Petition site

If you are interested in the funding of the arts, and in reading the online petition to save the band, you can go to the online petition site to see what other people think about the KSU marching band, as well as the music program as a whole. I know I speak for every student in the KSU music department when I say they would appreciate your support.

http://www.thepetitionsite.com/1/savetheksubands

Charity begins at home....

Last night I had the opportunity to attend a fundraising dinner for a community organization with which I have been sometimes joyfully, sometimes frustratedly, but always blessedly associated for quite a few years. For a long time, the biggest part of my association consisted of writing a check at church and dropping it in the offering plate, to be accounted for and passed on without really having to think much about it. It was easy and made me feel good, and community organizations always need funds, so it was a win/win for everyone. I had given of my blessings to others, I had forwarded my bounty to the less fortunate, and I felt that I had, in a small way, made a difference.

Then, a few years ago, when time was in greater supply than money, I got involved on a more personal level by volunteering my time and talents, giving myself in a practical way to a cause that I believe in and think is worth supporting. The organization is called Community LINC (Living In New Community was the original name, until some copyright issues came into play, long story, anyway....) and they work with homeless families to put them on the road to success.

The Community LINC program is not, by any standard, an easy path. While people are pulled out of homelessness and given fully stocked apartments and a lot of other help is offered, they have a contract they must fulfill, with the organization, and ultimately, with themselves. They have an imperative to change, to evolve, to make themselves better people, and it is not optional, because the very foundation of the LINC program is making more effective choices, and teaching children good life choices, so that they will never find themselves in the midst of disaster like that again.

There are, sadly, a fair number of failures in the program, which means they drop out of the rigorous course they must follow, and they are asked to leave. The most difficult part, for the staff, is knowing that when they go, the children will once again be homeless, without stability or even a place to lay their heads. But it is not against the law to be homeless in America, and you cannot save a family that will not save itself, no matter how much you may want to.

Resources are, for these organizations, extremely limited. They do not have nationally funded budgets, supported year after year by huge corporations who use it as a way to blunt the impact on their bottom line, and as a way to present themselves as model citizens in their communities.

These small charities who work in the urban core making a direct impact on families in dire straights are, for the most part, shoestring operations, making a budget that barely exists stretch to unbelievable lengths. They spend the better part of their administrative days begging for money from everyone with whom they come into contact. So when you are faced with a family who cannot or will not follow the path set out for them, the one that will allow them to lift themselves from the poverty, you must cut the tie in order to try and save the next family who is willing to do what they must to succeed. It is a harsh reality, and a heart-breaking one as well, but it is the only choice, when your resources are barely enough to fund the basics.

The desire to work at a place like Community LINC is a labor of love, something that comes from the heart, because the success feeds something inside the soul that cannot be bought any other way. When Jesus commanded us to love our neighbors as ourselves, he was not talking about superficial matters. He was talking about loving them enough to brave being rebuffed, and to come back and try again. He was talking about pulling people from the precipice and giving them the chance to make good, not only for themselves, but for their children. He was talking about giving people who have no chance the opportunity for something better by sharing what we have with those who have nothing at all. That is what the staff faces on a daily basis, and while not a lucrative calling, it is a fulfilling one.

I am fond of saying that if Jesus were on earth today, he would not be found in my suburban neighborhood, or in my multi-million dollar church building. I believe I would find Him at 39th and Troost, where C-LINC is to be found, amongst the people for whom he openly acknowledged he came to earth - the sinners, the outcasts, the hopeless. People, whom but for the grace of God, could be me.

My volunteer work at C-LINC is of a practical nature. I help, once or twice a year, to refurbish the apartments that families move into when they arrive, ready to work at changing their lives. It is an almost insurmountable task, at times, because the buildings are ancient, and, as should be expected, not in a part of town where maintenance is the norm. Rehabbing one of these apartments is much more than painting a wall or washing a floor. We tear things down, pull things apart, rebuild and redo and install new, in order to make a difference, not for the moment, but hopefully for the long term, to gift not once, but over and over again, the families that will live there.

