Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday, dear Jesus.
Happy Birthday to you,
and many more . . .
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Monday, April 2, 2007
a brother named NJ
Monday, April 2, 2007
Family, friends and Brothers,
If you have not seen the NEWSWEEK magazine dated as above, I recommend it to you. It is composed primarily of letters, emails and phone messages from our servicemen and women who have given what Abraham Lincoln so poignantly described as, “the last full measure of devotion”.
A sample:
Army Second Lt. Brian Smith
May 11, 2004, Fallujah, Iraq
Writing home:
“What did Hajji learn that week? First, the U.S. can be defeated. Second, if he surrenders he will be stripped naked, have electrodes attached to his testicles and (be) made to stand in a tub of water.
F---ing brilliant. Where is my goddamned propeller-hat? I need to get into the spirit of things.”
Second Lt. Smith, 30, was shot dead in Al Habbaniyah early in July 2004.
At that time the troop’s death toll had yet to reach one thousand.
I am not here to pick a fight with anyone. I’m too busy weeping. If you are a praying person, please pray for the fallen, the wounded, those still walking, and all of their families and friends. Please pray that the Great Architect of the Universe may see fit to grace our leaders with much-needed wisdom in this dark valley.
The following poem is presented to you again without any hidden motive or agenda.
Regardless of where we may stand regarding the comedy festival that passes for our government, it speaks for itself.
It is arguably the most famous poem of World War I.
In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
p.s. Thanks to a brother known as NJ.
Family, friends and Brothers,
If you have not seen the NEWSWEEK magazine dated as above, I recommend it to you. It is composed primarily of letters, emails and phone messages from our servicemen and women who have given what Abraham Lincoln so poignantly described as, “the last full measure of devotion”.
A sample:
Army Second Lt. Brian Smith
May 11, 2004, Fallujah, Iraq
Writing home:
“What did Hajji learn that week? First, the U.S. can be defeated. Second, if he surrenders he will be stripped naked, have electrodes attached to his testicles and (be) made to stand in a tub of water.
F---ing brilliant. Where is my goddamned propeller-hat? I need to get into the spirit of things.”
Second Lt. Smith, 30, was shot dead in Al Habbaniyah early in July 2004.
At that time the troop’s death toll had yet to reach one thousand.
I am not here to pick a fight with anyone. I’m too busy weeping. If you are a praying person, please pray for the fallen, the wounded, those still walking, and all of their families and friends. Please pray that the Great Architect of the Universe may see fit to grace our leaders with much-needed wisdom in this dark valley.
The following poem is presented to you again without any hidden motive or agenda.
Regardless of where we may stand regarding the comedy festival that passes for our government, it speaks for itself.
It is arguably the most famous poem of World War I.
In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
p.s. Thanks to a brother known as NJ.
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