THE EMOTIONS THAT WORDS CARRY
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The best way to spend down time is with a good book, good coffee (or good beer or good wine or iced tea), with the sun on my shoulders and quiet. Insert a good camping spot next to the lake and you have the perfect day of rest.
My current read and current nearly favorite author is Craig Johnson. He writes about a good country cowboy sheriff that goes by the name Walt Longmire. Perhaps you've heard of him. :-)
I loved the Netlfix series, and I am loving the books more. Until this morning. This morning I had to put down the current book I'm reading, Another Man's Moccasins, because of the recounting of war time. I am halfway through, and my heart just started breaking. My Uncle Bob, who served in Vietnam, my father-in-law, who served in WWII, my son-in-law, who served as a marine for five years, and my daughter and grandsons who served as well, being so young and so alone.
And the PTSD that follows these soldiers until their sorrows are vanquished by being Heaven-bound.
I prayed the only words I could. Please Lord, make it stop.
The wars in our world are taking lives, those of the living and the dead. Everywhere. All over the world. And we are safely dwelling in the oasis of The United States of America, fighting over who should be our leader, if we should have access to weapons, what is safe to say aloud and what should be banished, is it right to take the life of an unborn child, is it actually a child, if there is enough money for groceries and if our investments are earning or losing money.
All of this banter, which yes, is why we have our freedom, but for many who have served in wars, there is no freedom. They relive it every day.
My friend Ralph never talked about serving. He was a decorated war hero from a tiny town in Wyoming. He was intelligent, firm, and carried himself with confidence, but never wanted to talk about the war.
Until one day, when he walked into my office, sat down and said, "I've joined a therapy group of veterans. I guess maybe I need to talk about it." We talked only of where it was, when it was and just enough why that he didn't really have to share it with me.
He did, however, fill his hallways with photographs. Army buddies, current and past, family, places, uniformed and civil clothes. He could look at where he had been, but couldn't talk about it.
He passed away last year. Group therapy didn't last long. And now he doesn't need it anymore. He was one of my Belle's, favorite people. He nick-named her Hound. She loves his hat.
It reminds me that we don't know everyone's stories. We forget that fiction sometimes imitates reality. And that words are necessary and impactful.
The Old Testament is filled with war stories, when God sent His people to battle. It makes me think that living soldiers do not come by this without being called.
Pray for our world. We were called to all of it, not only our safe corner of it. Remember that words are impactful and should carry empathy, caution, and most of all, love. Be kind. When you have a bad day, the clerk at the grocers might be having a worse one. When you are broke, a homeless mother might have less. Before you throw yourself a pity party, remember, someone could be suffering more.
Words carry emotion. And emotions carry words. Feel, live, experience, love.
I love you. God bless.
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