The buildings themselves were a sort of gift several years ago, and it was a huge, but very expensive undertaking to move from the temporary place they had worked out of previously into this permanent location. There are six buildings, in a row, on Troost Avenue, which, for people who live around me, is known primarily for the crime rate, not it's upscale housing. If there is a murder in Kansas City, it is, unfortunately, all too often in the area of Troost where these apartments are located. It is a gang culture, a world of violence and fear that mostly reigns down there, and the C-LINC housing is a stalwart in the midst of the chaos that is all around it.

That is not meant to overstate the situation, because there are good things happening there as well. There is a sort of urban renewal occuring in that area, one which, I believe, may have been fueled, at least in part, by the good work being done by community organizations such as C-LINC who have invested not only in that area, but in the people who live there.

These buildings were purchased by C-LINC for $1 each from a generous person who also probably wanted to unload them, thus fulfilling two needs at once. They needed to be gutted, at the very least, and probably should have been torn down and started over. But C-LINC doesn't have those kinds of resources available, so instead, they have taken every volunteer and donation and rebuilt and rehabbed and revitalized their little bit of the ghetto. It is anything but a perfect world, and we would be kidding ourselves to imagine that buildings which were too old to rehab 25 years ago are in decent shape today, no matter how many bandaids we may have applied.

The roofs all leak on and off. The stairways were decrepit, although a group of older men from my church who have taken to calling themselves The Atonement Carpenters has been gradually rebuilding them, and they are now in much better condition than they were. The walls all need repair, the basements are a dungeon, the flooring is a disaster - you get the idea. Most of the people I know wouldn't consider these apartments premium housing, but when you come from a homeless shelter with your children, you have a different perspective on what constitutes the minimum basic requirements.

The Carpenters are handymen from all walks of life who are, for the most part, retired, and once a week they come down to C-LINC to work on whatever need is most urgently pressing at that moment. They fix roofs, they mud walls, they repair and rehab and rework to make things livable for the people who inhabit these apartments and call them home. They donate not only their time and talents, but are unsung heroes who donate their money and their materials as well, and in much larger measure than almost anyone realizes, in order to leave this world a better place for their having been here.

There have also been some incredible donations from people around the city that have made a huge difference for the people there. Heating and cooling systems replaced. New windows have been installed. A children's center has been built. Computers are donated, books are donated, towels and kitchenware and furniture and other items are given by people from all over the city who want to participate in some way in the renewal of lives.

I have had people ask me, when in the midst of a month long project, why I would go down there day after day to work, and worry that it is too dangerous or that I might get hurt physically or emotionally. My honest, my only, answer is that it is where the need is greatest, so that is where I am called to be. You cannot take people out of their element and expect them to succeed. Instead, you have to light the candle in the darkness, and hope that by so doing, they will light a few more along their path, and thus, enlighten that world from within.

The families that enter the world of C-LINC are entering a different way of life, one which most of them have never known. They predominantly come from single parent families who have never known security, and for whom life has been a struggle since they were born. The point of the program to which they must adhere is not to simply lift them out of poverty for the time being, but to give them the tools to lift themselves up and stay there, a much harder, and much bigger, job, both for them, and for those whose mission it is to serve them.

They are provided with housing, and must attend classes in parenting, drug counseling, alcohol counseling, Al-Anon or mental health counseling for whatever issues they are experiencing, and weekly budgeting classes. They must attend school with an end goal, such as earning their GED, or find some kind of work, and the children must attend school and maintain certain grades and standards as well.

This is a family program, and every member of the family must actively participate and pull their weight. While there is support and aid for everyone in many different age-appropriate ways, in the end, the onus is on them to succeed, and they will be allowed to fail if that is what they are striving for. C-LINC is not a free ride for anyone, and if you succeed and reach graduation, it is because you have done the work to put yourself in a position to succeed in life.

