A Soldier's Wife's Story

The following story was written by Lori Kimble, a 31 year old teacher and proud military wife. Mrs. Kimble, a California native, currently lives in Alabama...

I was sitting alone in one of those loud, casual steak houses that you find all over the country. You know the type--a bucket of peanuts on every table, shells littering the floor, and a bunch of perky college kids racing around with longneck beers and sizzling platters.

Taking a sip of my iced tea, I studied the crowd over the rim of my glass. My gaze lingered on a group enjoying their meal. They wore no uniform to identify their branch of service, but they were definitely "military:"clean shaven, cropped haircut, and that "squared away" look that comes with pride.

Smiling sadly, I glanced across my table to the empty seat where my husband usually sat. It had only been a few months since we sat in this very booth, talking about his upcoming deployment to the Middle East. That was when he made me promise to get a sitter for the kids, come back to this restaurant once a month and treat myself to a nice steak. In turn he would treasure the thought of me being here, thinking about him until he returned home.

I fingered the little flag pin I constantly wear and wondered where he was at this very moment. Was he safe and warm? Was his cold any better? Were my letters getting through to him? As I pondered these thoughts, high pitched female voices from the next booth broke into my thoughts.

"I don't know what Bush is thinking about. Invading Iraq. You'd think that man would learn from his old man's mistakes. Good lord. What an idiot! I can’t believe he is even in office. You do know, he stole the election."

I cut into my steak and tried to ignore them, as they began an endless tirade running down our president. I thought about the last night I spent with my husband, as he prepared to deploy. He had just returned from getting his smallpox and anthrax shots. The image of him standing in our kitchen packing his gas mask still gives me chills.

Once again the women's voices invaded my thoughts. "It is all about oil, you know. Our soldiers will go in and rape and steal all the oil they can in the name of 'freedom'. Hmph! I wonder how many innocent people they'll kill without giving it a thought? It's pure greed, you know."

My chest tightened as I stared at my wedding ring. I could still see how handsome my husband looked in his "mess dress" the day he slipped it on my finger. I wondered what he was wearing now. Probably his desert uniform, affectionately dubbed "coffee stains" with a heavy bulletproof vest over it."

You know, we should just leave Iraq alone. I don't think they are hiding any weapons. In fact, I bet it's all a big act just to increase the president's popularity. That's all it is, padding the military budget at the expense of our social security and education. And, you know what else? We're just asking for another 9-ll. I can't say when it happens again that we didn’t deserve it."

Their words brought to mind the war protesters I had watched gathering outside our base. Did no one appreciate the sacrifice of brave men and women who leave their homes and family to ensure our freedom? Do they even know what "freedom" is?

I glanced at the table where the young men were sitting, and saw their courageous faces change. They had stopped eating and looked at each other dejectedly, listening to the women talking.

"Well, I, for one, think it's just deplorable to invade Iraq, and I am certainly sick of our tax dollars going to train professional baby-killers we call a military."

Professional baby-killers? I thought about what a wonderful father my husband is, and of how long it would be before he would see our children again.

That's it! Indignation rose up inside me. Normally reserved, pride in my husband gave me a brassy boldness I never realized I had. Tonight one voice will answer on behalf of our military, and let her pride in our troops be known.

Sliding out of my booth, I walked around to the adjoining booth and placed my hands flat on their table. Lowering myself to eye level with them, smilingly said, "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. You see, I'm sitting here trying to enjoy my dinner alone. And, do you know why? Because my husband, whom I love with all my heart, is halfway around the world defending your right to say rotten things about him." "Yes, you have the right to your opinion, and what you think is none of my business. However, what you say in public is something else, and I will not sit by and Listen to you ridicule MY country, MY president, MY husband, and all the other fine American men and women who put their lives on the line, just so you can have the freedom" to complain. Freedom is an expensive commodity, ladies. Don't let your actions cheapen it."

I must have been louder that I meant to be, because the manager came over To inquire if everything was all right. "Yes, thank you," I replied. Then, turning back to the women, I said, "Enjoy the rest of your meal."

As I returned to my booth applause broke out. I was embarrassed for making A scene, and went back to my half eaten steak. The women picked up their check and scurried away.

After finishing my meal, and while waiting for my check, the manager returned with a huge apple cobbler ala mode. "Compliments of those soldiers, he said. He also smiled and said the ladies tried to pay for my dinner, but that another couple had beaten them to it. When I asked who, the manager said they had already left, but that the gentleman was a veteran, and wanted to take care of the wife of "one of our boys."

