The Empty Chair On Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is a joyful time for families to gather, reconnect and celebrate. But for families experiencing a military separation, holidays can be yet another reminder that a deployed family member is not at home to enjoy hearth and home.  Some of us do not stop to think about the responsibilities and pain these families bear.

Here at home the banquet is on the table, but in a military family the focus is often on the chairs. Some of us will have empty chairs, because of deployment or distance from family members. Some will have extra chairs around the table to make room for friends and neighbors to join our uniquely American celebration.

For those who gather near an empty chair, they pray for those who are responsible for their loved one’s safety knowing that the empty chair still holds the promise of their sitting in it next year.

I am thankful for the men and women who sacrificed throughout our nation’s history, from the very beginning up to this very day to secure and preserve freedom in this great land of ours.

We have so much for which to be thankful, one day hardly seems adequate.

Sophie, my little furkid, and I wish for you and yours all the good things in life, not only at Thanksgiving but throughout the coming year.  May God bless you.

The Thankful Heart Will Find, In Every Hour, Some Heavenly Blessings

Photo courtesy of Wallpaper Gang  

Today was a day filled with unexpected blessings.

I awakened bright and early at 6:00 AM.  My “To Do List” was long and filled with things I’d rather not do but knew they must be addressed.  I fed little Sophie her breakfast, took my insulin and the 1,000 pills I take every morning.  I hopped in the shower, got dressed and headed out the door in plenty of time (or so I thought) for my 8:30 AM appointment with my CPA.

The interstate was gridlocked making me 36 minutes late for my appointment.  I put my name on the sheet of paper on the clipboard and noticed that there were 3 other people’s names with appointments that were after mine.  The owner of the accounting service entered the waiting room, looked at the clipboard, walked to the back and told my accountant that I had arrived.

I left the house without my cell phone so I couldn’t call to let anyone know I was running late.  I thought I would have to wait.  I deserved to wait, I thought.  It’s rude to not let the person who’s waiting on you to show up know that you’re hung up.

My guy entered the waiting room, shook my hand and invited me to come to his desk.  I plopped all my paperwork in front of him.  He poured over everything and began to enter the figures into his computer.  We talked about little things while he continued to enter the data.

I sat pensively while he looked over my documents.  Last year I was hammered having to pay huge amounts on both my federal and state returns.  I had withdrawn a huge amount of money in 2012 from my Thrift Savings Plan to replace the insulation in my attic and crawlspace, put on a new roof, install new windows, buy a new refrigerator and buy a new packaged home heating and cooling unit.

The only thing I had hanging over me this tax year was a check that I had received from a life insurance policy that my mom had taken out.  She died in 1996.  I never knew she had done that.  It took the insurance company 17 years to contact me.  After a little while my guy turned to me and said that I would receive a nice check from the feds and the state would repay me $2.00. 

I felt myself breaking out in a big ‘ol smile followed by a bit of a giggle.  I thanked him profusely for his help, paid the man and walked to my car.  As I headed home I pulled into a gas station and filled up my car.  I was thirsty and walked inside to get a watermelon fruit punch-flavored sparkling water and saw a wounded warrior standing at the cooler.

We both headed to the counter.  He had a couple of things in his hands.  I told the clerk that I wanted to pay for the soldier’s stuff.  The clerk obliged and the soldier insisted that wasn’t necessary.  “Yes, sir, it is necessary,” I told him.   “You’ve sacrificed so much for me that these few trinkets are my humble attempt to pay you and your band of brothers for protecting my freedoms.”  He smiled.  We shook hands.  The clerk bagged up his stuff and we walked out the door together.  I saluted him and got back in my car.

If nothing else good happened today, the warm feeling I had would be enough to make my day.

I was now really hungry and decided to stop by a Mickey D’s near my house and get an Egg McMuffin.  While waiting in the drive-thru line, I saw a man who was filthy from head to toe.  His clothes were wet from the rain that had stopped just minutes before.

When I pulled up to the speaker, I ordered three McMuffins and an order of hash browns.  I paid the drive-thru attendant for the food and drove around the restaurant to see if I could find the man.  I found him walking alongside the road.  I pulled up behind him and put the brakes on.  I called him over and handed him the bag.  I told him there were two sandwiches and some hash browns inside.  Tears came to his eyes.  He thanked me.  I told him to take care and drove away.

I’m a pretty good judge of character.  I noticed that the man’s hands were rough and calloused.  It was pretty obvious that he had been no stranger to hard work.  The Lord had spoken to me in that drive-thru.  I knew in my heart that giving him the food was the right thing to do.

I drove the rest of the way home.  I walked inside the house and hugged little Sophie.  I told her we were so lucky.  She cocked her head to one side as though trying to understand my words.  I ate my sandwich breaking off pieces to share with her.

