"A Spit and a Promise"

This day has been full of memories. It was my dad's birthday today. He would have been 83. What a coincidence that my nephew would think of washing the car today. It's my dad's car that I inherited two years ago. My parents kept it immaculately washed, waxed, and detailed numerous times a year. Often by their own sweat and muscle.

I feel close to my mom and dad whenever I use their car. They used it to drive to a local truck stop every evening to relax and socialize with friends. It was more than a vehicle for them. It was a link to the outside world. I know they were more proud of it than they were their old house.

Thank you, Jason, for reviving some memories for me today. Mom and Dad may be gone from this world, but their car lives on, as do our memories of them both. They live on in our hearts. We look forward to seeing them again on that glorious Resurrection Morning. God has promised a grand reunion for His people.

Here they are at the truck stop a few years ago...

After a good wash, it still shines!

An Invisible Injury

Memorial Day should be a day of just that--remembering those who have passed away, especially those in the military. We call them servicemen because that's exactly what they do. They serve us, so we can enjoy the freedoms and safety we have in this country. And no matter how deficient you see our country in these areas, it's hard to deny that we are better off than many places in the world.

We should honor all the men and women in uniform for their sacrifices. None of those serving in dangerous fields will come back unaffected. And many of the wounded will feel their losses every day. Even those with invisible injuries, such as PTSD and traumatic brain injuries, have given up their previous lives and are striving to create a new normal for themselves.

My personal experience with a brain-injured husband allows me to feel great empathy for that segment of the military, those with TBIs. It's a scary world when you can't remember what you did an hour ago, or even less. And the families are no less affected. I pray that God will give strength to them all and show me ways I may help lighten their load when I can.

Here's a couple of pictures of my dad--just a teenager. He was in Japan right after the bombing. They didn't exactly appreciate our presence. But who could blame them. Dad never talked about being in Japan while we were growing up. I always wondered why he didn't like going to funerals. I think dead bodies scared him. But he made it known he wanted a military funeral for himself. It was the least we could do.