With a lump in my throat, I gratefully turned to the soldiers and thanked them for the cobbler. Grinning from ear to ear, they came over and surrounded the booth. "We just wanted to thank you, ma'am. You know we can't get into confrontations with civilians, so we appreciate what you did."

As I drove home, for the first time since my husband's deployment, I didn't feel quite so alone. My heart was filled with the warmth of the other diners who stopped by my table, to relate how they, too, were proud of my husband, and would keep him in their prayers. I knew their flags would fly a little higher the next day.

Perhaps they would look for more tangible ways to show their pride in our country, and the military who protect her. And maybe, just maybe, the two women who were railing against our country, would pause for a minute to appreciate all the freedom America offers, and the price it pays to maintain it's freedom.

As for me, I have learned that one voice CAN make a difference. Maybe the next time protesters gather outside the gates of the base where I live, I will proudly stand on the opposite side with a sign of my own. It will simply say, "Thank You!"

To those who fought for our Nation: Freedom has a flavor the protected will never know. GOD BLESS AMERICA!



"We have too many high sounding words, and too few actions that correspond with them."
-Abigail Adams (1744-1818)

Is Spelling Important?

Olny srmat poelpe can?

The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to rscheear at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredrthe ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as awlohe. Amzanig huh? yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt! Aarpepnlty not. It's a good tnhig, busavece my slpeling is tlierbre, and my tpiyng is wrsoe. As I've awalys siad, slepl ckehcer is yuor fiernd.

The Joy's of Fishing

Last weekend I went with LoW and his brothers to Lake Lavon for a little fishing. I'd forgotten just how relaxing it is, being outside on a sunny spring day, at the lake, drinking a cool beverage from the cooler, and getting a fishing line wet. Catch anything or not, it's a great stress relief. I just wish I could have spent longer, but we got a late start since LoW didn't get off work until 2:00 (I had to mow the lawn anyway) and we met PoD, AQ, The Elfin Princess, and a few others from the singles group for a few games of Laser Tag at Adventure Landing.

Anyway Saturday afternoon we didn't catch a thing, and LoW's brother had the aggravation of hooking a nice size fish, getting it close enough to touch it, and then loosing it when it spit the hook (which ended up happening to me the next day). What's more, there were other people fishing "the spot." there is a fenced off area around a water discharge pipe from the nearby plant. (The plant uses lake water to cool equipment, then releases it back out into the lake) From past experience, fish will gather in such an area, and fishing is awesome, especially when the water is running from the pipe. When I was younger, I used to fish for Channel Cat with my Grandpa, Dad, and brother. There is a town in the southeast corner of Kansas near the Oklahoma state line called Riverton (which was just in the news last week as police found a couple of kids planning another Columbine type rampage), and on one such trip, the four of us caught 42 cat fish, and those are just the ones we kept. We threw back the smaller ones. And we used the real chicken blood for bait too, not the pasty play dough crap they sell now. Chicken liver is a great catfish bait too by the way. But I digress...

The people fishing in "the spot" were reeling in the crappie and bass like mad, and we weren't able to cast into the area, and as a result, had no luck at all. Low's other brother stepped on something, though I didn't see if he actually cut his foot or just scraped it, so the brothers left a little early. Just before we left on Saturday, LoW himself cut the bottom of his foot on a stray rock (most of the area was just hard clay).

The next day after church and lunch, we went again to try to get to "the spot" but again, there were people hogging the area, so we had no choice but to fish the same area again. After about an hour, I made a miss step of my own, and my left food slid off the hard clay and I sunk into about 12 inches of silt, as I was about 10 feet off the bank. I tried 3 times to get good footing on hard ground, but slid right back into the silt, where I kept hitting a rock that was about the size of a football. I finally got my footing, stepped out of the hole, and continued fishing. About 10 minutes later, I thought I'd better have a look at my foot since one of the little piggies, which hurt just a little when I was trying to get out of the muck, persisted in crying "We we we...". It was then that I found that one toe was missing about 1/2 of the nail. I had managed to either mash or cut off the nail, and I had been bleeding into the water for the last 10 minutes. Since it wasn't bleeding bad though, we kept fishing for another hour or so before going home for a shower, bible study (It's Not About Me by Max Lucado) and a couple games of Shadows over Camelot. A very cool game by the way.

On a more serious note, please continue to pray for me and my current financial situation. There is still a legal issue with a former tenant, and I don't know how it's going to play out.

