood. It's in my head tonight. I listened to it on repeat when I lost Grace. It's sort of depressing, but when I hear "Sweet River Roll" it's just like Jesus is there, and I know He rolls all over over. FYI, I am NOT a big waterdeep fan, but sometimes they pull off a good tune.


"Sweet River Roll" by Waterdeep
Homebound Henry's got a tumor in his head
He wakes up every morning after dreaming he was dead
He used to think that life was boring, but now that's not the case
He turns to his wife in the evening, he says "Honey I'm afraid I'm gonna lose this race."

Sweet River, roll all over me
Sweet River, roll all over me

Soaking wet Juliet- she lives in a well full of tears
Her husband left her for some bimbo after twenty-two years
Now she's got to start all over, but she's just so terrified
She thinks it woulda been so much easier if he woulda just died

And I'm lookin out my car window sittin' in the pouring rain
Although your house is fifteen miles away, I can still feel your pain
I've thought and prayed and worked it through about a hundred times or more
How your soul just cries to everyone to help you get up off the floor
Right now it's morning, you're probably totally unaware
of the flood of kisses you hold back by the way that you despair
It ain't me I'm talking about here, or anybody else you can touch
That's all I want to say right now, I don't want to say too much

except Sweet Jesus, roll all over me
Sweet Jesus, roll all over me...
You gotta come down and just set me free

Old Friends

When I was a new person in youth group, my brother and I decided to go on the welcome new freshmen canoe trip at the beginning of my sophomore year. While I stood in the lobby with other kids, amongst sleeping bags and tents and backpacks, waiting awkwardly for someone--anyone---to come talk to me, my brother disappeared with his friends.
Then came Rachel. She just walked over and said, "hi." I was relieved anyone was talking to me or standing with me. she was never great at making conversation, but we found enough to talk about. Her friends had all graduated so she told me she needed to meet new people. Perfect. She was a year older than I and went to a different school. But she became the friend I needed to be part of the youth group. We got along really well, and always sat together and sang on worship team and roomed together on trips. For the next two years, she was my real youth group friend. The other kids talked to me and we all got along, but Rachel was my mainstay. I always felt comfortable with her, even when neither of us had anything to say.
We had great times. And we lost touch as we went our seperate ways.
Tonight we met up again because she was in town (her folks still lvie here). We sat at chili's for two hours just talking and catching up. It was great. Because, when so many of the people I knew back in those days have changed and become completely different people, she hasn't. It was just like that first camping trip (where, insodently I got sick and threw up and had to go home early, but the thing with Rachel stuck nonetheless).
As I drove home, I wondered about what makes some friendships stick and be able to pick up even after yaers apart. And why some just go away. I think it's partly personality. And it's partly just true fellowship that comes from Christ. Rachel and I shared developing years together, and because our relationship with Christ was what we had in common at first, we could still connect these years later. Of course, a lot is personality too. I'm always open to meeting back up with old friends and catching up, and in fact I really like doing it. Not everyone does, and that's fine too. That's what we have facebook for, right?

The Way

A kid from our church died today. He had an asthma attack on Sunday and went into cardiac arrest. They put him on life support at the hospital, and we all prayed and prayed for three days. He was 16, and like I've said before, death is such a hard thing to grapple with. It's part of life, but it's still hard. Especially someone who had so much to still give to the world. So I wrote this, because that's how I process things like this.

The Way

and we prayed all night that you would change what events had set in motion
that you would stop the train
turn it around
because we knew you could.
But instead you chose your way, with thoughts that dwell in clouds beyond our understanding
the way of Wisdom that reaches beyond man's mind
the healing of hearts that hurts, the fatal cut
And it felt like you left us there
our requests laid bare before your throne, but you stayed far away
listening and waiting, with some kind of impeccable timing only you could explain
and you chose not to explain anyway.
We wondered if you were there, but you were all along
with your eyes that watch each sparrow fall
and count the hairs on our heads.
With a heart big enough to encompass all pain and questions and doubt
and a Way that brings life and healing
even in death.

