Hope BlogThe steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, His mercies never come to an end.
They are new every morning. Therefore I will hope in Him. |
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He was young but he seemed old. We regularly had the same conversation over and over again. Sometimes he got stuck in a loop and would say the sames words 2 or 3 times within the matter a few minutes. With us it was small talk, because we didn't know how to go deeper without arguing or getting angry. We always talked about the weather. We always had that. I had the chance to take care of him in his final months. And I sat with him as he struggled for his last labored breaths. My dad was drafted into the army as a young man and sent to Vietnam. Demons followed him home and haunted his dreams and his life. Until we moved him to a nursing home he chased his demons with bourbon. The loops that he would get caught in were the result of many years of chasing demons. He got very little support from the government he had served, and the support he did get was more detrimental than helpful. He self-treated his undiagnosed PTSD with alcohol. He was an alcoholic. I miss my dad. I miss talking about the weather. I miss his phone calls to bring him kleenex and fried pies. I never doubted for one second how much he loved me and he never missed an opportunity to tell me how proud he was of me. On this memorial day I remember my dad. He didn't die in combat, but his death was the result of a war. The conflict, long over, never ended for him. Terry Neal Harris SP4 US Army Vietnam Memorial day is about remembering those that died in combat. I want to share a poem I wrote when my grandfather died as part of this memorial day series. He was a veteran but his combat was lost here at home and for me Memorial day is a day of remembrance. The following was read at his funeral: Such a Man By Amanda Russ Some men patiently sit and let their granddaughters fix their hair with combs and barrettes and all I am blessed to know such a man Some men stand for hours holding a little girl on their shoulders so she can see her favorite soap star I am blessed to know such a man Some men take their grandchildren fishing and make tents out of blankets and sticks to keep them warm I am blessed to know such a man Some men read bible stories to their granddaughters every night I am blessed to know such a man Some men stay married to the same woman for 56 years I am blessed to know such a man Some men are warriors who look every diagnosis in the face and say “I can beat that!” I am blessed to know such a man Some warriors are quietly called home I am blessed to have known such a man. Having done all STAND…. The strong warrior stands defiant, but clearly the underdog. He is fitted with the best armor and stands firmly for his cause. About his head is a helmet. Saving his mind from the blows of this enemy and protecting him from any thoughts that might destroy him before the battle begins. On his chest is a breastplate protecting his heart from corruption. About his waist is the belt of truth, holding up his garments to keep him from being tripped up in the battle. On his left arm a shield to extinguish any flaming arrow of the enemy. And in His right hand a sword to protect himself but also attack his enemies. His feet are fitted with readiness like a boxer in the ring. Ready to dodge anything and advance. But this enemy is well prepared, well trained and well experienced. Even the best equipped warrior is often no match. The battle begins. The two circle each other, sizing the other up with each step. Then the hits start. At first the warrior is able to match his enemy, until the enemy begins to taunt him. He reminds him of his past and breaks him down with reminders of who he used to be. The warrior hadn’t been strong or particularly good with a sword. He had failed many times and in many ways and his enemy knows it. With every blow he strips away a little piece of the armor that was so well chosen. The enemy pounces and taunts and laughs and never seems to feel any strike. With each hit he delivers he seems to get stronger and more confident, while stripping it away from the warrior. Finally the warrior has no defense and no weapon. There is nothing left to do but take the blows. Each one bringing him closer to his death. He raises his arm to block a blow and falls to his knees. Another hits him across his face and his body collapses to the mud. The warrior has all but given up. His face is in the mud and he is trying to find the strength to get up for what he knows will be the last time. And then these words begin to ring in his ears and begin to make their way to his heart. “Having done all, stand.” They reverberate within him and as they do the taunts of the enemy standing over him begin to fade. From somewhere deep inside, he finds the strength to move his little finger and then the muscles in his arm begin to ripple as he pushes himself from the ground. He rises to his knees and lifts a foot to the kneeling position. The enemy reels backwards in astonishment. Finally as his heart beats with word “stand, stand, stand” the warrior rises. And