The most impressive part of the program, to me, is the required savings that they enforce during weekly budgeting sessions. Most of the families come into the program unemployed, most of the adults do not have even a high school diploma, and they are in a pattern of hopelessness and despair that perpetuates their poor decision making.

Once they enter the program, the first thing they must do is to establish a savings account, and half of their weekly income, from whatever source it is received, must be put away in that account. No matter how pressing their bills, no matter if there is a birthday or something else for which they need money, they must put away that 50% before they can have any money to meet their immediate needs.

While you may feel that with housing and utilities already paid for, this would not be so difficult, you also have to remember that most of them have no money at all. They must buy food and supplies and the basics of life. Even if they ultimately are eligible for welfare, and in Missouri, those payments are not much, they still start out with nothing, and it is hard for them to put away half that money for a future that is unknown.

Part of the problem for most of these families is that the future has never been secure, so they think in short term mode all the time. There is no reason to put something aside for a future that will never come, especially when the needs are so great right now. But what they learn over time is that their future depends on what they do now. It is a change, not just in how they use their money, but in how they live their lives.

When they watch their bank account grow, they also see their future adding up. That money will be used for a down payment on rent, or even a home. It will pay for education or a car to get to work. It is small, by most people's standards, and adds up very slowly. But in the end, if they stick with the program, they will have enough to get a solid re-start in a life, a second chance built not on the goodness of strangers, but on their own hard work and willingness to make the necessary changes.

There are a lot of failures, of course. People do not change easily, and it is all too common to be sucked back into the cycle of poverty and despair that brought you there in the first place. There are many families who begin the program believing in the possiblities, but who, over time, simply lose their drive under the influence of negativity outside their own walls.

But there are spectacular successes as well, and it is for them that the faithful continue to work and volunteer and hope and pray and give. It is for those who believe in themselves enough to make the leap into a new way of thinking that we go down to 39th and Troost for a day or a week or a month to try and make a difference. Every life that we help to turn around is a candle that has been lit, and whose light shines far beyond the apartment that family inhabits. Our families inspire their families and their friends. If our families can do it, so can others. It is in that inspiration that hope is born, that change occurs, that the cycle is interrupted and hopefully broken for good.

Last night, at this fundraiser, attended primarily by people who have more money than time, and who gave of what they have with incredible generosity, we were allowed a brief picture inside the life of a person helped through their support. We were shown a powerful video, entirely unscripted, of a resident of C-LINC seeing her apartment for the very first time. It would be impossible to be unmoved by the experience, and most people wiped away a tear or two by the end.

I had the extraordinary privilege of being present on the occasion of the making of the video, because the apartment that she received was one that I had worked on, and we were still putting the finishing touches to the place when the very young woman arrived with her little boy. Although my heart is, I hope, always in the right place when I do that work, I do not do it for any recognition at all and have never expected any, I was given a tremendous gift by being allowed to participate unexpectedly in that moment when she saw the apartment into which I poured so much of my own heart and hard work.

She began to sob, loudly and unabashedly at the front door, and continued as she moved throughout the apartment, seeing what we had done for her. Her face lit up as she saw all that she was being given, and her most memorable words were that she had never lived in a place that was so beautiful. It is not, by the standards of most of the people I know, anything special - it is, on the contrary, a pretty minimal, basic place to live, but to her, it was a mansion of great worth, and she showed us how she valued it in her face and her actions and her words.

Her other memorable statement, one which I will never forget, because it was the promise I most value from her, was that, "I just don't know how to thank them enough but just to do right for myself." She gifted me with her gratitude, and it is the greatest gift a person can receive.

It is easy to get gifts from those we love, and who love us. It is a simple matter to write a check, or to hand over our used belongings that we no longer want. But it goes against my Minnesota upbringing to receive the recognition and the gratitude that I received that day. It was a life changing moment for me, when I was forced, by surprise, to accept her emotional thank you, and to confront, in that visceral way, the deep impact that we can have on someone we don't even know.

In our country today, there is a lot of talk about the poor, and meeting needs, but most people have never had a chance to put a face to the poverty, to put a real human being into the picture. It is a vague someone out there, not really associated with us, that is being affected, and it's easy to talk clinically about fault and responsibility and solution provision.

