“Thanks, but I already have plans for the day," I informed my friend who just invited me over for a day of barbequing and swimming. That was how most of America was spending the day. It was a three day weekend and most people could do this activity any weekend of the year but they make a big deal of it on this particular day. Eating drinking, swimming. That is all this day meant to most people; a time to get together and be a family and enjoy one extra day off work. At least an extra day off if you weren't in the food or merchandise industry. Or the gas industry. Or entertainment industry. The malls would be packed with bargain hunters, sales would be rampant using the day as a reason for extra profits. Movie goers would be out in droves, getting away from routine. Though nowadays, shopping, eating out and going to movies was routine. And profits would be made, no matter how big the sale percentage. Merchants weren't giving stuff away! Besides, most people don't limit themselves to just what's on sale. My husband and I went to my dad's house and loaded him up into the car, putting his walker into the trunk with his spare oxygen tank. This was dad’s day. He looked forward to this day every year. As a survivor of WWII, the Korean War, and Viet Nam, this was his holiday. I loaded the car with our projects and we took off. We went to the neighborhood cemetery and hunted down his friends. Strange we always had trouble finding them, it's not like they were very mobile. With a walker and oxygen dad was in better health than they were! This was the only occasion he felt complaining about his health was ungracious, walking down the rows of name plaques! He stuck little flags by the names of his service friends. Their kids had not done this, and he mumbled some unkind words about their neglecting their obligations. I think mostly he complained just to make sure I was aware that I would be held accountable for decorating his grave when the time comes. (Knock on wood that better be some time from now!) After we finished our flag placing chore, we headed off to the main part of his celebration. The Dallas National Cemetery. It was unbelievable. No matter how much time I allow to get there the traffic is so thick inside the grounds we crawl along at a snail’s pace, by hundreds of new graves buried under blankets of fresh flowers watered with tears. Every day sees the addition of new members at a rate of 19,500 a year. Cars were parked along the route and people milled about the grounds. I caught sight of a man and woman on the grass beside a flowery decorated tombstone. The woman was crying, the man was trying to be comforting. This is a customary sight here. Some things shouldn't become customary. Flowers were all over the place. People were pushing baby strollers down rows of graves looking for their daddy or uncle or brother(or female counterparts). Flags were flying everywhere. Closer to our destination we were directed where to park on the grass. Cars, Trucks. Vans. Motorcycles. Ambulances. TV crews. Care flight personal. Portable potties. Scads of people were heading towards the presentation sight. Dressed in shorts, slacks, uniforms, suits, dresses. Every possible combination of red white and blue was covered. Red, white and blue on ties, t-shirts, scarves, handbags, hats, umbrellas, baby diapers, Flags lined the road every twenty feet. Hundreds of them. I wondered how much time it would take to lower them tonight. There were several tents up on center stage filled with important looking dignitaries and military personal, from every service, and a school choir dressed in green tops and beige pants or skirts. Red white and blue drapes hung over their heads. The ceremony started with introductions of generals, the Governor, the funeral director. Then three planes were heard approaching. Approaching. Nearer. Nearer. They were in sight now; three planes in formation flew overhead. They were punctual, precise timing. They had left their stations on the second to make a show at the correct minute, in tribute to the somber observance. I wished I had anticipated that to get a picture, I was awed by the formation and the planning. However I did get pictures. Pictures of the crowd sitting on lawn chairs, blankets on the ground, the brick wall lining the area. People with water jugs, umbrellas to shade them from the stifling heat of the sun, large protective hats. People dressed in uniforms. They must be really hot. I got a picture of my husband walking beside my dad, holding an umbrella over his head. The presentation lasted longer than I thought it should in the middle of a hot, humid day. I worried about the old timers present. This could throw their systems out of whack. I worried about my dad. He had spent time in the emergency room once for dehydration brought on by a baseball game, but he wouldn't miss this day. We stayed ahead of things, keeping him properly hydrated, yet at the same time on the verge of dehydration to prevent congestive heart failure symptoms. Jugglers had nothing on me! It was comforting to know that ambulances and medical personal were on the grounds. The presentation lasted longer that I thought yet none of these vets, their families, or relatives of the recent victims of Iraq and Afghanistan complained. They hadn't gone to the movies or the malls today. They came to honor Memorial Day properly. Those not here weren't thinking of the reason they had a three day weekend, they were enjoying a paid day off. Memorial Day meant more to those in attendance here. It meant someone died for the population of the United States of America to spend the day however they wanted. Not under a dictatorship. Not in a civil war. Not scrounging for food. Not part of a genocide committee. Not threatened daily with rape or casual murder. The ceremony was concluded by a roll call of the recently interred. As the names fell on our hearts a crisply dressed serviceman placed a rose on one of several draped chairs that represented either the Navy, Army, Air force, Marines, or Coast Guards. The families were then invited to collect the rose from the chair representing their sacrifice. A rose. A rose with a thorn. The thorn would draw blood, representing the blood shed for our country. This is the current Memorial day, but the true Memorial day started years ago. It started on a cross where a savior died for our freedoms. When I mentioned that to my dad he retorted with, "Jesus didn't die on Memorial Day!" No. Dad could only think of his fallen comrades today but maybe latter tonight he'll think of Jesus and thank him for freeing him from slavery to sin and an eternity in hell. In that case, every day should be Memorial Day.
