Salute In Memoriam

A common fear among those who have lost loved ones is that others will forget them. Upon request I offer a tribute that aired on public radio ten years ago this week of one who deserves to be remembered.

Aaron Holleyman was born in Rankin County, grew up in Clinton and had family ties to Monticello and Carthage. I knew him as Glenda Carpenter’s son. Good people, his family: the best among our Mississippi towns. 

Holleyman was 26, assigned to the 1st Battalion, 5th Special Forces Group, Fort Campbell, Kentucky, when on August 30, 2004 his last-in-line military vehicle hit an improvised explosive device in Khutayiah, Iraq. He had been injured on a previous tour and did not have to return, but chose to do so despite his hearing loss, at the time of his death. 

There is always a back story—everybody’s somebody’s baby—for each of our casualties of war. And our task, as I see it, is to remember.

---

American flags like sentries line the iron fence leading into the Monticello cemetery. Crisp standards whip in the faint breeze beating back the Mississippi afternoon heat, unaware that they set more than the stage, they set the tempo. They define the moment.

Cars crawl into line along the gravel shoulder as friends from long ago emerge and cluster a respectable distance from the tent, giving warm hugs and fleshy handshakes, waiting for over an hour in the sun to pay respects. The family arrives in the company of Special Forces officers. The human wave undulates to allow them passage to the green turf-covered chairs in the shade.

Once the playing field in this small town was striped with white, and crowds cheered, and sweaty teams fought to the finish to see who would win. Now we know that was child’s play. Another playing field has claimed a friend’s child, and today we honor them.

Not a number anymore. 

Not a statistic on the nightly news.

Staff Sgt. Aaron Holleyman has a name. Now he has a resting place.

Special Forces:  The 82^nd Airborne. Fifth Special Forces Training group. Even the uninitiated among us knows they have something we don’t: They’ve been tested and proven worthy. They serve their country. And they bury their dead.

Soldiers snap to attention. 

The triangle of blue and white is pressed into the hands of his mother, our friend and high school classmate. Collective tears fall onto the dust at the sight of them – proud, aching, faithful—all at the same time. The young fatherless child leaves her daises atop the casket. The bagpiper compresses humid air into strains of “Amazing Grace,” then seamlessly moves into “The Green Beret.” 

            “Silver wings upon their chest.

            These are men, America’s best…”

More tears and silence.

A sharp command, the only human sound before the crack of seven rifles firing as one, fails to dislodge the lump in my throat. And they fire again…and again. It’s too much, and a community cries the tears of a grateful nation, for this is our hometown hero now.

His family will not mind our tears, for they celebrate his life and his faith. They hold no grudges, harbor no malice, and offer only words of gratitude and pride for his service. 

And right beside them strides his brother, Daniel, wearing the same uniform, marching in the same brave footsteps as soldiers before.

America’s best indeed.

_____________________________________________________________________________

It’s been ten years since I tapped out these words because I couldn’t not do so. My feeble effort at verbal tribute was the only way I could process the emotionally draining military burial and compassionate response of the local folks who showed up to say goodbye to a shared son and grandson.

We’re all extended family in Mississippi. 

Aaron is one of many we lost too young. Each man and woman deserves to be remembered so that their sacrifice will not be in vain. A preoccupied, forgetful nation may pay a steep price for neglecting history and memory.

Peace Rose Offering for Nicholas

Spring: when buds turn to blossoms.We expect that; It is the order of things. But then life happens and turns predictable patterns on end.

Vibrant colors and beauty still surround us, even on the fraying hem of a week that quickly came unraveled by bombings and unexpected events in our nation--and more private grief and loss this weekend among dear friends that the news feeds would never pick up--and we still move forward. We inch toward a new day, "...inch by inch, row by row" in  "Garden Song":  nice and slow.

Sometimes there's no other way.

We press on because we have to, because there is no going back.

Pullin' weeds and pickin' stones
We are made of dreams and bones
Need a place to call my own
'Cause the time is close at hand

Sometimes in the garden of life--somewhere between the dreaming and the coming true--those dreams collide. We face the hard reality of the dry bones portion of life and too many abrupt endings.

While some friends are grieving tonight, others are rejoicing with loved ones, anticipating weddings and births to come in a matter of days, and giving thanks for joys shared today. How can it be that we learn to live well with the point-counterpoint of birth and death, marriage and divorce, joy and sorrow? It is the nature of the rhythm of life, we are told.

We carry these two seemingly-opposite loads of joy and pain as though in invisible twin water urns lashed to ends of a pole on our backs. Sort of a Libra-meets-Gemini as we remember the constellations without attaching any unintended weight to astrology. The two are held in tension always, and we learn to live with the ever-changing contents of the loads we bear.

We  manage pretty well if we can keep life's tempo and stay in step. But when the music stops and we are left standing, or when we falter under the unbearable weight of loss and become set off balance by the load, we unravel quickly.

When we risk coming apart a bit ourselves and opening our hemmed-in lives to share the load of others, we can help bear--even if ever so slightly--the cares of another.

So we roll up our sleeves.

