God Loves Freedom

What ever possesses a man to leave everything behind and head into the darkness of the unknown? It might be the spirit of adventure. It might be the spirit of  escape. And, it might be the spirit of freedom. That is alright if you are single. But, what if you are part of a family, that changes the consequences. The cost rises with every person you include in the venture.

The stories of people escaping from East Berlin, remember that time, always gripped my heart. Some fantastic escapes took place by men and women and entire families. Ideas from hot air balloons, zip lines, to extensive tunnels, were used by very brave men and women. The images of those who died trying to escape must have been ever before them. Yet, they kept trying to escape.

Oppression is an evil power that has given millions of people the inner desire and drive to be free. There is some God-given inner voice that whispers to the soul of mankind, "I want to be free, I need to be free, I must be the one who decides my destiny." That voice, the desire to be free, has indeed brought that very freedom to millions across the earth.

I believe it was that voice that filled the hearts of the earliest settlers in this land. Many left their homeland yearning for religious freedom. Their conscious could never give in to the dictates of a government trying to regulate the voice of God within their heart. In their desire to worship God according to their own spirit they were willing to pay a very high price. Weeks and months on the high seas is taxing to the very hardiest of men. The families that took such voyages were brave to the extreme. Yet, they would never confess to bravery.

The dream of a land of freedom brought thousands upon thousand to our shores. Almost every person in this great land would find their roots in the family tree of those brave souls. I am aware of the countless who were brought here, not of their own accord. Indentured servants and slaves by the thousands were brought here, to the land of freedom. With free men and women all around them their hearts must have yearned all the more to taste the sweetness of broken chains and writs of servitude torn in half.

Our forefathers used a couple of phrases that I want to mention. The first being this land was the, Second Israel. A land of men and women who were seeking the heart of God and desiring to build a land that would honor him. The second phrase being, A Great Experiment in Self Government. They knew that it was indeed an experiment and that many things could go wrong and some things would go wrong.

The long journey across the treacherous and deadly Atlantic did not allow for the spirit of ease, nor complacency. Our journey today, I'm afraid, is filled with both evils.

Painful Lessons

The old man is lying on a dirty old metal bed, the sheets unchanged for weeks.

He lies on his side with his knees drawn up, like he did 80 years ago.

The gray on his head is matched by the gray of his life.

He has been alone now for years, abandoned by all, left to his bed and bitterness.

Life is hard and that is exactly what he taught everybody around him.

His wife, stoop shouldered by the burdens and his words, crumbled under his care.

For years she tried to please him, her efforts only gained more scorn and weight on her shoulders.

Children now gone, haven't seen the old man in years.

His son, his namesake, pledged to never see or speak to him, never to enter the house until it was funeral time.

A daughter, broken by suspicion and cursing, still lives broken, trying to make her daddy happy, five or six times since she saw him last.

He knew they needed to know that the world is cruel and the best a man could do was to work all of his waking hours.

Home, he expected all to understand his life and be content that he put food on the table and a roof over their heads.

His words, never from a warm spirit, only the ones that needed to be said, the food is cold, the chores are undone, the wood needs carrin-in.

He expects respect and obedience, cares not to know what troubles live in his home.

All homes have trouble, life is hard and you just put up with it.

On his bed his hands are shriveling and gnarled, evidence of years of toil, toil he thought so unappreciated, work ignored, sweat unnoticed.

Unaware of the words of a mother to her children, words of work by their father, toil to provide food and shelter, long hard days spent on the end of a shovel.

He looks down at his hands and realizes his heart and soul is just as bent and gnarled as they are.

He mumbles in a voice no one can understand, words that seem garbled, "God what did I do wrong? Life is hard and they had to learn, the world is cruel and unloving. I did what was best."

A message begins to move deep in his soul, he feels uncomfortable, struggles on the hard rusted metal frame bed.

His stomach churns and his legs move to curb the pain.

A voice very clearly and quietly speaks it's message of unwelcome truth.

Today you are alone, alone on your bed, waiting to die, where are your children?

You are choking on the weeds you planted most of your life.

It is now time for you to realize what you have done, and live and die with it.

Even though you lie here abandoned and scared, yes I will be with you.

I will try and help them understand your life and keep them from your pain.
If only you would have tried to reach me, tried a small amount of kindness.
Soon all your pain and ugliness will end.

The Folded Flag

There wasn't much that could stop the cold blast from the wind. There were only a few trees and an old clap board building in the cemetery and their flimsy resistance to the blast of cold was some distance from us. December in Riverview Michigan can be a mixed bag of weather conditions. Ice hockey on the local pond can be in full swing or the rain and mud can reign. That December day the ground was frozen and the wind spit balls of snow and ice.

My mother and father were seated on metal folding chairs close to the grave and the artificial turf that was trying in vain to disguise the hole. The honor guard stood at the rear of the hearse and the shinning black and chrome door swung open. The men from the funeral home were quiet, yet direct in their instructions to the honor guard. As the casket rolled from the hearse the men took their position, bearing their burden to the tent and the waiting grief stricken family members and the multitude of friends.

The flag seemed to wrap the casket like a cocoon, her colors were vivid and brilliant. I had never noticed the sharp contrast between red stripe and white stripe as I did that day. Each white star seemed to shine against the deep blue background. My family, and the others, were gathered in the presence of something sacred, dare I say, almost holy.

More words were said about the young Marine, my brother. Words about selflessness and willingness to serve were offered. The chaplain spoke words of ashes to ashes and dust to dust and then he prayed. As soon as he finished his prayer he stepped back from the casket and the honor guard stepped forward.

The flag seemed to float from the casket as expert hands moved in perfect unison and harmony and the rectangle was transformed into triangle with her stars shinning again. With fluid motions and grace the man in the dress blues bent low and placed the flag into the hands of my mother. He moved back to his position and plain and clear orders were given. The rifles cracked their salute to the Marine.

Before the wind could be heard again the mournful sound of the bugle announced, "Day is done". Most eyes were stinging as Taps brought tears to cold cheeks. The mournful sound from the bugle and the crack of the rifles is a combination seared into the soul of those who must experience it.