I felt wasted emotionally.  I needed a nap.  I laid down and awoke at 1:30 PM.  Now, I was off to an appointment with my lung specialist, but before I did that I called my cardiologist’s office to tell them how disappointed I was that I had not heard from the sleep specialist yet.  Was it a coincidence that three minutes later the sleep specialist’s nurse called to schedule an appointment?

I showed up ten minutes early at the lung specialist’s office.  The waiting room was filled with folks who were in bad shape.  A lady was seated with her oxygen tank in front of her.  A man with a tracheostomy sat beside his daughter.  I sat quietly.  How blessed am I?

Donna, who is the nurse for my lung specialist, went to Duke.  I am a big-time Duke fan.  We chatted about the game between the Blue Devils and Syracuse.  I reminded her that The Orange were coming to our house on February 22^nd and that I fully expected us to return the favor by beating them at Cameron Indoor Stadium.  But…but we have the big game against the Tarheels first.

Donna left and in came the best doctor the world has ever known.  He asked how I was doing and I told him I thought I was doing great.  He listened to my lungs and laughingly said, “Show off.”  He said I sounded good.

We talked about how disappointed I was that I could not start my pulmonary rehab until October.  He said, “Yeah, I know.  I told them they needed to hire more people.  I’ll go down there tomorrow and have a chat with them.”  (I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that conversation.)

Then I told him how disgusted I was over not being contacted in a more timely fashion by the sleep specialist.  He defended the doctor noting that sleep study data is very complex to analyze and he was glad that I had called to light a fire under their ass.

I had one more thing I wanted to discuss with him.  I told him that since I first came to see him one year ago that I had received excellent care and was truly showing great improvement.  I shared with him that my regular physician had turned out to be very disappointing.  I asked if he could refer me to someone I could trust to take good care of me.

He rolled his stool over to the cabinet where a dispenser held paper towels.  He pulled out one and began to write down the names of three doctors.  He was very animated when he described them to me.  He spoke very highly of all three but his tone of voice was distinctly different when he spoke of Dr. Sensenbrenner.  He said I don’t need a “weenie”.  He said I need someone who will tell it like it is; someone who is tough but compassionate and has the best interests of the patient at heart.

I told him I would call tomorrow and set up an appointment.  Once I’ve done that I will call my current physician and kick his ass to the curb.

It’s been a good day and I have a thankful heart.

Stringing The Pearls Of His Favor

The last Thursday in November is the one day that is exclusively American.  We commemorate a harvest festival celebrated by the Pilgrims in 1621.

When their arduous existence was rewarded with a bountiful harvest after a year of sickness and scarcity, the Pilgrims gave thanks to God and celebrated His bounty with a joyous outpouring of gratitude.

Times change.  Traditions coalesce.  Their meaning becomes vague to younger generations of Americans.

In a time when aging veterans are told they cannot fly the flag under which they served or school children are told by their school board that there is no time in the day to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, upholding traditions like Thanksgiving may be at odds with our devotion to progressivism or secular self-interest.

If there is one day each year when food and family take center stage, it is Thanksgiving. It is a holiday about “going home” with all the emotional content those two words imply.

The need to connect with loved ones and to express our gratitude is at the heart of Thanksgiving and a nostalgia for a simpler time.  Somewhere in the hustle and bustle is the abiding national memory of a moment in Plymouth, nearly 400 years ago, when two very different cultures shared an autumn feast.

To be grateful is to recognize the Love of God in everything He has given us—and He has given us everything. Every breath we draw is a gift of His love; every moment of existence is a grace.

I must admit, that this year more than any other in my 61 years of life, I have been stringing the pearls of His favor.

With the diagnosis that I have restrictive lung disease, I became depressed.  My depression was lifted when God brought me to my lung specialist.  I am not well, not cured, but I am in better health as a result of this very caring and compassionate medical professional.

From the miracle of heart catheterization, I have learned that my heart is healthy and not the source of my lung disease. 

From the government shutdown, when I was not being paid despite reporting for duty each day, I was able to liquidate some assets in order to stay afloat financially.

You find yourself praying in times of need.  You should also pray in the fullness of your joy and in your days of abundance.

This Thanksgiving I am thankful for the heavenly blessings which God has bestowed upon me.  I will recount the days filled with abundance, joy and gratitude.  I will kneel in prayer for all the gifts I have received and have yet to receive.

For my readers who have taken a moment from their busy day to leave their kind words and their heartfelt thoughts and prayers, I have been touched by your compassion.

God grants us a gift of 86,400 seconds a day.  You took a few of those precious seconds to think of me and wish me well.  I can never repay your kindness.

I have always loved A.A Milne’s children’s’ story about Winnie-the-Pooh.  It was Piglet who noticed “that even though he had a Very Small Heart, it could hold a rather large amount of Gratitude.”

I will be thinking of you at Thanksgiving and asking God to bless you abundantly, love you dearly and watch over you always.