We get on with the business of being a friend, of loving and serving with abandon, of risking becoming disheveled and tear-stained. Because there is no other way to share a heavy load on a long road with many a winding turn.

I believe two truths to be bedrock: God is good, and Life is hard. They do not cancel each other out. They do not render each other null and void by operation of law. They are both true. At the same time.

And it is in giving thanks for the goodness of God, experiencing the Presence of God, in the midst of the searing white-hot edge of life that cuts us to the quick, that we find the grace and strength to move forward. Inch by inch.

God hears and answers those who call out to Him in distress:
“I relieved his shoulder from the burden; his hands were freed from carrying the basket. You called out in distress, and I rescued you; I answered you from the thundercloud.” (Psalm 81:6-7a).

 No distress is too big for God to handle.


Brother, let me be your servant.
Let me be as Christ to you.
Pray that I might have the grace
To let you be my servant, too.

We are pilgrims on a journey.
We are brothers on the road.
We are here to help each other
Walk the mile and bear the load.

I will hold the Christ-light for you
In the night time of your fear.
I will hold my hand out to you;
Speak the peace you long to hear.

I will weep when you are weeping.
When you laugh, I'll laugh with you.
I will share your joy and sorrow
Till we've seen this journey through.

When we sing to God in heaven,
We shall find such harmony
Born of all we've known together
Of Christ's love and agony.

Brother, let me be your servant.
Let me be as Christ to you.
Pray that I might have the grace
To let you be my servant, too.



Written by Richard Gillard, 1977, Servant Song

The Tale of Raven Road: A True Story

The Tale of Raven Road

Once upon a time in a distant millennium, there stood a house.

She was a lovely house and would be highly prized among most in the world, nestled among rolling hills in the countryside, far away from the bustling city, but she wanted more...

She had great dreams. She wanted to be a grand home, strong and impervious to destruction.

“If only I were made of brick,” she thought as her timbers rose from the ground, “then I would be strong and could withstand the onslaught of all that would attack me.”

And they surrounded her with brick. And she stood straight and tall.

Families came and went through her early years. For Sale signs posted in her yard brought the curious who inspected her and found her suitable or not.

One day a family arrived to Raven Road and found her just to their liking. They sent photographs of the house to their families and friends and excitedly told them of the place they would call home. They moved into her walls with their belongings, and little children splashed in her pool, and men and women worked in her yard, tending her with vigor and youthful determination.

“Finally, I will become a home!”

She had heard that the family knew of fine castles and had visited European structures that had withstood the tests of time. She wanted to be like the castles of the British Isles and Europe—homes she believed the family loved-- and became more confident in her dreams when they enlarged her borders and raised her ceilings and decorated her walls with fine art and rugs from far countries.

“Now they will love me as they admire the castles of their travels, she thought.

If only I had a castle’s moat and strong defense…then I could protect them.”

And they strengthened her and fortified her exterior and made her more secure.

But she wanted more.

“If I were a real castle, I could provide all that this family might enjoy. I could give them a staff of cooks to feed them in the most generous way – with hearty meals and great conversation and laughter into the night.

I could give them musicians to entertain them with stringed instruments that they might make merry with their friends and find joy within my walls.

I could have fields for children to run and play and kick balls with one another. As the children grew, they could discuss philosophy and religion and learn great mathematical theories and apply themselves to improving the world they inhabit with knowledge that is just beneath the surface now, but, with diligent study over a long period of time, can be uncovered. The children could grow strong within my walls and search for truths hidden in the universe that only those with keen insight and a willing faith can glimpse.

If only I could have these acres teeming with produce of the field, yielding fragrant herbs and fresh vegetables for them to enjoy all the year ‘round,” she pondered.

“I would provide animals who could dwell with them in safety and in whose company they could find comfort and refuge during challenging times. A real castle would have many animals! Then they could learn the importance of giving care to others—all God’s creatures—as they live together.

I could give them wise sages—those who have experienced life for more years than they have--and arm them with understanding about the ways of the world. I could instruct them in the trials and pitfalls that I have seen befall others, so that they might avoid the harsh realities and difficulties common to all people.

I long to protect this house and all who dwell within. But how?

If only I could house a brave warrior, then I could let them rest secure on my foundation.

But I am only a house, not a castle. And I have not been field-tested. Am I battle worthy for all that housing a family requires? It takes more than strong walls and burnished floors and security from the outside forces that they need.”

Years passed. The city sprawled and lapped at the edge of Raven Road. The family grew, and the children grew in years and experience.

The family traveled to faraway places and walked through the ruins of castles that had once stood tall in their day. Their halls are empty now. Inquisitive admirers come year after year to imagine what might have been.

And the family goes home to Raven Road again. And again. Having lived and enjoyed travel around the world, they go home to Raven Road where they have found comfort within her walls.

They have found her to be a sure foundation and a port in storms for the family that lived and loved there, giving protection from all that would assail them. Steadfast, she stood stoically silent as tears of joy and sadness through the years fell upon her floors. Real Life—not the stuff of legend and fables--elicits both kinds of tears. A real home weathers storms seen and unseen.

The house was field-tested and found worthy.

