Love and War: A Memorial

Each Memorial Day I especially think of my Uncle Elliott; I never knew him.

Perhaps in part it's because I was named after him (my middle name). But also there is the sadness of the family never really knowing what happened. His bomber was shot down during the Korean "conflict". He was MIA. He was eventually declared dead. Few details ever came to light.

Dad was shot down over Korea in a fighter. His best friends, his wingmen, whose names I have never heard (he hates to talk about it) were blown out of the sky just before he was hit. He was senior POW in his camp, horribly mistreated, in terrible shape when he was finally returned home. He could also have easily been MIA, presumed dead.

Millions have died for freedom. Some truly died for freedom, some died for for other reasons disguised as freedom-- greed, pride, empire, whatever. As regards their deaths, their sacrifice, the honor they deserve, it really doesn't matter which. But thinking of whether they should have died, and upon whose hands their blood lies, it matters a great deal.

God, grant us wisdom to see the difference, and the ability to hold leaders accountable. Send us leaders who will not take us needlessly into war, into bloodshed, into destruction, into sorrow, into grief, into the land of MIA and KIA and collateral damage, but into life, love, peace, and joy wherever possible. Let us live our lives that way to be worthy of such leaders, that we may no more need days such as this.

But for now, thank you for the love, courage and strength of those who gave their lives for us. Let us give our lives meaningfully and dearly for you, and for those you have put here with us.

Amen.

Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Uncle Elliott. Thank you to all who died that we might live, and live free.

Thanks to the Mik Chiks for inspiring this.

I'm a Monster, She's a Monster, Be a Monster, Too!

I'm a monster. Or so I've been told. Not a hairy one (though I have certainly been that). Not an ugly one (though I've been told that). Not a scary one (though I've even scared myself at times). Not a dangerous one (demons may argue).

Apparently I'm a Love Monster. I can live with that. Beats being sewn together from dug up pieces from graveyards or being undead, or the walking dead, or a radioactive mutant that feels compelled to stomp on buildings and eat cars, yet somehow never poops. A constipated car-nivore? Yuck.

So, what is a Love Monster? I think of it as sort of the opposite of Cookie Monster[tm]. CM consumes cookies; LM exudes love. CM is owned by cookie lust; LM is owned by love for everyone around.

A Love Monster can't help but love on people. This can take many forms, from hugs to hurting with the hurting to visiting someone in a hospital to taking someone out to eat to sitting at a funeral and crying-- or joking-- with a mom who's just lost her son.[1]

But the most important thing (which drives all of the above) a Love Monster does is simply to see who another person is, see who they are meant to be (seeing past their past, as it were), and calling out the gold, the good, their destiny-- encouraging and honoring them. In short, loving them from who they think they are to who they really are, which is who they were always meant to be.

A Love Monster tends to see others as family. A Love Monster acts as a mom or dad, grandparent, son or daughter, grandchild, aunt or uncle, cousin, niece or nephew, etc., to the people who let them in past their defenses. (They'll act that way toward everyone, but not everyone will see it, and even a Love Monster has some limits.) In some cases this becomes a covenant, or at the very least a semi-formal role. It goes beyond mentoring because love is the basis. It may be a one way thing; you don't cease being a parent just because a child rejects you, or vice versa.

Being a Love Monster isn't all hugs and laughter. Sometimes it's crawling into bed with the sick or dying-- being willing to speak life to them, fight for them, hold them whether they live or die. It's walking through the hell of someone dying, then walking through the aftermath with those who loved them. It's holding a rape victim, listening to sordid, anguished details you'd rather not here, or being yelled at, or even beat on, as they work through their pain, fear and anger; then it's being there to help put their life back together, going through tough decisions if they're pregnant, or if the rapist is known or caught. It's 3AM texts and phone calls. It's about last minute changed plans. It's about laying down your life for others. In the words of Maxwell Smart, Secret Agent 86, "aaand... loving it!"

But it's also about new life, seeing people set free or restored or waking up to their destiny, their gifts, their passion, their calling. It's about seeing people make good choices and reaping good consequences. It's about trading beauty for ashes, security for insecurity, love for fear, hope for pain.

And, quite often, it's about hugs. Lots and lots of hugs. Real hugs. Not brief, wimpy, chicken hearted, lily livered, lawyer and insurance company mandated, sideways hugs. Hugs. You know, like Italian families give each other. Hugs,

I'm a Love Monster standing on the street corner nearest you, holding up a sign. It's cardboard, but the words are in bright, rainbow colors. "WILL TRADE HUGS FOR... PRETTY MUCH ANYTHING YOU NEED TO GET RID OF." It's the best job on the planet.

Anyone want work? There's always room for one more Love Monster!


[1]Yes, we got some glares for that. I'll tell you the story some time.


A tip of the Stetson to Sally Hanan. This was her idea, or at least she passed it along from Daddy.