Support Our Troops

Those yellow ribbon magnets on cars are everywhere: Support Our Troops. On minivans and Mini-Coopers, on pickup trucks and tractor-trailers, on luxury cars and beaters, they’re everywhere.

I want to rip them off the vehicles and shout at the drivers, “What do you know about supporting troops anyway. Like sticking magnet on your car does anything towards keeping them safe or bringing them home as quickly as possible. You think you’ve done something because you bought a magnet and slapped it on your car. That’s not true support; that’s just consumerism that makes you feel like you’re doing something good.”

I want to pull the drivers from the cars and shake them. Do you know what support is? It’s giving birth to a perfect baby, feeding him, watching him grow, and stumble into his own stride. It’s nagging him to do his homework, reminding him to change his underwear, and to clean his room. It’s the day-in and day-out of helping a child to grow strong within himself, to recognize right from wrong, and to strive to live up to his ideals so he earns his own respect as well as that of others. You teach him to dream big, that he should take his best shot at fulfilling that big dream, and that he should live each day of his life the best he can.

Even if his dream is to become a United States Marine as my son did on November 5, 2004.

Support our troops? I supported my “troop” for 18 years. And I’m still supporting him through my letters, which tell him how proud I am of him and how much I love him for becoming exactly the kind of man he wanted to be.

I’m filled with pride for him and overflowing with worry of what these next 4 years will bring, a constant contradictory tide that swells and releases within me. I miss my son, I miss his young wisdom, and I miss chewing him out for leaving Coke cans around. I hate the long gaps between when I can talk to him, sometimes weeks, sometimes months at a time, and I hate knowing that may only get worse. I am so consumed with missing my son, now and in the future, that I cannot see what is going on around me.

Those yellow ribbon magnets are trying to tell me something.

Back in 1982, Dr. Byrd, a cardiologist at San Francisco General Medical Center, performed the first scientific study to determine if prayer helped patients. His study found that those who were prayed for were less likely to develop further problems and healed more quickly. This only lent controlled proof to what millions of faithful had always known: prayer works.

Every type of religion practices some form of prayer, whether it’s called such or called meditation, moment of silence, etc. It ranges from the very formal, ritualized form to the extremely informal – the mere thoughts of well-being we wish for one another. It’s the act of focused thought, regardless of what we call it, that brings about the results.

I’m very wrong about the people with the yellow ribbon magnets. It’s not an empty gesture, a purchased solution to a difficult problem. It’s not an insignificant effort designed to appear righteous. It’s a reflection of where their thoughts are, their focused thoughts, those kind that bring about results.

There are so many things that so many people are doing to help out our troops in Iraq: collecting books and magazines, assembling toiletry kits, sending phone cards. They're writing letters to total strangers and sending Beanie Babies for soldiers to distribute to Iraqi children. People are reaching out to do whatever needs to be done.

Some people are praying every time they see a yellow ribbon magnet.

It all helps and it all works. And I, and my beloved troop who I miss so much, thank you for it.

p.s. - Want to write to our troops to let them know we care, but don't know who to write to? Take a look at America Supports You and click on How You Can Help.

By Gretchen Stahlman

"...so much stuff is being sent to our military in Iraq that they are no longer accepting packages that are not addressed to specific personnel. Our military intelligence is worried that terrorists may use our own generosity to hurt our troops by sending packages of explosives or anthrax. That link at the bottom of the article is currently the only way to help, according to the military."

A CHRISTMAS POEM

TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF
PLASTER AND STONE.

I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY
WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO
IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.

I LOOKED ALL ABOUT,
A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS,
NOT EVEN A TREE.

NO STOCKING BY MANTLE,
JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES
OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.

WITH MEDALS AND BADGES,
AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT
CAME THROUGH MY MIND.

FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT,
IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.

THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING,
SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR
IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.

THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE,
THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED
A UNITED STATES SOLDIER.

WAS THIS THE HERO
OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO,
THE FLOOR FOR A BED?

I REALIZED THE FAMILIES
THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS
WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.

SOON ROUND THE WORLD,
THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE
A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.

THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM
EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS,
LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.

I COULDN'T HELP WONDER
HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE
IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.

THE VERY THOUGHT
BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES
AND STARTED TO CRY.

THE SOLDIER AWAKENED
AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
"SANTA DON'T CRY,
THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;

I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM,
I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD,
MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS."

THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER
AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT,
I CONTINUED TO WEEP.

I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS,
SO SILENT AND STILL
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED
FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL.

I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE
ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR
SO WILLING TO FIGHT.

THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA,
IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE."

ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH,
AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND,
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT."

This poem was written by a Marine. The following is his request. I think it is reasonable.....

PLEASE... Christmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to our U.S. service men and women for our being able to celebrate these festivities. Let's try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe. Make people stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves for us. Please, do your small part to plant this small seed.

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