Remembering PERSON, NOT A

DAVIS
MICHAEL W
### ## ####
A POS
PROTESTANT

This is not a person.

We wore dog tags
and POW bracelets to remember men we would never know.
They were athletes
musicians
poets
preachers
artists
lovers
sons, brothers, husbands, fathers
friends.

NAGY
EDWARD J
### ## ####
O NEG
CATHOLIC

This is not a person.

Children unaware,
we only knew something bad was happening somewhere we couldn't go.
They laughed
cried
worried
blessed
helped
healed
smiled
suffered
sang
fought.

MILLARD
PHILIP M
### ## ####
B POS
JEWISH

This is not a person.

We hoped for change
though we did not know to what or from what,
and we did not know things never change.
They were brave
young
handsome
dashing
important
patriotic
good
lost.

But

RODRIGUEZ
RICARDO L
### ## ####
A NEG
PROTESTANT

was not a person
to us.

Why do the men in the dark sedan give dog tags to mothers and wives?

This is not a person.

You take away a priceless human being
and return a piece of stamped metal?

You throw away a life,
a piece of combat equipment,
a fighting unit,
and bring her

SOMEONE
SON O
### ## ####
A POS
GONE

View - Five Minute Friday

 

So it’s Friday again, and this time I’m meeting the day as it begins, still up at 1:00 a.m. This week's Five Minute Friday prompt is “view.” I decided to take a look at that for a while before retiring.

Five minutes: Go.

View is larger than sight

because view sees beyond what is there

to what it means,

I think.

I have a long view

of life,

and it helps me see

what’s important,

what’s nonessential,

what’s enduring,

and what’s not.

When I say there’s a lovely view,

some people just look quickly and nod agreement,

but others know

that I mean the sight has meaning:

it is lovely because of something,

something other than its appearance.

I suppose in my world,

this one, I mean,

the one everyone can see,

appearances mean more than views.

The way I see it,

life is all about the view.

Smiling

I decided to smile on purpose, twelve & more years ago. I decided to help my face grow into a pleasant appearance, so that I wouldn't have frown lines and scowls engraved in the delicate muscles of my countenance. Once they're carved, that's what I have to work with. I know this. I study faces. I take notes. I know my heritage. I've watched in slow motion the women whose faces age into troubled and distant masks, tough coverings etched with disappointment and fear and suffering. I've seen other women whose faces have developed into radiant reflections of the joy they chose to live out.

I decided to make a stand against the frown lines, to be me, to let my face reflect the peace my faith provided. I'd fallen into a habit of scowling when I concentrated, and I realized that face, ostensibly at rest, gave testimony of much more suffering than had been my lot. It was an ungrateful face, a lying face that I was creating by not paying attention, by doing what came naturally instead of what could be done intentionally. I did not wish to bear false witness. Instead I chose to make my face show that I knew God was in charge, that I did not need to fear, that I was celebrating the freedom of trusting in Him. I wanted a face that would draw people to Him, and I set out to make my face be that.

Recent months have brought a number of challenges and I've fallen unconsciously into the old natural habits again. My face is reflecting my earthly situation and not my place in the kingdom of God. Yes, I've been weary, and tired people don't make good decisions. Exhaustion tends to make us fall into old patterns of behavior. So I can use that excuse if I want it, but I don't want it. The habits are making the lines whether I mean them to be made or not. So I'm remembering again today, remembering to look up, to smile, to say without words what my heart knows to be true.

I'm remembering - because God kept bringing it to mind all morning - that all things work together for the good of those who love The Lord. I certainly love Him, and I'm going to smile today and believe that even my crazy schedule and list of tasks is part of His plan for my good; that if I'm out of balance He'll show me; that going through trials will help polish me so that I can reflect Him better.

If you see me NOT smiling, will you remind me to remember?

A Thank-You Note

I am thankful today for sheets on the clothesline,
sunshine to dry them,
and indoor plumbing.

I like the fact that those things could have been on my grandmother's thank-you list, too.

I also like the fact that when I choose to be thankful it changes my world.

Woman Song

I wrote this a few days before the Five Minute Friday prompt was published for May 17. But it was a five-minute work, and it fits the theme, "Song." I hope it still fits the rules, because it's the only song I'm coming up with during my busy, wearying, joy-filled days. I'm going to say "it's a God thing" that it came to me early.

* * *

Maybe because of Mother's Day. Maybe just because. I thought of how music lifts spirits in trying times, and about how being a woman gives opportunity to experience a fair share of those. My friend Wil Maring once reminded me that even the sad songs make us feel happier. Anyhow, the musing turned into this:

Woman Song

Sing we now of things to be

of wars and dreams and worlds to see

of love and life and broken glass

of wishes that may come to pass

Sing we of the moments kissed

of pain and mercy, loved ones missed

of past and present, now and then

of memories that thrive again

Sing we of our limits found

of promises forever bound

of hope endured and peace restored

of losses we can ill afford

Sing we of the blessed child

of taming hearts forever wild

of growing up and growing old

of dancing warm and giggling cold

Sing we loud with silent voice

of tears that fall when we rejoice

of meaning hiding in plain view

of living lies and staying true

We sing.

Deborah L. W. Roszel

May 12, 2013

Comfort - Five Minute Friday

Comfort ye, my people, saith your God.

It's not a cozy comfort I'm thinking about. It's a comfort in knowing a cozy comfort awaits.

Sometimes life is hard. Busy and intense and protracted like labor. Which is not to say it isn't good. Life is good and hard. And comfortable.

Someday may never come, but someday I'm going to be able to sit down and say, "Yes, that was done well." Perhaps God's reward will come at heaven's gate; I want the comfort of knowing I am doing well so that I will hear His voice say, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

That's definitely not cozy comfort. That's about being brave and patient and bare and strong and broken and determined for a long, long time. That's about doing the hard things when no one else does. But I take comfort from the promises that the work will bear fruit, comfort from the examples of those who have gone before and shown the way (and the fruit).

Here and now, today, my comfort often comes from making others comfortable. Is it coincidence that "comfort" starts the same way as "community" and "commitment"? I think not. I think comfort is something that comes when we share, when we pour out ourselves together in love.

Like Winnie the Pooh, though, I'm not sure I'm right about all this.

Wonder what Christopher Robin would say.

Four days after the wedding . . . finding my way back to normal

Today I am cardboard.

Not marble,

not patiently formed,

gracefully curved,

caressed into life

or beauty.







No, marble is alive.

I am cardboard.

Not metal,

not smoothly reflective,

carefully polished,

pressed into service

or function.

No, metal is alive.

I am cardboard.

Cardboard,

intentionally severed,

mindlessly shredded,

drowned to submission

or pulp.






All the life

squeezed and dried,

edges and corners

shaped into die-cut

semblance.

I am cardboard.

Still I lie.

Stiff, dull, dry.

Bland, harmless, useful.

Even recyclable.

Tomorrow I'm coming back as a butterfly.