Received 2/5/08 

Psalm 84:11 “For the LORD is a sun and shield; The LORD will give grace and glory; No good thing will He withhold From those who walk uprightly.”

Saturday, December 16, 2007

1:11 P.M., Houston

10:11 P.M., Al Fallujah

Well, Chris has been at it again, writing poetry that is. He called G and I while we were on the road and read three more poems.  My favorite is the one about how G I met at the Michigan Renaissance Festival, where I was the “Yellow Maiden”.  We did have an unusual meeting to be sure.  I was simply singing ballads to passers-by.  Greg’s three brothers heard me sing and paid me to sing to him as well as to pretend that I’d known him from high school.  Greg was sold for one dollar apiece.  Such is our family history.

The Knight And His Yellow Maiden, Love Fulfilled

There once was a knight,
who met a yellow maiden.
She sang to him in French,
and his heart was ever taken.

The knight after a time,
took her back to his land.
To be his wife,
in the wild Texas sand.

The maiden bore him children,
three sons and a daughter.
The one as beautiful as her mother,
the sons as strong as their father.

The knight raised his sons,
and taught them wrong from right.
To never lie, cheat, or steal,
and to never pick a fight.

The maiden taught her daughter,
to be a lady and a wife.
For she was as gorgeous as her mother,
in every way of life.

The knight and maiden grew older,
but their love never diminished.
For once she had sung her song,
their single lives were finished.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

5:40 A.M., Houston

3:40 P.M., Al Fallujah

Good morning,

Chris is certainly unique.  He has been anxious about Christmas in Iraq.  He’s never been anywhere else but with his family on that day.  He’s aware that it will be a rough day as he misses us “horribly”.  Some how or other, these thoughts combined with whatever he ate just before bed rendered him an unforgettable nightmare.  He dreamed that he killed Santa Claus because he gave Chris a credit card.  He did not elaborate on the method of extermination, but he did wake up in a cold sweat over the deed.  In the dream he felt that it was a corrupt thing to do to give Chris a credit card.  Offer gifts, yes.  Offering temptation, no!

Well, Christmas Day came and went.  Chris was excited because they had ham for supper.  I’m so glad that the food was superior to that of Thanksgiving’s leftover Salisbury Steak, fully dehydrated.  Our family ended up flying up to Michigan to spend some wonderful family time in Gaylord and Charlevoix.  We played in the snow and thought about Chris.  He did call us, but I took no notes on these occasions.  He missed everyone; that was a given.  However, he weathered it and is planning and looking forward to Christmas 2008!  I anticipate quite the celebration this coming year.  Chris did add a humorous poem about an incident that happened in 2005 when his best friend, M, was staying with us.  It goes down in the family history annals as a time when Mom temporarily lost her mind, but not her voice.

The Pudding Disaster

The day started great;
we went to Wal-Mart to shop
To be Chefs of the year,
but pudding is all we got.

As we drove home with the stuff,
that would make us both famous
Little did we know,
it would bite us in the anus.

We poured in the mix,
then added the milk.
No thought of danger,
not even of guilt.

As I called to my friend,
“Hey Mike come and taste this”.
He brought out the spoon,
that would soon betray us.

As I looked in horror,
Mike dropped in the spoon.
Our faces fell miles,
for our doom would come soon.

For in that moment,
hopelessly in need.
We accidentally put,
the mixer on ten speed.

Custer was in trouble;
we were both dead
My mom on her way,
I wanted to hide under my bed.

We were covered all over
with the pudding we had made.
The kitchen was in shambles;
no one came to our aid.

In this pregnant moment,
Mom walked through the door.
It looked to us as if
her jaw would slam the floor.

She was amazed and shocked,
for this she’d never seen.
But she quite simply told us,
“I’m going to scream.”

Mike didn’t believe her;
I just covered my ears.
Like a banshee from hell,
she screamed to our fears.

She cleaned up our mess,
our clothes were at an end.
We are now banned for life,
from ever making pudding again.

Here is another poem written at Christmas, but a dark one. It tells Chris’s story from his first deployment. It also tells the story of so many young men over the centuries.

A Grunt’s Story
Blood soaks the sand,
as screams pierce the air
Ambushed in an alley,
men shooting without care.

As the man picks up his friend,
the squad clears a house.
Now comes the game
of playing cat and mouse.

The man just fights,
he sees friends die.
No time to help them;
no time to cry.

Nineteen years of age,
he has just witnessed Hell.
Blood covers his face,
but he fights hard and well.

This is truly war;
it’s not clean or pretty.
It’s nothing to glorify;
it only makes you feel shitty.

As the man goes home,
he is not hateful or ashamed,
But gives thanks to God,
that he wasn’t killed or maimed.

My Works Of Love

If you should be reading this,
then you know that I’m gone
To be with Jesus,
to a place where I belong.

Do not weep for me;
I died doing what I love.
Protecting the innocent,
and now I’m up above.

For I can finally rest,
with a warrior’s peace.
I went to a land,
where my love would never cease.

I believed in these people,
for their lives, and their cause.
And I took my time
to give them freedom and laws.

For I died living free,
giving this gift to others.
But now it’s time to rest,
and be with my brothers.

My brothers and I,
we toiled and bled.
For a country in which,
many tears would be shed.

But in those tears
was also a dream
To see these people free,
from the cruel and obscene.

So on my stone,
write he died for his beliefs.
For I believed in these people,
and tried to be their relief.

It’s time now to share Chris’s joy during this holy time.

Christmas Day

It’s now Christmas Day,
and I am filled with joy.
Although I’m not home,
this day I will enjoy.

Christmas to me,
is just more then a day.
It’s a time of kindness and love,
to be like Christ in every way.

For though I have no tree,
full of ornaments and light
Instead I see the star,
that guided shepherds through the night.

This star I’ve never seen,
but I know it star by sight.
It brings tears to my eyes,
on this beautiful silent night.