Today, for a few moments, I want to share with you the gift of gratitude that I received. I hope that you will know, whatever you do, however you do it, wherever you give, while you can't save everyone, it is worth saving the one. Whatever gift you share, whatever organization fulfills the mission for you, whether it be money or time or talents, know that it God's work you are doing, and that you are the embodiement of God to those whose lives you are changing. You are fulfilling the words of Jesus, when he said that whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me, also.

Jesus talked about leaving the 99 sheep to find the one. Please follow this link to see what one of his missing sheep really looks like.

http://www.communitylinc.org/Home/ClientsStory.htm

It's snowing, it's sleeting, the old man is ....

I am as happy as the next person to embrace science. I like technology, and I'm not afraid to use it. I am all for progress, as long as it's forward, and not lateral, or, worse yet, backwards.

So I have been all over the global warming thing. I have recycled. I avoid spray cans with CFC's. I looked for cars that used newer types of refrigerants as soon as they became available, back when they switched from the old freon systems to the newer models, and I still had money to buy stuff.

If I had any money now, I would replace my current air conditioner with a more earth friendly system, and I would simply adore the opportunity to replace my rapidly aging fridge with an upgraded, energy star rated version. I bring my cotton cloth bags to the grocery store, and I try not to throw stuff in the landfills that can easily be dropped off for reuse, like old computers, for example.

But this morning, November 15, I got out of bed, walked to the back door to let my dogs out, and was surprised to be hit in the eye with a falling pellet of, can it be? Please say it isn't so. Snow.

I realize that many people enjoy the snow. I know that some people (people I actually know and love, for heaven's sakes,) actually look forward to it, like a birthday or the Fourth of July, because it means you get to do things like ski or snowmobile. Back in the northland where I was raised, the goofy populace has even created an entire carnival specifically for the purpose of celebrating snow. If you are one of the delusional and that is how you feel about snow, stop reading now. Just do not go any further. Because I am definitely not one of those people. And this not a celebration of anything. Except endurance, perhaps.

I consider snow an obstacle to be overcome. Or to run away from. That was the answer I found to be preferable, in fact. Which is partially why I live 425 miles away from my very own mother, who is much tougher than I am, and works harder, too. She does not hate the snow. She lives on a farm, she has to deal with getting out of her driveway when there is too much of it, and she still doesn't hate it. There is nothing you can do about people with that attitude except to humor them, I've decided.

The appropriate attitude, in my opinion, the one which I, myself, espouse and to which I hold fast (obviously,) is that snow is a barrier to happiness, and must be avoided at all costs. I'll leave it for the polar bears to frolic in, I hear they are losing their environment, anyway. (That whole global warming thing, again, although you certainly couldn't tell by the weather out there this morning.) They can have my snow. If I never again saw another flake of the white stuff, it would not distress me in the least. All snow means to me is that we are being forced, against our will, to measure the rain, and who needs that?

I am, at this moment, sulking on the sofa in my living room, blinds tightly shut against the sight of white precipitation pelting out of the clouds. When the dogs look out the door and think twice, I know it's time to pull up the blanket and hibernate for the day.

I realize that the Christmas card industry would be in sad shape without snow to sell the cozy picture of fireplaces merrily crackling and churches nestled in the glen with a shimmering glaze of white surrounding it like a clean blanket. But let's not kid ourselves. Snow is cold, it is wet, and it causes accidents. Enough said, I think.

One of the better reasons to live in Kansas City is that we do not engage in snow glorification activities around here. We are more into beating it back into submission, or de-icing it into liquid again. Winter, for us, generally starts right around Christmas, ends before my daughter's February birthday, and with only the occasional exception, consists of two or three snowfalls of varying depth with a melt in between. So the last thing I was expecting to see this morning was little pellets of snow pounding down from the sky. I went to bed, it was clear and 45 degrees, I wake up and it's 31 and snowing?