then, as if by the very act of standing has defeated this enemy, the beast began to collapse in on himself. A violent shriek escapes from his throat. His chest cracks as he looks down in anguish. The sound from his throat is drowned out by the intensifying roar of light coming from deep inside him. Within seconds the light bursts forth and completely disintegrates his body. The hero looks up to heaven. Battered to the point of death. His chest heaving with every breath. Tears streak his dirt stained face and he raises his fist to the sky. He rejoices in victory with a deep shout. He has withstood his enemy. More importantly having done all he stands. For So long I was separated from my mom on Mother's day as a child. It wasn't a bad thing, but it was sad. I'm not going into the back story here, but I do want to tell the story of how my mom and I reconnected. I was a freshman in High School. I lived with my grandparents in a small town in central Texas. Every fall schools all over the state battle it out to see who the best marchers are and I played the flute in our school's marching band. Just like my mom I was one of the best. I loved my mom, but I hadn't spoken to her in 3 years. She knew from her marching band days that my first marching contest was coming up. They were always in October. Though she wasn't exactly sure what day it was. One Saturday she decide to take a chance, travel 4 hours to Brady, Texas and see if her little girl might possibly want to say hi. At the very least she could see me from a distance. She took her time getting there, even taking scenic back roads. She didn't know where the school was or what time we were marching. This was before the internet, google, or cell phones. When she arrived at Brady it was around lunch time. She decided to have a picnic at the heart of Texas park before driving around looking for the school. She took her time and wasn't really in a hurry. My mom worries about everything, but was completely calm and kind of just going with the flow that day. She had total peace and no anxiety. Waiting for traffic when she pulled out of the park she saw a few buses coming around the curve. As they passed she realized there were our band buses. I had just passed my mom without even knowing it. She followed the buses to the football field and waited. We marched. She cheered and waited. After the contest I saw her in the parking lot. Just waiting to see if I would talk to her. Honestly, I wish I could remember what I felt when I saw her, but I had discovered boys or at least they had discovered me and that's all I had on my mind. But I loved my mom. I was excited to see her and told her I loved her. Our exchange was brief and it wasn't Earth shattering. But it changed us. It changed me. It moved my heart even though I didn't know it at the time. I didn't immediately hop on board the reconciliation train. I was 14 so I didn't know that's what was happening. It wasn't like we were making a conscious effort. My mom was, but it was entirely one sided. Eventually, my mom called to talk to my sister, who hadn't stopped talking to her. And I asked if I could talk too. Again not Earth shattering and we took a bunch more tiny little baby steps forward and a few giant steps backward. And now... Well now I live 3 houses down the street and "Mimi" Takes my daughter to school. I can't imagine my life without my mom and I'm so glad she took the time, energy, and risk to pursue me. I'm sure ya'll have some crazy mom stories too. Be sure to give your mom an extra squeeze, she might be waiting for you. Blessings to you. So I wanted to give up yesterday. It was a day filled with information. New Information. And not all of it was good news. I had done my book proposal wrong, my word count was too low, I didn't have a big enough platform, etc. I was sinking fast.
I texted my husband: My book is crap. His sweet text reaffirmed that it wasn't. I went to another session after lunch. Defeating Self-Doubt, Inka Nisinbaum (If you read German, read her book). Yep just what I needed and I was ready to pitch again. "They are going to love my book." I was on an emotional roller coaster here. Then I saw my name in red on the screen for the pitch sessions and my stomach dropped. I asked what that meant, but no one was sure. So I got ready only to find out that the red meant that the agent I had chosen decided he didn't want to hear pitches.They allowed me to pitch to someone else and it went fine. Not how I had dreamed it would go, but fine. Except I learned that no one would want my book because it had been self published. Although only in digital form, the rights were no longer on the table. So no one would pick it up. Exactly the opposite of what I had been told by those pesky self-publishing places. I drove home and ate a pint of ice cream. Had a good cry. And threw myself a pity-party. Then my husband convinced me that we aren't done. We can do this. I love him. So while I'm doing this without the help of a big publishing house or marketing group. I'm doing it. And that counts for more. I believe in this book and this story. And I'm going to see it through. |
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