Uncommon Valor

"Uncommon valor was a common virtue"

Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz

Today marks the 71st Anniversary of the fateful day, February 19, 1945, US forces launched the assault on a cipher in the South Pacific, the volcanic Island, Iwo Jima.

The Congressional Medal of Honor, our Nation's highest award for Valor, defined as "conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while engaged in an action against an enemy of the United States..." was awarded to 22 Marines and 5 Sailors--nearly one for each day of the battle; 13 of the 27 were awarded posthumously.

Consider the human carnage.  A thirty-six day campaign; 26,800 American casualties--6800 dead. Of the 22,060 Japanese soldiers entrenched on the island, 21,844 died either from fighting or by ritual suicide. Only 216 were captured during the battle. It was hell on earth.

Losing so many of our WW2 vets every day. Invest time this week in an effort to make contact with one you might know or not...and tell them how much their service means to you. (Why not call a local Nursing Care facility or American Legion Post and get some contact info...make a call, write a note, drop in for a visit.)

Big thanks to Navy and Marines.

Semper Fi.

bN tGit

Paradise Found

Laura, my wonderful soul-mate, loves and raises Roses.  I marvel at her skill and tender care as she nurtures these beautiful and fragrant flowers.  This was written several years ago as a tribute to my amazing wife.  I share it here, again, a reminder of what a remarkable woman my lovely Valentine is.

    Summer.
Deck brittle with age, surrounded by color, a wall.
Satin petals: Red, Pink, Ivory, Maize.
Thorns a reminder: look, don't touch.

Water droplets perfectly formed, wait to escape.
Bees busy, a harvest of nectar.
Woman sits, watches, filled with joy at the sight.

She labors with tender care.
Scarred by thorns, undaunted.
She plants, she feeds, she waters.

The full bloom of her effort,
a feast for the eyes
Delicious to smell.

     Autum.
Sun's path plunges
colors blaze then fade.
Not an end; pause, to rest.

    Winter.
In time she plans for the deep white sleep of winter.
Well covered. Glory there still, but not.
They wait.

    Spring.
She prepares the soil, a feast.
They awake from slumber, race to come out.
Canes the channel of life, carry lovely crowns through voyage to summer.

     Summer.
In full bloom they linger.
Celebrated, loved; a reminder,
In the begining God.

bN tGit

A Gray Cloudy Day

Lake slips into a mist of gray
Horizon broken by trees stripped by Fall, 

bracing for winter.
Seasons change, storms pass.

A metaphor for life?
Fifty shades of gray, stripped by storms, 

bracing for loss.
Where is the hope?

A Blue Herron floats over the water.
The Spirit floats over the chaos of life.
Flashes of color break through the mist.
Seasons change, storms pass.
God--not lost in the gray.
Hope.

bN tGit

Cracked Pots.

In the week just completed, Christians all over the world celebrated "Ash Wednesday" marking the beginning of Lent, a season of reflection and preparation for Resurrection Day--coming this year on March 28.  I'm reposting a blog I shared one year ago, today.  At that time it had been just a few months since one of the Rocks-of-my-life passed into the presence of God.

Gene Cherrie was my father-in-law.  He was an extraordinary man. I'm hoping these words will help those looking forward to the Resurrection Day celebration expand their appreciation for what God in Christ did for humankind at the Cross. That said, reflect and prepare.  Sunday's com'n.

The family gathered in November 2014 to say our final farewells and remember Gene in a memorial tribute to his the life and legacy.  At that time I ran across a pair of scissors that belonged to him. My first response--I laughed out loud! Then my heart was warmed as I realized they were metaphor for Gene's life--his legacy, and God's amazing grace.

They are an ordinary three-dollar pair, with customized handle--the one that your middle finger slips into. It's been very skillfully fashioned from a one-inch piece of ply-wood. It's clear that Gene had created a jig from the broken handle; carefully cut the wood using the jig, then shaped it with a grinder to fit precisely the targeted finger; sanded to be smooth and pose no splinter threat to the user.

The "stub" of plastic it has been attached to was skillfully reshaped to be the base for the new wood-extension. The extension has been precisely measured so that the fabrication slips tightly over the stub with one end slightly longer than the other to provide the proper leverage as the scissors are opened and closed (Physics matter). The extension has been glued to the "stub" and secured with three very intentionally placed wood screws, two on the long end, one on the short to complete the revision. The screw on the short end has been ground down just enough to allow the scissors to close precisely as they did when they were new just coming off the shelf at Staples.

I immediately asked Betsey, Laura's step-mom, if I could have them--she very graciously said "Of course, take them." As I've used these scissors, and yes--reflected on them--over the past several months, I realize they say as much about God, as they do about Gene.

This came clearly into focus for me just this week as I had breakfast with a dear brother-in-Christ and our conversation turned to the impact, the life-long impact, of sin on our lives. There isn't a re-set button for the bad choices we make. The grooves sin cuts into our lives are deep and stubborn, they don't simply disappear when we confess our sin and seek God's forgiveness. The consequences of our willful choices and bad decisions are still part of our daily experience. If it ended there it would be a difficult load to bear. But, thanks be to God, it doesn't.

When we come to Christ through effective faith, God takes us as we are, then carefully, lovingly and skillfully refabricates our lives. The scars are there, still visible--painful--but He restores us. Like Gene's re-visioned pair of scissors, we become fully-functional again. He never throws us away; He picks us up, dusts us off and empowers us to carry on. The scars, the memories, they serve to instruct us each day about His gracious provision, His empowering desire and His loving redemption.

Paul writing to the Church in Corinth (4.1,2.. 7-10) instructs us...

'4 Therefore, since God in his mercy has given us this new way, we never give up. 2 We reject all shameful deeds and underhanded methods...7 We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves. 8 We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. 9 We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but not destroyed. 10 Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies.'

Did you see that? We are cracked pots; pressed not crushed. Perplexed not confused. Pursued not abandoned. Pushed down not destroyed. Suffering, but fully alive in Christ! The scars that remain serve as a map pointing others to Jesus. It is our weakness that serves as such a remarkable witness to the power of God--choosing the weakness of the human condition to transform our spheres of influence one person, one family, one neighborhood, one community, one nation at time. This humble path-to-power is, in fact, the real "road less traveled."

I thank God every day for that pair of scissors. They have an honored place in a simple container, with other tools we use on a daily basis, on one of the counters in our kitchen. Each time my gaze falls on them, I remember Gene--and in that moment, the legacy of his life points me to God's grace, power and love. He takes the "total-loss" that was our lives and transforms it to treasure..."all I had to offer Him was brokenness and strife, but He made something beautiful out of my life."

Hallelujah, what a Savior!

Sunday's Com'n.

bN tGit