Of course, it could be worse. Here in the Heartland of the Country (that's what we like to call ourselves, because it sounds more interesting than Flyover-World,) we have frequent ice storms. I realize that people in other places have the occasional ice incident, giving them the illusion that they understand the nature of that particular beast. But I can say with absolute honesty, I had NO IDEA what an ice storm was until I moved to Kansas City.

You can watch the ice build up on your trees until the tops are bent almost to the ground from the weight. The boughs will all droop sadly, like a bereaved Christmas tree the day after New Years.

Power lines snap like spaghetti noodles, and the city will be paralyzed for days to weeks. Families huddle around their gas fireplaces, because the furnace won't click on without their electronic starters, and people get to know each other closer up and a little too personally.

I am happy to report that in the suburb where I currently have my place of abode, we do not have many actual trees, and most of the lines are underground. We have tree wanna-be's, those hopeful little glorified branches bravely standing up from the ground with their 15 leaves fluttering below. But it would be impossible to classify most of them as real trees. My point being, we have less problems with them falling on power lines, thus forcing us to self-actualize with our closest relatives in frigid climes. This, in case you were unaware, is a recipe for disaster, one which I would prefer never to attempt.

In other words, (for those who have pulled up their thesaurus, please minimize again, this is not a vocab prep for the SAT, you know,) I have never had to face a week without power, which is probably just as well. With a teenaged daughter in residence, a week without showering facilities would not take us in a positive direction, and we are not that interested in knowing more about each other than we already do.

I imagine that the snow, which is not sticking even now, will quickly dissipate and be gone, and the warmer weather will soon reappear, this little ripple of cold in the cosmos just a harbinger of things to come, instead of the forward wave of reality that it appears to be at this moment. But I am certain that the day will come too soon that once again, the outside world will become a winter wonderland, and I will find myself on the inside looking out at an unfamiliar landscape of white. Don't come around here trying to sell global warming today. I am not in the buying mood. Save it for summer, when it's 100 degrees in the shade, and then we'll talk.

Come to think of it, I had better go pay my gas bill, so I will be sure to have the fireplace ready for the worst which is to come.

Life as art....

Last night I had the great privilege of attending my daughter's high school fall play. She is stage manager this year, instead of actress, and has found the job to be both more difficult and more rewarding. It is frustrating that if she does her job well, no one notices, and that is, in and of itself, the compliment. But if things go badly, everyone will notice, and that responsibility will come right back on her.

The happy outcome last night, if that is the correct term to ascribe to it, was that the play went fantastically well. It was a tremendous presentation of a very thought provoking and difficult topic, and the final curtain call resulted in an immediate standing ovation, led, not by the proud parents, but by classmates who entered expecting to have a little fun, but instead got challenged and prodded in their own beliefs. The play they are presenting this year is "Dead Man Walking," and I will admit, it wasn't what I expected when I walked in the door.

[A disclosure is required here. I never saw the movie that starred Susan Sarandon. The death penalty is not something I like to think about, and I feared the movie would sermonize and try to unfairly sway my opinion on a subject I would rather ignore. So I don't know whether the movie has an agenda or not. But this post has nothing to do with the movie, it is entirely about a production at my daughter's high school, and my comments are strictly limited to that presentation.]

The death penalty is, for some, a clear cut issue. I have heard people on both sides of this issue make proclamations of its rightness or wrongness as though there is no murky middle ground, no point of confusion, no religious or moral imperative involved.

I find, for myself, it is simply not that easy. I cannot put aside my own penchant for seeing the pesky gray areas of life, allowing me to come down squarely on one side or the other. Instead, I am caught in the middle between the two extremes, one foot in each camp, in a sort of split decision that doesn't make sense even to me.

I try, in all things, to fairly examine an issue from all sides before I take any position on a subject. I want to see things from that frame of reference, try to understand why people feel, or think, or believe, what they do.