Thanks for Reading,
MV

"I never drink water because of the disgusting things that fish do in it."
- WC. Fields

The Joy's of Winning

Have you ever won anything? I've won music competitions, I've won swim meets, and in high school, I won the science fair. Then there are those phone calls. "...You have been selected to enter into a drawing for a (insert cruise, vacation, new car, etc.)" These are the calls you would completely ignore, since there is usually a catch. Then there are the drawings you enter while at the State Fair, such as a drawing for a new Hummer (as if it would even be possible to pay for the gas.)

Well, I got an interesting voice mail this week. I didn't recognize the number, because they called my cell phone first, and I don't answer the call if I don't recognize the number. When I got home, I found the same number on my home phone along with a message.

Now, before I tell you who the call was from, let me give you a little background. Last weekend, while the Apocalypse Queen and I were out of town visiting my parents, Lord of War, Prince of Darkness, the The Elfin Princess (the latter having somehow obtained tickets) went to a polo match. That's right, croquet on horseback. Now apparently, there was a drawing people could enter for a chance to win a free polo lesson. That's right, you read my mind, because that's who called. Apparently I've won a free polo lesson from the Dallas Polo Club, and if I call them back, they will have a horse available for me, as well as a free lesson. Now I'm up for trying new things, but I haven't ridden a horse for several years, and even then, it was one of those horses you didn't have to guide. No, it wasn't a pony attached to one of those merry-go-round things, but it did follow a trail it had taken about a million times. Besides, I don't think it would be such a good idea to put me on a horse, hand me a big wooden hammer, and ask me to hit this little wooden ball lying on the ground, especially since my back just isn't what it used to be. I think those 3 have a little explaining to do. Oh the insanity (and the joy's of payback...I mean winning.)

Ben Stein

The following was written by Ben Stein and recited by him on CBS Sunday Morning Commentary, Sunday, 12/18/05.

Herewith at this happy time of year, a few confessions from my beating heart: I have no freaking clue who Nick and Jessica are. I see them on the cover of People and Us constantly when I am buying my dog biscuits and kitty litter. I often ask the checkers at the grocery stores. They never know who Nick and Jessica are either. Who are they? Will it change my life if I know who they are and why they have broken up? Why are they so important?

I don't know who Lindsay Lohan is either, and I do not care at all about Tom Cruise's wife.

Am I going to be called before a Senate committee and asked if I am a subversive? Maybe, but I just have no clue who Nick and Jessica are.

If this is what it means to be no longer young. It's not so bad.

Next confession:
I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was Jewish. And it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful lit up, bejeweled trees Christmas trees. I don't feel threatened. I don't feel discriminated against. That's what they are: Christmas trees.

It doesn't bother me a bit when people say, "Merry Christmas" to me. I don't think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year. It doesn't bother me at all that there is a manger scene on display at a key intersection near my beach house in Malibu. If people want a creche, it's just as fine with me as is the Menorah a few hundred yards away.

I don't like getting pushed around for being a Jew, and I don't think Christians like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I have no idea where the concept came from that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can't find it in the Constitution, and I don't like it being shoved down my throat.

Or maybe I can put it another way: where did the idea come from that we should worship Nick and Jessica and we aren't allowed to worship God as we understand Him?

I guess that's a sign that I'm getting old, too.

But there are a lot of us who are wondering where Nick and Jessica came from and where the America we knew went to.

In light of the many jokes we send to one another for a laugh, this is a little different: This is not intended to be a joke; it's not funny, it's intended to get you thinking.

Billy Graham's daughter was interviewed on the Early Show and Jane Clayson asked her "How could God let something like this Happen?" (regarding Katrina)

Anne Graham gave an extremely profound and insightful response. She said, "I believe God is deeply saddened by this, just as we are, but for years we've been telling God to get out of our schools, to get out of our government and to get out of our lives.

And being the gentleman He is, I believe He has calmly backed out. How can we expect God to give us His blessing and His protection if we demand He leave us alone?"

In light of recent events...terrorists attack, school shootings, etc. I think it started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found recently) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said OK.

Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school . the Bible says thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as yourself. And we said OK.

Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem (Dr. Spock's son committed suicide). We said an expert should know what he's talking about. And we said OK.

Now we're asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves.

Probably, if we think about it long and hard enough, we can figure it out. I think it has a great deal to do with "WE REAP WHAT WE SOW."

Funny how simple it is for people to trash God and then wonder why the world's going to hell.

Funny how we believe what the newspapers say, but question what the Bible says.

Funny how you can send 'jokes' through e-mail and they spread like wildfire but when you start sending messages regarding the Lord, people think twice about sharing.

Funny how lewd, crude, vulgar and obscene articles pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion of God is suppressed in the school and workplace.

Are you laughing?