A Fine World War II Veteran

Right before asking a WW2 veteran out to lunch, I was at the computer and heard a loud  "clunk!"  I went to the back sunroom, thinking the sound had come from there, and saw a stunned robin sprawled on the deck floor. One wing was open and the bird was half on its side, its beak open and panting.

The dogs raced outside to investigate the clunk, but ran right past the fallen robin. I quietly cupped my hands around him, gently bringing his wing into proper position against his body. He didn't try to fight me or fly, just huddled in my hands. After showing him to Asherel, I brought him to the garden in the front yard (remember- whenever I use terms like "garden" in connection with my yard, you may get a better picture if you think more along the lines of "tumbled mass of hodge podge vegetation") and I placed him hidden among the foliage.

Then I drove over to the Senior Living Center, arriving fifteen minutes early. Already waiting in the foyer, Comer sat with Evelyn, who he had fetched even earlier from the Alzheimer's floor. I had called to surprise them. It was not our planned lunch outing day, but it struck me that on veterans day, this kind old WWII vet should be treated to a special day. As I walked up to them, Comer handed me a dog training book. It had a red sticker on it and had obviously been pre-owned.
"Got this for you," he said.
I know he never goes anywhere so the home must have had a rummage sale and he had thought of me and wanted to give me a gift.
"Oh how sweet of you," I said, "But I am the one that should be giving you a gift. I want to thank you right now for your service to our country."
"What for?" he asked. Evelyn beamed at me, happy to see the stranger that always bought her french fries.
"Today is Veteran's Day!" I said.
"Oh...that," he said.
"So has the home made a big special to-do for the veterans?"
"Not a thing," he said, "You are the only one to mention it."
"Evelyn," I said, "You be nice to him today. This is a day that honors Comer."
"Me and 15 million others," he laughed.
"Well I am not taking 15 million others to lunch," I said.
When we got in the car, I put a 50's rock and roll CD on the tape player. Evelyn instantly began singing and Comer laughed, patting her hand. It was going to be a good day. Evelyn was smiling and singing every word. On our last outing, she had remained silent most of the trip.  Even during the  "weem-a-whep, aweem-a-whep" section of The Lion Sleeps Tonight, Evelyn was singing. She looked straight ahead, a serious look on her face as she sang that silly refrain. I glanced back at her, laughing.
"You know everything!" I said.
Comer looked lovingly at her, entwining his fingers through hers.

"When I was in Papua New Guinea, there was a Salvation Army man that would fly over regularly from Australia. When it was almost Thanksgiving, I gave him  $100 and told him to get me as many complete turkey dinners with all the fixins' that he could bring back. And he did! He came back with enough dinners for 23 people. So I gave my entire gun crew a full feast on Thanksgiving."
"Didn't the army do that for them?" I asked.
"Oh no, not then. We were blockaded at least part of that time by the Japanese. For two weeks, all we ate was chocolate pudding."
"Chocolate pudding?"
"The Japanese destroyed all our other rations, but for some reason they didn't touch the chocolate pudding."
"You were kept from starvation by chocolate pudding?"
"Yes."
"Do you still like chocolate pudding?"
"Love it," he said.

Arby's is one of Comer's favorite places. As I pulled up to the drive-through window, I tested Evelyn. In her bad days, all she can do is echo the last word I say.
"Evelyn, do you want a chocolate milk shake or a coke?"
"Chocolate milk shake!"
Yes, it was a good day.

When I got back home and was settled back to my book editing at the computer, I heard another loud, "Clunk!"
Impossible, I thought. Birds never fly into our window. That could not have been a second bird in one day smashing against the window. I resumed my editing, but my conscience gnawed at me. What if it had been a bird, and the poor thing was out there suffering?
With a sigh, I went to the back door. In the exact spot where the robin had been, a little wren now sprawled on the deck. It's head was bent at a strange angle and I feared its neck was broken. I carefully cupped my hands around it and straightened its wings. Like the robin, it nestled in my hands. It straightened its head and blinked but didn't struggle. I took it to the side yard, outside the dog fence, and nestled it in some thick soft leaves under the bushes. Then I stood up and smiled encouragingly at the little bird.
It looked up at me, its neck seemingly fine.