I do not enjoy debating with people who have different opinions from those I myself espouse. Generally, I fail to hold up my end of the discussion, because I often find that I am in sympathy with their views, even when I have a different conclusion, unless they are so entrenched in their own extreme agenda as to be completely unreasonable and incapable of considering there is any other way of thinking. I am not much on fanatics of any variety - in fact, I believe those who polarize an issue reduce the possibility of resolution, because they cannot accept any outcome other than their own solution.

For me, the death penalty is filled with difficult issues on both sides, and that is why this play was so thought provoking. Although it is the story of Sister Helen Prejean, who among other things has counseled death row inmates prior to their execution and has become an outspoken opponent of the death penalty, it was, at least in this presentation, not a hammer with which we are beaten on the subject. Instead, it was a precis of the two sides, which leaves you to make your own decision about what is right, and what is just. And whether or not anyone can be justified through it.

The actress who played Sister Prejean is an accomplished performer, and took us inside the torment and confusion she felt as she battled within herself. We saw her struggling to reconcile her belief in the sanctity of human life, even if that life was in the form of a convicted murderer, with her sympathy for, and understanding of, the families who were victimized by his willful actions. The anger and rage, on all sides, were presented fairly, not in equal measure, but as they are. It was clear where the sympathy was intended to be directed, and it was not with the criminal.

The play also shows the victimization of a family often forgotten, that family who will be bereaved by the execution itself. It was clear where the responsibility lay at all times - Sister Prejean never allowed him to excuse himself for the injuries he had inflicted on everyone involved.

You saw the mother of the murderer questioning where she went wrong, and how she could have raised someone so depraved as to perpetrate this crime. But she also recalled him as a child, and grieved and mourned for what had gone wrong. While the criminal received no sympathy at all, you could not fail to be moved over the grief and sadness that his family experienced because of his actions.

You saw the family of the murdered boy falling apart as they struggled to come to terms with this horrific event that had happened to them. Their family was rent asunder, not once, but twice, by the violent actions of someone for whom they had no sympathy, toward whom they felt only fully understandable rage.

You saw the family of the murdered girl, violated by the existence of the criminal as they recalled their daughter's final moments of life, harboring their own hatred. It was evident that they were pinning their future on the elimination of the one who had brought death to their door. You could only hope that in the end, they found the solace they were seeking, even as you suspected it would not. The hurt that he had inflicted could not be assuaged by his death, I don't think, because their loss would remain, unresolved.

You heard the story in the words of the criminal himself, changing as time passes and he approaches his own end, the fear of what lay beyond this life finally, ultimately, forcing him to acknowledge for the first time his wrongs and his grievous part in his own demise. His ultimate statement to the families he has deprived has exactly the impact you would expect - too little, too late, and suspiciously self-serving.

But the deeper issue it stirred up for me is the question that transcends the basic questions that usually accompany the death penalty - who are we, as human beings, to play God? What about grace and reconciliation? What about the salvation of the convicted?

If we believe God loves us all, then we must, by extension, believe God loves even the least of us, the scum of society, those for whom we reserve nothing but disgust. If there is always the possibility that God can enter a heart and soul and change that person, if salvation is available unto death, then is it right to hasten that death, and possibly deprive someone of the opportunity for repentance and reconciliation?

Just as troubling for me, I think, is the suspicion that the execution does not, in the end, bring resolution, peace, acceptance or even a sense of justice to those who have already been victimized. I don't know, because I have, thankfully, never had to face that particular trial. But I think it is a question worth asking those who have traveled that road. I think we should, at the very least, determine whether, in the end, it is the execution which allows them to move forward, freed at least from the haunting loss. Or if, in fact, they would have been better served by the knowledge that the one who victimized them was forced to live for the rest of their life in a cell, giving them opportunity to reflect on their crime, and what they have done.

As I said, I have no answers. I do not feel guilt over the execution of a Tim McVeigh. He went unrepentant to his death, and he does not, in my opinion, deserve to breathe the air and share the earth of the people he victimized. But I cannot, in the end, say I would be willing to be the one to make it happen, to make the injection, to end a life, to be responsible for carrying out what the law says is the just conclusion, either. It is too much responsibility for me, and I would feel that I had usurped God's plan.