To My Dad

A lot of girls grow up wondering if they're loved, if they're beautiful, if anyone cares about them. Wanting to be cherished and treasured, hoping to find someone who will treat them like a princess.
Well, I didn't. those were not questions that went through my mind. Because my dad was there for me. It wasn't that he told me all of the things I wanted to hear. I just knew. He didn't grow up in a relational family who talked about feelings, and I'm not the sort who spills life out on any blank canvas, so I guess Dad and I didn't always have a lot to talk about. But he was there. He was home for every supper. He played baseball and soccer with us and went on bike rides. He prayed with us at night and read us stories before bed. He came to concerts and ceremonies and took us on vacation.
He was there at night when I had bad dreams, after work and supper when we'd play in the yard, and every morning, when I got up, I found him downstairs, reading his Bible or finishing off breakfast.
He set an example of hard work and diligence and discipline.
And he loved me. He didn't always have time for me. I'm a typical overlooked middle child. But I never wondered if he loved me or even if he liked me. He just did.
I'm thankful that I inherited so much of his personality. I strive to live in wisdom and discernment, to dedicate my life to God and to work hard. I'm thankful that he is who he is now, a grandfather with time for his grand kids. A dad who serves his family still, even when they should all be grown ups.
In a world with so many hurts and battles, I'm glad I had a dad to walk with me through them. Because a lot of girls don't. And, even though he isn't perfect, he's perfect for me. And I love him with all my heart.

Bomb Shells

You know how it is when you're going about normal life and things seem really good, and then out of nowhere, a bomb hits? Like your dad calls you to tell you your grandma's in the hospital and it's not looking really great?
Then all of a sudden, life goes into slow motion and you have a hard time really focusing on anything else? The bomb just consumes your thoughts and energy?

So it's finally happening. I've known for years that my grandparents didn't have much time left, but... but I don't want that to be true. So I've been juggling worries and thoughts and anxiety and memories, wishing that life were easier to live, and death weren't part of it.

On Sunday our pastor preached from Daniel 10. After he had a vision, an angel came to explain it to him and he said, "I am overcome with anguish because of the vision, my lord, and I am helpless. ¹⁷ How can I, your servant, talk with you, my lord? My strength is gone and I can hardly breathe."
The pastor talked about how in our lives we experience things that put us in that position, and of course, GOd is present there. He gives us a way out. The angel's response to Daniel was that he strengthened him and said, "Do not be afraid O man, highly esteemed. Peace! Be strong now! Be very strong."

So there I am. I"m sure there will be more to say about this in the coming weeks. I'd appreciate prayer if you're the praying sort.

June 6, 1944

So few of us actually have a chance to be part of history. Witness it, sure. I'll always remember where I was when OJ's verdict came out, when Oklahoma City was bombed, and when the towers got attacked, when presidents were elected, etc. But to have been a part of it is something different.

Today is the anniversary of D-Day. It seems to be a forgotten day 66 years later. I remember the 50th anniversary. It was a big deal then. What happened on D-Day turned the war around and became the beginning of the end. When the troops invaded at Normandy, there was such a slim chance they would succeed. But they literally bit the bullet and tried anyway. I think God was on their side. I know God was on the side of so many soldiers.

You probably know I like to brag about my Grandfather, who got to be part of history that day. For years, he never talked about it with us grand kids. Lately he's started sharing details, and it's amazing. He shouldn't have made it. His friends on each side were shot to death. He was hit as well, close to his stomach, and he ran around on the beach for quite a while before he lost consciousness.

The thing about being part of history is that it usually involves something traumatic. Something that changes your life forever. For the folks sitting at home in the states, D-Day meant a well of hope. Hope that the long days and nights would soon end. Hope of seeing their loved ones again. They can tell you what they wore that day and what they did when the news came. As generations have come and gone since that day, it has become little more than a question on a history test. But the guys who were there, who witnessed death and evil and pain and terror, it was never a passing moment. They can close their eyes and relieve it. Their young lives were shaped by that single day, for better or for worse. I hope that I never become callused enough to believe those moments in history don't matter. Because the course of history changed, not only from a tactical standpoint, but from the heart of one soldier, who before the war had never seen outside of his Montana farm, who had a beautiful woman waiting at home for him, who went on to raise five kids and have 21 grand kids, some of whom followed his way in the army. The way his life changed that day could never be explained or spoken, but for whatever outcome we found, he became who he was. And he matters. It all matters to me.