deb32's blog: "Support Our Troops"

A Different Christmas Poem The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light, I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight. My wife was asleep, her head on my chest, My daughter beside me, angelic in rest. Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white, Transforming the yard to a winter delight. The sparkling lights in the tree I believe, Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve. My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,' Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep. In perfect contentment, or so it would seem, So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream. The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near, But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear. Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know, Then the Sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow. My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear, And I crept to the door just to see who was near. Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night, A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight. A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old, Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold. Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled, Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child. "What are you doing?" I asked without fear, "Come in this moment, it's freezing out here! Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve, You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!" For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift, Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts.. To the window that danced with a warm fire's light Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right, I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night." "It's my duty to stand at the front of the line, That separates you from the darkest of times. No one had to ask or beg or implore me, I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me. My Gramps died at 'Pearl on a day in December," Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers." My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam', And now it is my turn and so, here I am. I've not seen my own son in more than a while, But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile. Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag, The red , white , and blue ... an American flag. I can live through the cold and the being alone, Away from my family, my house and my home. I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet, I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat. I can carry the weight of killing another, Or lay down my life with my sister and brother.. Who stand at the front against any and all, To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall." "So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright, Your family is waiting and I'll be all right." "But isn't there something I can do, at the least, "Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast? It seems all too little for all that you've done, For being away from your wife and your son." Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret, "Just tell us you love us, and never forget. To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone, To stand your own watch, no matter how long. For when we come home, either standing or dead, To know you remember we fought and we b led. Is payment enough, and with that we will trust, That we mattered to you as you mattered to us." PLEASE, Would you do me the kind favor of sending this to as many people as you can? Christmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to our U.S.service men and women for our being able to celebrate these festivities. Let's try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe. Make people stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves for us. LCDR Jeff Giles, SC, USN 30th Naval Construction Regiment OIC, Logistics Cell One Al Taqqadum, Iraq

We all stand at attention, left arms stiff at our sides. Bodies straight, tall and proud, right arm saluting in pride. Our fallen comrades are hoisted up, to shoulder height they lay. Carried by eight of their brothers in arms, then the Bag Pipes start to play. The music moves our souls, with the spirits of the lost, All four are slow-marched in succession, following two men with a cross. We struggle to fight the tears, the hurt inside starts to swell. Our throats get chocked up, I feel the need to yell. Why was it you and not me? the guilt I feel is so intense. But that question can never be answered, death will never make sense. Tears now fill our eyes, as the silver coffins are marched past. The Canadian flag drapes across them, flags that will forever be at half-mast. We think about the battle, we think about their lives. We think of all the memories, we pray for their families and wives. These soldiers fought for their country, and paid the ultimate cost. They are brave and truly courageous, and their memory will never be lost. We know they've met St. Peter, and are beyond heaven's pearly gates. They're at peace now from this hellish war, and away from all this hate. Our arms snap to attention, and we taste our salty tears. We hurt so much for the loss of you, we wish that you were still here. We bow our heads in one last prayer, touch your caskets and say goodbye. We will miss you all so dearly, but will smile when we look up at the sky. We'll think of you often, and how you've touched us all. We'll go and celebrate the lives you led, we'll stay up until last call. We'll hold our glasses high, and we'll cheers to your life and name. And we'll slam that shot down and smile, because we know you're doing the same. Composed by Corporal Jason Lamont of the Health Service and Support Company, Task Force ORION, Kandahar Airfield

The day to remember all the brave men and women who have laid down their lives for Canada is everyday. We must thank all those war veterans and departed soldiers who gave up their lives for the country. Let's Remember THEM THE FINAL INSPECTION The soldier stood and faced God, Which must always come to pass. He hoped his shoes were shining, Just as brightly as his brass. "Step forward now, you soldier, How shall I deal with you? Have you always turned the other cheek? To My Church have you been true?" The soldier squared his shoulders and said, "No, Lord, I guess I ain't. Because those of us who carry guns, Can't always be a saint. I've had to work most Sundays, And at times my talk was tough. And sometimes I've been violent, Because the world is awfully rough. But, I never took a penny, That wasn't mine to keep... Though I worked a lot of overtime, When the bills got just too steep. And I never passed a cry for help, Though at times I shook with fear. And sometimes, God, forgive me, I've wept unmanly tears. I know I don't deserve a place, Among the people here. They never wanted me around, Except to calm their fears. If you've a place for me here, Lord, It needn't be so grand. I never expected or had too much, But if you don't, I'll understand. There was a silence all around the throne, Where the saints had often trod. As the soldier waited quietly, For the judgment of his God. "Step forward now, you soldier, You've borne your burdens well. Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets, You've done your time in h*ll."

The average age of the military man is 19 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, barely old enough to buy a beer, yet old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father's; but he has never collected unemployment either. He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing . He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk. He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must. He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional. He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march. He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient. He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts. If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low. He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands. He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job. He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay and still find ironic humor in it all. He has seen more suffering and death then he should have in his short lifetime. He has stood atop mountains of dead bodies, and helped to create them. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed. He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful. Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the Canadian Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years. He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding. Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood. And now we even have woman over there in danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so. Please stop for a moment and say a prayer for our ground troops in Afghanistan, sailors on ships, and airmen in the air, and for those in Iraq. This can be very powerful....... Of all the gifts you could give a Canadian Soldier, Sailor, Coastguardsman, or Airman, prayer is the very best one.

It's the Soldier, not the reporter who has given us the freedom of the press. It's the Soldier, not the poet, who has given us the freedom of speech. It's the Soldier, not the politicians that ensures our right to Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. It's the Soldier who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag. If you care to offer the smallest token of recognition and appreciation for the Military, please pass this on and pray for our men and women who have served and are currently serving our country and pray for those who have given the ultimate sacrifice for freedom. ~Author Unknown~

As you go to bed tonight, remember this shot.. A short lull, a little shade and a picture of loved ones in their helmets Prayer "Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need. Amen."

RED FRIDAYS ----- Very soon, you will see a great many people wearing Red every Friday. The reason? Canadians who support our troops used to be called the "silent majority". We are no longer silent, and are voicing our love for God, country and home in record breaking numbers. We are not organized, boisterous or over-bearing. We get no liberal media coverage on TV, to reflect our message or our opinions. Many Canadians, like you, me and all our friends, simply want to recognize that the vast majority of Canadians supporting our troops. Our idea of showing solidarity and support for our troops with dignity and respect starts this Friday -and continues each and every Friday until the troops all come home, sending a deafening message that.. Every red-blooded Canadian who supports our men and women afar will wear something red By word of mouth, press, TV -- let's make Canada on every Friday a sea of red much like a homecoming football game