At the same time, perhaps it is fulfillment of God's plan for their life to end thusly, and in experiencing that final penalty, the life has ended exactly as God knew it must. In the end, perhaps it is that very application which is required to bring a hardened human being to a place where he or she must open their heart and allow God to enter, or to finally reject, once and for all, the salvation that awaits them if only they will accept.

In the end, I am still where I started, with one foot in each camp. But perhaps, in the end, that is where we should be. I think that is the higher calling of arts in the school - to make us think, to provoke, to educate and to force us to confront those things with which we are uncomfortable. In that, this high school presentation fulfilled it's mission.

And so, I send my daughter bouquets of good wishes, wrapped up in hugs, and a kiss for luck. You are a success, not only at stage managing, but artistically, because your presentation, your vision, has done what good art always does - it has made me think beyond the moment.

There is no greater accolade I can give.

Veteran's Day

Today is a day set aside to honor our men and women who have served our country in the armed forces. It is, I think, impossible for those of us who have never served to understand the true sacrifices, as well as the experiences, of those who have given themselves to this nation in that way. We talk, rather vacuously, I often think, about the sacrifices our military make for us, without knowing anything about what those sacrifices really entail. We pull out patriotism like it's a badge to wear, a bumper sticker or a pin on our lapel to sell our particular point of view, without understanding what the underlying efforts were really about.

Living where I do, I am accustomed to seeing footage on the news as the troops come and go from the various forts in our area. We become almost immune to the emotion, seeing the happy faces as people are reunited, and the sad faces as families watch their loved ones disappear into the unknown. But in that fleeting footage, we understand very little of what happens behind the scenes, as spouses become single parents, children live with daily fear that their mother or father will never come home again, and they try to live as normally as possible while knowing that someone they love is never out of harm's way.

This was brought home to me in a totally new way last spring. The picture of sacrifice that I think will remain with me forever was shown on the local news last April. A father came home on leave unexpectedly, and his teenaged daughter did not know. She arrived for her spring prom at the appointed location, beautifully dressed in her long gown, hair done, makeup perfect, attractive young man at her elbow.

She walked in the door, and the news photographer had the fun of filming her reaction upon seeing her father standing there in front of her. She burst into tears spontaneously, paralyzed for the moment upon seeing someone who was so important to her there in front of her so unexpectedly. Her dad walked over to her to hug her, and she just clung to him sobbing uncontrollably.

The sacrifice he had made for his country, for me, for all of us, was not his alone. It was, in a very real way, the sacrifice made by his children, who were deprived of someone whose presence should have been a given in their everyday life that made it real for me, made me even more grateful for their willingness to serve. I still weep every time I recall that picture in my mind, her emotion so overwhelming it reached me even through the television.

We see on the news when the soldiers come and go, but those are routine events, husbands and wives embracing, a few tears being shed, stoic smiles hiding breaking hearts that never let us inside to see what they are really feeling. They don't want to make things harder for each other, they want to send off their loved one, or leave them behind, with a smile as their last memory, and not the tears, I imagine.

But in that unexpected reunion, we glimpsed for a moment the raw emotion, the reality of feelings, the true depth of what is being given up. In seeing a teenager, who is usually fighting for independence, come completely undone simply for seeing her father, we see the face of the real sacrifice our military families are making. It increases my gratitude on this day, as we remember all of our veterans who made the same sacrifices, and for their families that they left behind.

I have several uncles who fought in World War II. Two of my uncles were in the ground forces in Europe. When I learned about the Battle of the Bulge, it was sobering to realize that I had a personal connection to that far off event.

I have an uncle who received a medal of honor from Charles de Gaulle himself, along with a certificate which he still proudly displays in his home. That is not just a piece of metal and a piece of paper for him. It is a tangible symbol of his experience, and a visible reminder that he was one of the fortunate ones who made it home again. It was the way that France chose to thank him for his service to them, and it is a reminder that he is, and always will be, a hero to them.

