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Post by class70 on May 24, 2015 18:34:34 GMT -5
It's always the most emotional day of the year for me. I hope this video shares some of that emotion and the gratitude for the sacrifices made for all of us: www.youtube.com/watch?v=t9m06QFxb3o |
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Post by fjs64 on May 24, 2015 20:58:59 GMT -5
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Post by brownindian11 on May 24, 2015 21:12:02 GMT -5
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Post by wgt on May 24, 2015 22:18:46 GMT -5
A Soldier's Prayer...
The soldier stood and faced his 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 streets are awfully tough.
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,
Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,
You've done your time in Hell."
Dedicated To All That Serve... God Bless America!
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Post by fjs64 on May 24, 2015 22:46:58 GMT -5
Thank you for the video.....what an amazing man |
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Post by bjif on May 25, 2015 5:53:58 GMT -5
Guys thank you for posting and remembering the men and women who have given the ultimate sacrifice to maintain our freedoms. May they all rest in peace.
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Post by thesocalkid on May 25, 2015 8:18:44 GMT -5
THE TREE OF LIBERTY IS NOURISHED BY THE BLOOD OF THE INNOCENT AND THE BRAVE.
I thank all five of my Uncles who served in WW II, especially my uncle Stan who was awarded the Purple Heart twice for his bravery.
And to all those who are fighting against " you know who "... to keep us safe.
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Post by fjs64 on May 25, 2015 9:01:02 GMT -5
THE TREE OF LIBERTY IS NOURISHED BY THE BLOOD OF THE INNOCENT AND THE BRAVE. I thank all five of my Uncles who served in WW II, especially my uncle Stan who was awarded the Purple Heart twice for his bravery. And to all those who are fighting against " you know who "... to keep us safe. Your comments reminded me to think back about my Uncles......5 who served in WW II, but what blows my mind about my mother's family, was not only having 2 of her brothers serve in WW II, but she had 2 who served in WW I. One of them had tried out for the NY Giants (the football Giants did not exist back then) and he was offered a minor league contract, but went into the Army and baseball no longer was an option when he got out. |
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Post by res on May 25, 2015 10:08:09 GMT -5
Same with my father's family, Frank. Two brothers served during WW I (one was wounded) and at least one in WW II. Their grandfather fought in the Civil War. The past isn't as long ago as it sometimes seems.
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Post by class70 on May 25, 2015 10:42:43 GMT -5
(deleted)
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Post by az63 on May 25, 2015 13:09:27 GMT -5
From the WSJ:
Once we knew who and what to honor on Memorial Day: those who had given all their tomorrows, as was said of the men who stormed the beaches of Normandy, for our todays. But in a world saturated with selfhood, where every death is by definition a death in vain, the notion of sacrifice today provokes puzzlement more often than admiration. We support the troops, of course, but we also believe that war, being hell, can easily touch them with an evil no cause for engagement can wash away. And in any case we are more comfortable supporting them as victims than as warriors.
Former football star Pat Tillman and Marine Cpl. Jason Dunham were killed on the same day: April 22, 2004. But as details of his death fitfully emerged from Afghanistan, Tillman has become a metaphor for the current conflict–a victim of fratricide, disillusionment, coverup and possibly conspiracy. By comparison, Dunham, who saved several of his comrades in Iraq by falling on an insurgent’s grenade, is the unknown soldier. The New York Times, which featured Abu Ghraib on its front page for 32 consecutive days, put the story of Dunham’s Medal of Honor on the third page of section B.
Not long ago I was asked to write the biographical sketches for a book featuring formal photographs of all our living Medal of Honor recipients. As I talked with them, I was, of course, chilled by the primal power of their stories. But I also felt pathos: They had become strangers–honored strangers, but strangers nonetheless–in our midst.
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In my own boyhood, figures such as Jimmy Doolittle, Audie Murphy and John Basilone were household names. And it was assumed that what they had done defined us as well as them, telling us what kind of nation we were. But the 110 Medal recipients alive today are virtually unknown except for a niche audience of warfare buffs. Their heroism has become the military equivalent of genre painting. There’s something wrong with that.
What they did in battle was extraordinary. Jose Lopez, a diminutive Mexican-American from the barrio of San Antonio, was in the Ardennes forest when the Germans began the counteroffensive that became the Battle of the Bulge. As 10 enemy soldiers approached his position, he grabbed a machine gun and opened fire, killing them all. He killed two dozen more who rushed him. Knocked down by the concussion of German shells, he picked himself up, packed his weapon on his back and ran toward a group of Americans about to be surrounded. He began firing and didn’t stop until all his ammunition and all that he could scrounge from other guns was gone. By then he had killed over 100 of the enemy and bought his comrades time to establish a defensive line.
Yet their stories were not only about killing. Several Medal of Honor recipients told me that the first thing they did after the battle was to find a church or some other secluded spot where they could pray, not only for those comrades they’d lost but also the enemy they’d killed.
Desmond Doss, for instance, was a conscientious objector who entered the army in 1942 and became a medic. Because of his religious convictions and refusal to carry a weapon, the men in his unit intimidated and threatened him, trying to get him to transfer out. He refused and they grudgingly accepted him. Late in 1945 he was with them in Okinawa when they got cut to pieces assaulting a Japanese stronghold.
Everyone but Mr. Doss retreated from the rocky plateau where dozens of wounded remained. Under fire, he treated them and then began moving them one by one to a steep escarpment where he roped them down to safety. Each time he succeeded, he prayed, “Dear God, please let me get just one more man.” By the end of the day, he had single-handedly saved 75 GIs.
Why did they do it? Some talked of entering a zone of slow-motion invulnerability, where they were spectators at their own heroism. But for most, the answer was simpler and more straightforward: They couldn’t let their buddies down.
Big for his age at 14, Jack Lucas begged his mother to help him enlist after Pearl Harbor. She collaborated in lying about his age in return for his promise to someday finish school. After training at Parris Island, he was sent to Honolulu. When his unit boarded a troop ship for Iwo Jima, Mr. Lucas was ordered to remain behind for guard duty. He stowed away to be with his friends and, discovered two days out at sea, convinced his commanding officer to put him in a combat unit rather than the brig. He had just turned 17 when he hit the beach, and a day later he was fighting in a Japanese trench when he saw two grenades land near his comrades.
He threw himself onto the grenades and absorbed the explosion. Later a medic, assuming he was dead, was about to take his dog tag when he saw Mr. Lucas’s finger twitch. After months of treatment and recovery, he returned to school as he’d promised his mother, a ninth-grader wearing a Medal of Honor around his neck.
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