It is the soldier, not the reporter,
Who has given us freedom of the press;
It is the soldier, not the poet,
Who has given us freedom of speech;
It is the soldier, who salutes the flag,
Who serves beneath the flag,
Whose coffin is draped by the flag,
Who allows the protestor to burn the flag.
~A Marine Chaplain
A G.I.'S FAMILY PRAYER
Hear, Lord my prayer for my G.I.,
so eager to live--to young to die.
Beneath an alien blistering sun,
he faces a dangerous enemy gun.
The storm clouds gather, the horror of war,
my soldier stands bravely at the door.
Defending justice, peace, and freedom,
to his Commander-in-chief give Holy wisdom.
From war's alarm, bring swift release,
hasten the day of honorably peace.
On land and sea and air,
I back my soldier with this prayer:
"No matter how far he's forced to roam,
just bring, I pray my G.I. home."
THE PHONE CALL
The phone call came and I jumped in spite,
of the cold lonely bed I'd find at night.
I knew it was coming, I knew all along,
I just wished that telephone hadn't sang its song.
You drove us to your company silent and proud,
basically saying "here comes those grey clouds."
I sat and watched as you unloaded your gear,
trembling inside full of dread and of fear.
The moment came and all things left my mind,
for silently I cried for the words I could not find.
You kissed the girls and rubbed your son's head,
be nice to your sisters and do what your mom says.
You see that moon up there in the sky?
I'll see it too, dad's got to go - good bye.
Honey don't cry, I'll call when I get there,
try to be strong, don't let them feel your despair.
I'll be ok, we've done this before,
he's just a sick man who wants another war.
You kissed me good bye and you walked past the car,
and it took all I had to just see that far.
Your touch, your smell, it lingers alone,
It'll have to sustain me until you come home.
The Lords Creation
The good Lord was creating a model of military wives and was into his sixth day of overtime when an angel appeared. She said "Lord, you seem to be having a lot of trouble with this one. What's wrong with the standard model?"
The Lord replied, "Have you seen the specs on this order? She has to be completely independent, posses the qualities of both father and mother, be a perfect host to four or 40 with an hour's notice, run on black coffee, handle every emergency imaginable without a manual, be able to carry on cheerfully, even if she is pregnant and has the flu, and she must be willing to move to a new location 10 times in 17 years. An oh, yes, she must have six pairs of hands." The angel shook her head. "Six pairs of hands? No way." The Lord continued. "Don't worry we will make other military wives to help her. And we will give her an unusually strong heart so it can swell with pride in her husband's achievement, sustain the pain of separations, beat soundly when it is over-worked and tired, and be large enough to say, 'I understand,' when she doesn't, and say, 'I love you', regardless."
"Lord," said the angel, "Go to bed and get some rest, You can finish this tomorrow."
"I can't stop now," said the Lord. "I am so close to creating something unique. Already this model heals herself when she is sick, can put up six unexpected guests for the weekend, wave goodbye to her husband from a pier, a runway or a depot and understand why he must leave."
The angel circled the model of the military wife, looked at it closely, and sighed, "It looks fine, but it's too soft." "She might look soft," replied the Lord, "but she has the strenght of a lion. You would not believe what she can endure."
Finally the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the Lord's creation. "There's a leak," she announced. "Something is wrong with the construction. I am not surprised that it has cracked. You are trying to put too much into this model."
The Lord appeared offended at the angel's lack of confidence. "What you see is not a leak," he said. "It's a tear." "A tear? What is it there for?" asked the angel. The Lord replied, "It's a tear for joy, sadness, pain, disappointment, loneliness, pride and a dedication to all the values that she and her husband hold dear." "You are a genius!" exclaimed the angel. The Lord looked puzzled and replied, "I didn't put it there."
~Originally written as "When God Created Mom's" By Erma Bombeck
THE SILENT RANKS
I wear no uniforms, no blues or army greens.
But I am in the military in the ranks rarely seen.
I have no rank upon my shoulders. Salutes I do not give.
But the military world is the place where I live.
I'm not in the chain of command, orders I do not get.
But my husband is the one who does, this I cannot forget.
I'm not the one who fires the weapon, who puts my life on the line.
But my job is just as tough. I'm the one that's left behind.
My husband is a patriot, a brave and prideful man
and the call to serve his country, not all can understand.
Behind the lines I see the things needed to keep this country free.
My husband makes the sacrifice, but so do our kids and me.
I love the man I married. Soldiering is his life.
But I stand among the silent ranks
known as the Military Wife.
I watched him limp as he walked my way;
There was sadness in his eyes.
His clothes were ragged and wrinkled
And time seemed to have passed him by.
He seemed like he didn't belong here,
And yet, he had been a part
Of a time when the turmoil around us
Tugged violently at all of our hearts.
I tried to offer some comfort,
But he gave me a half-hearted grin,
He said, "No matter how hard I try,
I just can't seem to fit in."
He looked much older than his 50 years;
I thought back to a time long ago,
When he was a handsome young soldier.
Oh God! What if we'd only known.
If we had known of the outcome
Would things be different today?
Would we have turned our backs on the world
Or still sent our young men away?
The man said I shouldn't be worried,
And he hoped that he wouldn't offend,
But if he had it to do all over,
He'd do it all over again.
He'd be willing, again, to shoulder a gun
And put his fears and his hurt aside.
After all, he was defending his country.
His eyes glowed with the soldier's true pride.
The mental scars were more painful
When the soldiers came home from the war.
Our country considered them outcasts,
And cast them aside all the more.
It seems like it was just yesterday
When I spoke with this man who'd been brave.
Now with tears mixed with pride and yet sadness,
I kneel praying at my brother's grave.