I simply cannot reconcile the uncles I know and love fighting for the very existence of our nation, and for our way of life that I so take for granted. I understood that my mother and her siblings and her parents must have worried and been concerned about each other. But it didn't really come home to me, because they were young, before my time, and I simply could not get my mind around it, until I saw that young girl's reaction to unexpectedly seeing her father. Now I think I might begin to understand the full scope of the sacrifice that really occurred, and it makes me that much more grateful.

I had two other uncles who served in the Pacific arena in the navy. I don't know how any of them came to be in the branch of the service they chose - I don't think any of them waited to be conscripted, I believe they all volunteered, as so many did in that war for the heart and soul of the world's future. I imagine it was a different sort of war for them, on the water, instead of having solid ground under their feet. I imagine them on the deck, looking out at the vast expanse of water, wondering what dangers lay hidden just beneath the impenetrable surface.

One of my uncles, my Uncle Fritz, was on a ship in the Far East somewhere. Like most veterans, he has never really talked to those of us who weren't there about his experiences, so I have never had the first hand account. But I did hear a story, brief and bare bones, from my mother, which I will share with you. I cannot describe his sacrifice, although I think he is probably very proud that no one on his sunken ship died in the disaster. But I do know from my mother the anxious waiting to hear that he was okay.

In the days before cell phones and the 24/7 internet news cycle, the information they awaited took a lifetime to come. It must have been excruciating for those who waited upon hearing of a battle in which their loved ones were engaged. And so it was for my grandparents, and his siblings, when the ship that my Uncle Fritz was on was sunk.

My mother was then in the Cities going to business college, and she has recalled for me walking down the street, and suddenly, unexpectedly, there was her brother, alive and in the flesh standing there before her. She knew before then that he was all right, that happy information had somehow made its way to them, already. But she had not known when she would see him again, when suddenly, there he was in front of her. He had come home on leave, intending to surprise his family with the gift of himself. The raw emotion that seeing him induced in her convinced my mom that their mother should not be surprised that way, and they made an advance call to announce his arrival shortly thereafter in my little home town!

I can well imagine how she must have wanted to cling to him, to hold his arm, to gaze at his face, holding on to the reality for a moment before he was gone again, and the worry would return. I think she may well have felt like that young lady who walked into a prom slightly sad over the father who was missing that once in a lifetime moment for her, only to realize that he was, in fact right there in front of her. [I would add that the young people prevailed upon him to remain with them that evening, and he enjoyed his daughter's senior prom as much as she did, which, in my opinion, is quite a sacrifice in and of itself!]

I have several cousins who also went off to another war, in a land far more puzzling and ephemeral for us, a land filled with people we have never understood, and probably still don't. As seems to always be true, they don't talk about it to those of us who weren't there, I guess they realize we can never understand, so I don't know anything about their experiences there. But I do know they were thought of all the time by their families waiting back home, and they thought of us, too.

For me, that war is remembered by the wearing of MIA bracelets, and protests here at home. I also have a beautiful collection of stamps, sent to me from Okinawa by my cousin's thoughtful wife who knew I collected them, and helped to expand my collection. [I still have them, and they are beautiful. I am thinking I should frame them or something, because they are special to me, but like everything else, I haven't gotten around to it.] I don't know what any of my cousins did in Southeast Asia, or what they saw or thought or felt. But I know that the experience helped to define them, changed them, made them the men they are today. I am very proud of them, and I fly my flag today to honor them and their service, not only to this country, but for me.

We are unquestionably fortunate to live in a country which is worth fighting, even dying, for. I am grateful for the sacrifices that have been made so that I can sit in my cozy house this morning and write these inadequate words of gratitude. Having come through this contentious election season, it is, I think, important to be reminded that the freedoms we enjoy to choose our leaders and complain about them afterwards have not come cheaply. The cost has been great, and we owe those who have paid it a debt that can never be repaid.

To those veterans in my own family, and to veterans everywhere, thank you.