1st John 3:16-18
16 This is how we know love: Jesus laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters. 17 But if someone has material possessions and sees a brother or sister in need but refuses to help—how can the love of God dwell in a person like that?
18 Little children, let’s not love with words or speech but with action and truth.
I don't like to mix national and church together. Y'all know I'm a strong advocate for separation of church and state and we are to be in the world but not of the world. But there are certain times of the year that Christians, and religious of all faiths, have something on their minds and hearts and we can't pretend that it isn't. Memorial Day is one of those times.
Many of us visited cemeteries this last week to decorate them with beautiful flowers. Growing up that meant taking a big thermos of water and an empty glass mason jar or old pickle or mayo jar, a wire coat hanger and wire cutters, and bouquets of purple and white irises and fragrant lavender and white lilacs cut fresh from our yard. Often pink peonies as well. You placed filled the jar with water, did a fresh cut of the flowers at the grave as you put them in the water. Then dad would cut and bend wire to push in the ground to hold the jar in place. It took extra time, but it was a labor of love. We put flowers on the grave of my dad's brother Charleton (they called him Bill, I have no idea why except to avoid the confusion of having a Charles Sr, Charles Jr (my dad) and Charleton in one family). His body wasn't there. Just a marker by the WWII memorial at Riverside Cemetery, just like others who didn't come home. He was 5 years younger than Dad and followed him into the Navy during WWII.
He also lost his life just short of his 20th birthday, shortly after writing to his big brother to tell him he had bought a ring for a special girl. I never heard Dad or Grandma mention that until they'd both passed and I was given an old letter from my Dad written to his uncle. I wish I'd known. I would have asked for more info... the name of the girl would have been nice. It's a mystery. The bigger mystery is... where is Charleton? You see, Charleton was one of those who volunteered.... you were never just assigned, you had to volunteer... to be on submarine duty. The worst indeed happened in 1945. The USS Kete left its position to go to a new assignment. It was just east of Japan and gave its last radio message before running silent until its new location, which it never arrived at. No one really knows where the Kete is, other than probably somewhere between Points A & B in the Pacific. Unless it strayed off course. Dad could never fully explain why Charleton chose submarine duty. Partly for the excitement (I'd be so claustrophobic and terrified I couldn't go a DAY, let alone long periods of time in a cramped sub, no windows, often submerged), partly for the higher pay. But Dad, with great pride would also say, "only the very bravest volunteered for sub duty. It was the most dangerous." He knew that Charleton (or Bill) wanted to do whatever it took to serve and wasn't afraid of the higher risks. Or at 18 or 19 just didn't think dying would actually happen. But he went. Dad and "Bill" ran into each other once after Bill enlisted. Literally looked up in port in Hawaii and saw each other on the sidewalk. That was the last time. My dad served on the Battleship USS Idaho (like Billie's dad, Bill) and it was there that he got the telegram from the Naval department, who, because he was on a battleship in a critical area would not allow him leave to go home to his mom. (before the Sullivan brothers rule)
Every Memorial Day I remember the service that my Dad, his brother, and my brother David (Air Force during Viet Nam war) were willing to offer. Every memorial Day I once again wonder, where is Charleton? Especially this year as I came across an article on a group that is dedicated to finding lost submarines, especially from WWII. They've found 4 or 5 so far. Anyway... they were all willing to serve, even if it meant laying down their life. And my dad and brother carried that mindset with them throughout their lives. They did their jobs to the best of their abilities. They helped others whenever they could. David as a federal police officer with the VA and Dad with Iowa Electric (now Alliant). Dad was one of the first on the scene after the Belmond tornado to begin shutting down gas lines for safety. My dad always made you feel better, just being around him (except for the time I backed his brand new car through the tight fitting garage door and scraped the side on the metal wheel guide of the garage door... but I digress) and he could always make you laugh when you needed it. They both lived their lives as they lived their military years, working hard at their jobs and giving to others, and loving their family beyond measure.
So yes... I remember... and I hope, that in my living, I have made them proud to call me one of theirs. And when my end comes I will meet death and struggles with the same grit and dignity as they did... and someday maybe someone will put flowers on my grave, I will be next to them... and the uncle I never met... smiling down upon my family and friends, glad to know that they were remembering me. I hope that when I am gone, others will say that I didn't just talk about being a Christian, I loved and gave, and served, and made others feel better for my being here... and that I, like all my ancestors before me, lived my faith with action and truth.
May ALL of you, as children of God, have people say the same of you. Amen.