Never Realizing The Glory In Their Wings Part Two

Two weeks ago, I posted a story about an amazing visitor I had.  I recounted that a magnificent raptor, a red-shouldered hawk, made an appearance in my yard.

I was struck by its beauty.  I managed, just barely, to photograph the hawk and include the image with the post.

Today, I woke up around seven-ish and fixed myself a sausage, egg and cheese croissant and a hot cup of Tazo Passion Fruit tea, grabbed the newspaper and went outside to enjoy the 70^° late summer morning on the deck.

I set my plate and cup down on the table and went back inside the house to grab my camera because I had seen some butterflies fluttering in the morning sun in the rock garden.

My property has a lot of trees; white oak, black oak, pin oak and post oak.  There was a trickle of leaves lilting to the ground in the gentle morning breeze. 

I was skimming the headlines and moved on to the Op-Ed page and began to read a letter written to The World’s Most Dangerous Community Organizer from former ambassador to Obama, Mark Erwin (U.S. Ambassador to Mauritius, Seychelles and Comoros).

He ended his letter this way:  “Our military is an organization of war, not peace. Military leadership is trained to destroy the enemy. Our actions have consequences far beyond the contemplated limited attack.”

I looked up from the page to see another large bird that had landed on the ground.  It was scouring the ground for something.  When it heard the rustle of the paper, it flew up in a branch of the white oak tree just above it.

Trying to be as stealthy as possible, I grabbed the camera and snapped a photograph of a juvenile red-shouldered hawk.  Perhaps the offspring of the hawk spotted two weeks ago.

I was far more poised this time than last.  I was able to zoom in fairly closely and I think I got a good picture to share with you.

I think I’m safe in assuming that the hawk from two weeks ago has, in fact, built a nest in one of my trees or one nearby and that today’s visitor must be its offspring.  That’s my hope and today, once again, I can say life is good and I have been blessed.

Enjoy your Sunday and may you find an unexpected blessing in your day.

Never Realizing The Glory In Their Wings

Two weeks ago, upon returning from my training in Brunswick, GA, I looked out the window of my home which faces my backyard.  I was checking to make sure my yard guy had taken good care of my lawn in my absence.  I noticed some sort of movement in the far-right corner of my acre lot.  I couldn’t tell what it was, but I was curious nonetheless.

A couple of hours later, I took my recyclables out to my Toter® roll-away Recycle Can when I noticed a very large bird, a hawk I thought to myself, perched on the chain link fence about ten feet away from where I had seen something earlier in the day.  I stood there watching it for about 30 seconds before it flew away.

Fast-forward to today.  I woke up fairly early for a Sunday morning and decided I was going to be productive today.  The morning was bright and sunshiny and the temperature was a delicious 68°F.

The plan was to wash my windows.  I started in the backyard.  I had washed two windows and was beginning to work on the third.  I was safely ensconced on the step ladder under the easement when I heard a frantic flapping going on behind me.

Making certain not to turn too quickly (Safety First!), I turned to see this hawk (?) on the ground no more than 10 or so feet from me on the ground.  It was wrestling furiously with a snake.

I have lived in this home for 40+ years and never once saw a snake.  I judged the snake to be about 5-feet long.  Quicker than you could say, “Rumplestiltskin”, the bird had muscled the snake into its talons in a vise-like death grip and took flight.  The snake was wriggling to get loose.  It was a bad day for Mr. Water Moccasin.

Bad day for the snake, good day for me because I never saw it.  I could have stepped on that sucker, gotten bitten and, well…

I collected myself after that Animal Planet episode and finished washing all my windows.  I came inside and fixed myself a sammich and a bowl of Caramel Cookie Crunch gelato.

I went outside to store my step ladder in the shed when, what did I spy, but the very same hawk from this morning.  I tippy-toed backwards to go inside and grab my camera.  I just knew it would be gone when I came back out, but I was wrong.

It sat perched on a big, fat branch and posed real pretty for me.  I had to snap several shots because I was shaking so bad.  I wanted to share its beauty with everybody.

Once I downloaded the pics and settled on the one shown here, I researched raptors and found that the bird is indeed a hawk; a red-shouldered hawk, in fact.

According to The Cornell Lab of Ornithology, it’s one of the most distinctively marked common hawks, with barred reddish-peachy underparts and a strongly banded tail.  (The Cornell Lab doesn’t mention this, but it’s legs are a lemon yellow.) In flight, translucent crescents near the wingtips help to identify the species at a distance. These forest hawks hunt prey ranging from mice to frogs and snakes.

The National Geographic Society notes that red-shouldered hawks return to the same nesting territory year after year.

If this bird has a nest nearby or it has built a nest in the many trees on my property then it can help me control the ground squirrel population.  Oh, did I mention I despise the little vermin?

So, now I have a family of bluebirds who have established a cozy little residence in the birdhouse I put up last year.  When they leave, then the darling, little Carolina Wrens move in and set up house.

Life is good and I thank the Lord for His blessings.