Incomprehensible thanks

My heart is full.  So thank you.

Those of you who serve our country, thank you.

If you have served and gone to school on the G. I. Bill, then you join generations building an incomprehensibly astonishing country, complete with shortcomings the whole world can see.  Please continue building.

If you returned broken, marred, missing parts of body or soul, then you join a long line bleeding in blues, khaki, and camo: striving to rebuild bodies, minds and lives in countless re-enactments of America’s miracle.  Please don’t give up rebuilding.

If you’re eating turkey, or an MRE, or you’re quietly hungry again tonight, then fall in.  Queues of hungry men and women reach back to Valley Forge’s freezer, doing the impossible in Inchon or sweltering in malarial silence.  Please don’t shirk attempting the impossible with your wearied best.

And if you’re quiet in flag-draped box, ferried home by those who cannot flinch at your final high cost paid.  Come take a place with the mighty and abased, heroes with names on small white crosses and stars in quiet, landscaped hills.  Hallowed by you ransoming my dream.

No less so, Christ lovers, who were not surprised when those fearing your faith ushered you horrifically into eternity.  You, did John certainly see in his Revelation, crying to God at justice delayed to the last chance for those martyring you to come to His grace.

Incomprehensible. Price.  Possibility.

If you served my country or Lord, thank you.  May my courage in these dearly bought days, address my debt to you at a Banquet to which we’ve been invited on death’s other shore.

That dream where it’s the end of school

Maybe we share a dream.  It is the end of a year (semester) and one of a few things transpire.  One, I have a class I registered for and never attended.  I just realized I made an “F” in that class.  Two, I have a class I forgot to continue attending and forgot to drop and just made an “F”.  Three, I have a class I got behind in and in which I could not catch up, and I just realized, too late, I cannot pass it.  I just made an “F”.

If you have the dream about going to school in your underwear, and no one noticing, that is above my pay grade.  Seek help.

I have now taught long enough to see all three semester ending disasters.  I work hard for students to succeed, but sometimes a student ignores help (sleeps through, texts others, attends to more important details of college over class requirements).  He misses all emails, all notes on websites, even texts to his phone.  I then go in to input final grades expecting him to have dropped the class months ago and his name is still on the list!  He just made an “F”.

SO, the dream for him is real.  As he shuts his eyes he is reliving this semester.  He needs no imagination (other than what I look like as he never viewed a lecture) to endure the nightmare.

SO here the question is two fold.  Is Garrison Keillor correct?  And if he is right, where were you sleeping?

Keillor maintained long ago on the News from Lake Woebegone on the Prairie Home Companion that when we sleep in hotels or dorms we dream the unfinished dreams of others who slept in those beds.  If that part is correct, then where were you when you dreamed that nightmare?  You probably were in a hotel room, dreaming an unfinished dream of some blighted soul who should have dropped the class, didn’t, and awoke to the horror of failure.

Unless you were home.  Safe in your own bed.

If that was where you dreamed it, then I might suggest a DayTimer or School Official Calendar, or no nine topping pizza with killer hot sauce after 1 a.m.

Or, go to class, prepared, every, every day.  The world will expect such when you graduate and wade out into it.  I know.  It’s silly, but the world will expect that.  I’ve seen it.

The First Morning

I have begun a blog.  I argued with myself for a decade as to whether or not to begin such. 

Many people already blog.  They have found voice, niche, recycled wisdom, fascination with the everyday miracles that we take for granted and creativity. 

I simply wonder if I have anything truly interesting to add, you know?  When I was younger and fascinated with my ideas, and worse, thinking that I came up with many of them, I took it for granted that people wanted to hear me, hear my ideas.

I am older now.  More suspicious and, perhaps, wiser. 

I now know that may of them had their faces point my way, but just like in eighth grade, they were thinking about themselves, or someone they wish they could love, or maybe about a burger later —  again, while pointing their slightly smiling faces my way. 

So, this is my first posting.  Jon Cook has been doing this for a decade, go read his if you want something polished.

Beadoleoma is early German for “battle light”.  The earliest hope for light swords or sabers that I could find linguistically.  I took that as a name because it was a dream when I was a kid and it is a dream, still, this day.  And those are the best dreams I have found, the ones that stay with you, just out of reach, keeping you moving forward after all else you have achieved. 

Only in Grace.