Have you every been to the "tomb of the unknown soldiers" in Arlington Cemetery?
We were there just last summer! It's one of my favorite places in the world...the respect shown at that site is too inspiring, wonderfully formal, commanding attention and quiet...you see, they REALLY deserve it.
Tapped heels clicking against the concrete,
sounding like it will crack right through the payment...as they approach the
site to takeover duty.
Gloved hands balancing heavy rifles--clicking and
sliding bolts, looking into the chamber ensuring ammo.
Inspection is very intentional and once
completed, the Master Sergeant assigns the soldier to his post--swapping
positions with the current soldier on duty.
Few words are said yet the drill is emblazoned on
every action...
White gloves, black shoes shining...
Creases in blue pants straighter than a ruler.
Shaven heads peak out from underneath hats, bills pulled down over
the nose,keeping their eye on any potential target.
Clean-shaven and pristine--no curls or stubble to ever be found here.
High collars protecting necks that are known sometimes as "leather"...
knowing it could be them in that tomb.
Impressive is not a big enough word--respect for men and women who have given their ultimate for our freedom--an act that is too big for words. When you're sitting by the pool in the blaze of the summer sun, or running on the beach taking pictures of your kids, or swinging your child back and forth as they squeal and giggle:
remember who is "guarding" your freedom...24-hours a day, 7-days a week...
rain, snow, thunder/lightning
Psalm 144:1-3
Praise be to the LORD my Rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle.
He is my loving God and my fortress, my stronghold and my deliverer,
my shield, in whom I take refuge, who subdues peoples under me.
P.s. One of my childhood heroes, a neighbor who went off to Vietnam at the age of 17, Carey Smith, from Doraville, GA (I was three the last time I saw him; but I remember he raised rabbits in his backyard.) He volunteered for a marine mission where he was carrying a load of dynamite on his back, crawling across an enemy area to secure it for our guys to get in. He crawled over a landmine. I was honored to visit the Vietnam Memorial Wall, and I was able to find his name and get an "etching" of his name with a pencil on the cover of my checkbook. It gave me a reminder that I can keep with me of his courage and love for Our Country and his willingness to do whatever needed to be done to help freedom reign in our world and in America.
I wonder whatever happened to his little bunnies?