In time, she came to learn that within her walls had stood armor and courageous knights all along. She had, indeed, housed a brave warrior-in-the-making all through the years. This family had helped form him under her watch. And a brilliant scientist and mathematician….and beautiful, compassionate healers, builders, craftsmen, tender men and women with generous hearts….and musicians…and scholars….and gardeners, chefs and creative entertainers….all of whom call the house at Raven Road Home.

And she no longer wanted more, for it was more than enough.

And it was said that they gave a grand party in the land, inviting their friends and family. The guests came from far away to eat and drink and make merry in the house for days on end.

And she stood strong and proud in one of her finest hours. She rejoiced in the beautiful ones who had dwelt within her walls, for they had grown strong and able. She spread out her ample concrete apron for the bride and groom and all who loved them to feast upon the goodness of the Earth on Raven Road. Little ones once again ran through the lawn and splashed in her pool as in days of old, and fireflies danced before the glowing embers late into the night. They sat beside the fire and looked with great pleasure upon the home that love built.

The end is only a new beginning…

Beautiful Love Letter

I mentioned last week the national outlay of $14 billion dollars on this holiday called Valentine's Day. Quite a large sum for ribbons, cards, flowers and gifts that - to hear a man at the bank say today - are "merely obligatory, being devoid of meaning entirely because someone has decreed that men must pay out or else." Sort of like negotiating with hostages, he said: "nobody wants to do it, but sometimes you just have to."

"I hate this day," he said again. "Women have just set us up."

I wonder if he has found ways to creatively express his love for his wife 364 days a year given his dislike for February 14?

By sharp contrast, I have another picture to offer of love today.

It will never enter the national retailers data bank nor will anyone report on its significance economically. But if you can find a more powerful picture of what love is, I want to see it.

When you can take a moment of quiet and give the attention without skimming, please read a powerful tribute of a young husband to his wife.

I marvel at the inspired words of Eric for Sarah, friends of Sam and Bennett in Houston:

Sarah's Transition

February 14, 2011:

Sarah is currently in the process of transitioning out of this life... away from her current worn down body and into an indescribably beautiful one. She is very close to leaving the cocoon and becoming the butterfly she has always been so symbolically drawn to. Her condition has dramatically worsened over the past several days, and given her current symptoms, we are being told that the time for her to pass is very near. Currently, she is having few lucid moments, and the ones she is granted are spent straining for those three precious words that exemplify her life... "I love you." Rest assured that she is certainly enveloped in love. Please pray for a painless and peaceful transition, and those of us here struggling with the huge void caused by the loss of her presence.

I think Sarah's light has shown so bright that this earth can no longer contain it. It's time for her to go to the true source of that light, to stop being the lone lantern shining into the darkness, but to join the grand symphony of radiance. It would seem selfish to keep her after she has worked so hard and is this close.


Shine bright firefly, shine bright... with tears in our eyes we cherish the path you illuminated.

-Your husband

See http://sarahchidgey.blogspot.com/2011/02/sarahs-transition.html

Come quickly, Lord Jesus. And mend the broken hearts left behind.

We understand that Eric is paying the high cost of loving, a price we all have to pay sooner or later. May we pay willingly, though painfully, when we know the priceless gift that is ours in love. May God grant us strength and courage to face an uncertain future because we trust that God is faithful to accompany us the full distance of the journey. We do not go alone.

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. ² If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. ³ If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

⁴ Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷ It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

⁸ Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. ⁹ For we know in part and we prophesy in part, ¹⁰ but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. ¹¹ When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. ¹² For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

¹³ And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. I Corinthians 13: 1-13

Tears Set Free

"I'm a cryer," she offered, as took out a prophylactic tissue at the beginning of our first weekly Bible study, knowing she'd need it.

She was right.

What is it that has the power to bring us to tears? Why is it that some have eyes that fill with tears with the least mention of tenderness, patriotism, or even a G.E. light bulb commercial I remember years ago? Marketing professionals spend millions to move us with their messages. They have to find that sweet spot in our psyche in a 30 second spot.

Seasons of life affect the length of the fuse that sparks our tears as well. And transitions, as we move from something known to something unknown, usually put us in a place of emotional vulnerability. My sister, Kathryn, created a little piece of stitchery for me decades ago: "A new beginning often starts with a small tear."

She was right too.

"...Let him cry whoever feels like crying...the shedding of a tear, whether of forgiveness or of pity or of sheer delight at beauty, will do him a lot of good." Lin Yutang

We are made to respond to life's joys and sorrowful moments in various ways. Consider that the response of crying can be a form of singing - a song in your soul that just wants to emerge. I am unashamed of my tears; they are nothing to hide. They remind me that we are made to feel compassion, to identify with those who are suffering, to be fully present in moments of great joy and celebration and deep loss alike. And sometimes they remind us of how fully human we are, when we are at the end of our rope and feel nothing but exhaustion.

Some of you are there at this moment. Don't hold on to your tears as though they can never be replenished. Set them free. And ask the Father of all mercies to breathe into your spirit a bit of refreshment, enough grace sufficient to get through the demands of this day. And, like manna in the wilderness, you may find strength for your soul in God's provision daily - Grace enough for the day.

And I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being. Ephesians 3:16