I know everything has a purpose. In every event, God is sending a message that ultimately points back to Him. It is something I have believed since I was a very young child. This Veteran's Day, I had been thinking about war. I know there is war in the Bible, and even nations that God helps win battles. But my heart is fully convinced that war is not what God desires. It is an abomination. But are there things worth dying for, worth fighting for? I can list quite a few, not the least of which is protecting my beloved family from harm. Iit may be the way we are forced to confront evil, but it is not the way I wish the world was. It is as unsettling, as jarring, as abhorrent as a beautiful bird in flight smashing against what it thought was clear air into an impenetrable , taunting facsimile of open space. Some survive the collision; some don't.

When I helped Evelyn out of the car, she began shuffling immediately towards the front door of the Home. Comer came around from his side of the car, and I hugged him goodbye.
"You enjoy the rest of this Veteran's Day," I said, "And thank you again. I really appreciate your sacrifice on my behalf."
"War is awful," he said, "You may think you know that, but until you have been through it...."
 He shook his head.
"Well I am glad you survived," I said.
"Almost didn't... the time I..."
I glanced at the front door. Evelyn had opened it and was squeezing through.
"Ohoh," said Comer, "Better go catch her."
I watched the WWII Veteran who had once bought his entire starving gun crew a Thanksgiving Feast now hobble as quickly as he could after his wife. I knew he would catch up with her, and arm in arm they would return to the "Reminisces" unit.  The war zone had changed, but he was still in a battle, I thought.
When I returned home, the bird in the front garden stirred, and then flew to a tree top.

1 Samuel 17: 47
⁴⁷ All those gathered here will know that it is not by sword or spear that the LORD saves; for the battle is the LORD’s, and he will give all of you into our hands.”

Psalm 55: 17-18
¹⁷ Evening, morning and noon
   I cry out in distress,
   and he hears my voice.
¹⁸ He rescues me unharmed
   from the battle waged against me,

Hosea 2: 18
¹⁸ In that day I will make a covenant for them
   with the beasts of the field, the birds in the sky
   and the creatures that move along the ground.
Bow and sword and battle
   I will abolish from the land,
   so that all may lie down in safety.

A Little Lower than Angels

As always, when I arrive, Comer and Evelyn were already waiting, seated on the foyer couch. They sat stock still, arms entwined, looking straight ahead with the same hopeful, expectant look. I noticed many residents of the assisted living home in the adjoining alcove, all singing while a perky lady played piano and conducted them, waving her arm in rhythm when she could break from a chord. I thought I recognized some folks from Evelyn's Alzheimer unit there as well.
"How nice," I thought, to see all those people joining together to sing. Evelyn loves to sing and I was surprised to see her mute, on Comer's arm, back ramrod straight, staring fixedly at the front door.
They recognized me then, and both smiled. I hugged them and helped Evelyn to her feet.
"Evelyn, you look lovely, as usual," I said.
"She's wearing her new outfit," said Comer.
"Oh? What's the occasion?"
"You," he said.

I remembered the frantic homeschool morning then, and how I had almost called to cancel our lunch outing. Asherel, sitting happily in the car with me still had hours of school work. I had muttered the whole drive over, "I don't have time for this."
I almost cried to think of Evelyn sitting there in her new outfit, and freshly coiffed hair, waiting for her lunch drive that almost hadn't come.