I was comfortably ensconced on my throne, with my feet on an earth toned footstool, watching As the World Turns wondering who writes that trash when my phone went off. It was one of my sons, Greg, calling and he sounded anxious, hurt. He had information for me concerning his wife (information I was already privy too) who had left him ( at my advice) because he’d been drinking too heavily and she couldn't take it anymore. Well, I was thankful he gave up the bottle when she walked out and they were trying to make things work. It sometimes takes a separation like this to act as a wakeup call. But now her job planned on moving her further away, miles away. Counties away. Not-available-for -commute away. He swore it meant the end of their marriage; he wouldn’t have a marriage in separate cities. I felt for him , obstinacy is so human! This had not been my plan for their life when they married, so young and full of love, but they had been too Young and Restless at the time and needed some spiritual ripening. I encouraged my son to keep talking to me, to listen to me but he was so down I couldn't hold his attention and the connection went dead. I kept the line open for him to call back as I knew he would, eventually. I hoped this set back didn’t discourage him from our Sunday get together he had just started participating in, with what I could see were sincere intentions.
Immediately after he called I got a call from one of my daughters, Carol. Her husband had just ....oh, how awful...., shot himself. She was hysterical and needed her dad. Thank heavens I was home for this call also. We spent lots of time together, crying and consoling each other. She really needed a shoulder to lean on and mine was strong. I did lots of building when I was younger and could hold up mountains if the situation called for it. I reassured her continuously that she would see her husband again, would have the chance to hold and love him for eternity; that was how things would be I was certain, no doubts raised, as he was at this moment standing contritely in front of me, stripped of all his rewards. Yet I could feel her hurt. Knowing that this life isn't all there is isn't automatically comforting in the darkest hours but as long as she knew I was available twenty four /seven to be her Guiding Light she would survive. I would answer anytime she called, day or night. I reminded her, unnecessarily, that Sunday’s get together was still crucial, she promised to be there. .
Again the phone went off. Another son, Frank, was down in the dumps. He was feeling so low and hopeless about things, rising gas, food and utility bills, and possible layoffs, he confided he felt like dying. Not just dying, he felt like determining his death date, hint, hint. We had a serious talk about suicide and it’s aftermath. I told him he had Only one Life to Live and since I was the one who brought him into the world, only I could take him out. That brought a gentle laugh from him. He knew I was right. I was capable of taking him out and that rattled him more than all his worldly problems. After some time together on the air waves he began to feel optimistic. Expectant. Things would look better in the morning, I promised. This wasn't the first generation to see a recession. I had seen many recessions in my life and lived through them all, and he did after all have my spirit. He also had my experience written in a journal on his bedside table. We left off on a positive note and I reiterated to him how important Sunday would be for us to get together. He needed family for encouragement. He gave his word he’d be there. Good enough for me.
After my hectic week of family turmoil, my favorite day arrived; Sunday. I take one day off a week from running my global enterprise to rest and recuperate. It’s good for the spirit. Plus, as an added feature I encourage All My Children to come over to the house for dinner and family time. I may not get around like my kids think I should, every child thinks they can run things better than their parents, mine are no exception, but I never miss a day of family singing and worship. I don’t coerce my kids to come, I only want the ones over that sincerely want to be with me nor do I pass judgment on the ones that aren’t here,(even though that is truly my prerogative!) if I still hear from them regularly. Having such an influential parent like me isn’t easy on my brood. They feel like they have to put on airs. Wrong. I love them regardless. They are free to be Bold and Beautiful in my presence.
Greg arrived first and sat in the back. Next came Carol and Frank, stopping at the brochure table to browse. There were pamphlets there on topics such as healing from grief and suicide prevention. They both picked up the booklets that interested them, and then looked at each other, guardedly. A conversation then ensued by the two strangers (yet brother and sister in my eyes) sharing their angst’s. They exchanged phone numbers to keep afloat, (under normal circumstances I don’t recommend my daughters just handing out their numbers, this world is less than ideal, but I made an exception this morning). They had devised a spur of the moment plan to start a support group here at the church that unknown to them now, would grow into an enormous success. (They didn’t know it really wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. I had set that plan in motion during the week by planting a little seeds on futile ground).
The morning activities of song and praise got started and Greg bowed his head, whispering to me on our two way radio, a radio so clear I could hear him without distractions, at the same time I could hear All my Children. My technologies exceed any known today by man. I’m the super parent that has eyes and ears behind my head, on top of my head and under my feet, in other words I’m the child’s ultimate nightmare because I see all and hear all! As Greg and I conversed about his determination to stay temperate despite what to him seemed a tremendous set back, another back seat Christian took the space beside him. (Hey, the seats are there for a reason, as long as they are being occupied I have no complaints!) Greg didn’t want to be distracted from our tête-à-tête so the hand that slipped into his totally startled him. Looking up he went eye to eye with Martha, his absent wife (he pinched himself to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating). Unfortunately for me, being who I am, I never get the thrill that comes from being surprised, being a genuine Know It All has major disadvantages.
Martha had decided to stay in town. Working on their marriage at this time was more important than any job opportunities, though they would still have detached living situations for a while they would both find healing here at my General Hospital, insurance paid for by my firstborn, Yeshua. Greg and Martha (even Carol and Frank) had one common ground; they agreed that all the Days of our Lives are best spent in the House Of God, (my house) with the family of God. Duet 32:39
Psalm 30:5
Psalm 84:10
Psalm 103:3
Ecc. 3:4
Eph 5:18
Heb. 4:16
Heb 10:23-34
