Where were you. . .?

Like any other weekday morning, I was at home with my kids: Drama Boy, 4.5 years old, Boy Genius, nearly 3 years old, and Twirly Girl, 19 months old. Larry was taking his day off on Tuesdays, but a young member had gotten into a minor car accident on the way to school and so he had gone to the hospital. In checking my email, a friend had posted a prayer for our nation. She was not specific, but her words made me certain that something was very wrong and a quick internet search filled in the blanks. Because of the age of the kids, I deliberately did not turn on the television until after they were in bed for the night.  I did wait anxiously for the evening paper to arrive with more information!

Sometime during the day, the news hit closer to home. A woman who had grown up in our congregation was on the plane that crashed into the Pentagon and so Larry drove to her sister’s home to minister to her and other relatives who were still in the area. On the following Tuesday, September 18, a memorial service was held at our church. It was widely attended and made more than one area news report that night–from the parsonage window we could still see one lone live reporter from the late news. I’ve often wondered if all those people were still close to her after she had lived on the East Coast for many years, or if they somehow felt they were doing something by being there.

Because we lived in rural Iowa, I have to admit I wasn’t particularly worried about a local attack. I did wonder if events would somehow affect my planned road trip to Indiana in October; they didn’t. I sometimes felt guilty for living in relative safety as I read the initial news stories and, later, Pastor Kavouras’s chaplain field reports. That feeling faded over time and while I am sure that the events of September 11, 2001, led to shifts in my thinking over the past nine years, they have been too subtle to be identified.

As an aside, Bouncy Boy is technically part of the post 9/11 baby boom. That’s really only a coincidence–unless you consider the fact that it had been three weeks since Larry had a day off.

Bam! bam!

Like many of you, last night we attended our town’s display of fireworks. Bright lights and loud noises aren’t really my idea of a good time, but the kids wanted to go and there was no real reason to stay home. So around 9:30 we loaded up the ‘Burb with 6 kids (the 3 younger ones in pajamas), the dog on his leash, a bug candle, and our collection of lawn chairs. This was actually our first time to watch fireworks here–our first summer in Wyoming we spent the 4th in Indiana and last year the kids needed to get to bed due to church the next morning. Rumor has it that the best vantage point in town involves a bit of mountain climbing: not something we wanted to tackle in the dark with little kids. We got a variety of answers regarding a “next best” place for watching, so we set forth not knowing exactly where we were going.

One suggestion had been the high school parking lot, so we drove past there–wow, what a crowd! We decided to keep going and made a loop through the park before settling on a quiet spot to park and set up our chairs. The next nearest people were just out of earshot; or perhaps they could hear us better than we could hear them. It took us awhile to get all situated but we still had to wait twenty minutes or so until it was dark enough for the firemen to begin.

The kids’ reactions always amuse me. Bouncy Boy, who is not a quiet person by any means, complains about the noise and ends up with his hands over his ears. Silly Boy enjoyed them until he decided he was cold. First he pulled his head inside his shirt like a turtle, and then finally Drama Boy was sent to fetch the picnic quilt  for all who wanted to huddle under it. This was our first time to combine dog and fireworks, and once George finished growling at the first few he was content on Larry’s lap.

And then there was Baby Boy, who certainly doesn’t remember fireworks from two years ago. At first he sat on my lap proudly announcing each color as he saw it, whether he was right or not. Purple! Blue! Green! And then. . .Bam! bam! Out came the little finger guns, and he was busy shooting back at the fireworks. Soon his brothers caught on, and the air was filled with Bang! Bam! and all the other noises little boys make when they are shooting imaginary bad guys.

I don’t pretend to understand, but I am always amazed at boys’ willingness to put their life on the line from others. Shooting at each other, even in play, is discouraged, but they are quick to protect mother from the imaginary bear, or work together to defend their territory/yard against unseen enemies. And on Independence Day, I can’t help but think of the boys who grow up to be men but don’t outgrow fighting the “bad guys.” In spite of her flaws, I am still proud to be an American. . .and I am proud of all those men willing to lay their lives on the line to defend our flag.

I pledge allegiance to the Flag
of the United States of America,
and to the Republic for which it stands:
one Nation under God, indivisible,
With Liberty and Justice for all.

Tax dollars at work

Once more, the Social Security Administration spent time and money mailing me a four page letter detailing the fact that I haven’t worked enough to receive benefits. Except for selling Creative Memories in 2000-01, I haven’t had any taxable income since 1996. Do they think I didn’t notice that I work for free, and therefore have not paid taxes? Or perhaps I had forgotten in the twelve months since receiving last year’s nearly identical letter?

I can appreciate there may be individuals or circumstances where this information is needed. But if this letter is sent to all adults on an annual basis, it seems to be a waste of resources for an already top-heavy program. It doesn’t take an expert in demographics to recognize that our nation’s declining birthrate can’t indefinitely support the Social Security program as we know it.

D-Day

Because freedom isn’t free. . .

I choose life

As Election Day draws nearer, we are bombarded with political messages. I confess that I ignore most of it, having been taught that “If you can’t say anything nice. . ..” But I also find that I have become one of “those voters”: that is, a single issue voter. Some of you may assume that means that I am misguided and uninformed about the issues. That is partly true as I do not have time in this stage of life to understand every issue. However, if that one issue, that is life, is not supported, then nothing else matters. A culture that embraces death (whether the reason be age, handicap, gender, religion, nationality, or other inconvenience) is self-destructive, no matter how sound its economy or how strong its defense.

This week I came across an excellent article on this very issue by Dr. Uwe Siemon-Netto. Go and read it, if you haven’t already. His depth of experience (a German residing permanently in the States) and clarity of expression make a much stronger case for life than my own humble words.

Always Remember