We decided on extra crispy KFC, and then found a neighborhood I had never driven them through. Most of it was rather run down, mediocre homes. They munched their extra crispy chicken and Comer told me about the nightclub he used to own that slowly lost money to a thieving manager. I had a "Romantic Songs of the 50's" tape on, and Evelyn sang along in between bites of potato wedges. Suddenly, a huge castle came into view. It was surrounded by a moat of water but we could only catch a glimpse of it. Thick stands of bamboo all along the property line occluded our view. We could see bits and pieces of the block long stone mansion, but not enough to really get a good sense of its beauty and size. Even Evelyn craned her neck, trying to peer through the small tree breaks at this enormous home, nestled so incongruously in the midst of modest, even ramshackle homes.
"I wonder who lives there," I said, "Wouldn't you love to be able to meet them?"
"I would," said Comer.
"You know, I have seen some of the rich people, and they look just like you and me."
"They do," said Comer, "In fact, some are just really down to earth. I once sat on a plane next to one of the top muckymucks at Coca Cola. We chatted the whole plane trip, and when it was over, I told him it had been a pleasure talking with him. He said the pleasure was all his. No one dared to talk to him normally, as he was so powerful, so rich, so influential. He said he was lonely."

It is startling sometimes to remember that even the rich people get lonely. And old. And feeble. Sometimes they get Alzheimers, just like the poor folk. In the end, God reminds us, death is the destiny of everyone.(Ecclesiastes 7:2). Even those people in the block long castle with the moat. They were not immune to the human condition any more than all their poor neighbors. The stand of trees might keep out intruders, might hide them from the curious onlookers, but it wouldn't hold back death.

In our recent Bible class, the instructor had made a very interesting point. Jesus had to die but more importantly, He had to rise again. Death came into creation as a consequence of sin. In paying the penalty for sin for all time, He had to overcome death, or the penalty for sin remained. At the Creation, everything was perfect. There was no death; there was no sin. When sin entered the world, so did a whole host of really terrible things, not the least of which was an ongoing slavery to fashion beginning with fig leaves to cover our shame. (One thing many of us probably don't realize is that without that bite of forbidden fruit, there would be no Chanel, Mark Jacobs, or Tory Burch. Fashion Designing would not exist were it not for the disobedience of the one rule God said Adam could not break. Remember the first thing the poor, cringing first family did when confronted with their sin was to cover their nakedness, which prior to that forbidden tasting party, they had not felt any shame over.)

But back to Jesus, and the penalty for sin. As soon as sin enters the picture, the creation is separated from the Creator. This is not hard to understand. Look at how immediately disobedience, anger, irritability or any sin you would like to name hurts and even destroys relationships. The more I see the consequence of sin, the more I understand God's disgust, and the need for extreme measures to banish it. The more I consider the Divine plan of Jesus bearing our iniquities, the more I am in awe of the whole picture. Jesus came to reverse what happened in the Garden of Eden. One man (Adam) started humanity down the perilous road of separating from God; and one man, Jesus, returned humanity to His side. Death was the penalty for sin, and all men must die. Eternal Life was the blessing offered when sin was completely atoned for, and all men could live by accepting God again on His terms. Death itself would be reversed. Jesus couldn't just die for our sins, taking the punishment in our stead. If His punishment truly were eternally atoning, as the Bible claims, then the eternal consequence of sin- separation from God, eternal death, had to be reversed as well. I suppose I had known that, but had never heard it expressed so coherently before. Our physical bodies would still perish, but our eternal bodies would rise again to be with our heavenly Father, and with my first dog, who had been such a wondrous creature.

I walked my two old friends back to the Home. I helped Evelyn brush the extra crispy crumbs from her lovely new outfit. Comer put his arm around her shoulder and they slowly shuffled back inside.
"She wore that new outfit just to go out with us," I told Asherel , as I slid back into the car, "I am so glad we came."

Hebrews 2: 9-10
⁹ But we do see Jesus, who was made lower than the angels for a little while, now crowned with glory and honor because he suffered death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.  ¹⁰ In bringing many sons and daughters to glory, it was fitting that God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the pioneer of their salvation perfect through what he suffered.