Where my heart is...

The crisp fall air was gently nipping at the tips of my nose and ears. Geese heading south to warmer climates we heard overhead. Fall was definitely in the air. Chatter about this years top costumes echoed through the commons. Giggles were preceded by jokes, taunts, and playful banter. School is in full swing. The freshly fallen leaves were lightly crunching under my feet as I became aware of something. I am in a completely foreign environment. The sounds of fall could not dim the sound of pain crying out in my heart. Though my body is physically in one place my mind, heart, and soul are in another.

My peaceful walk to go eat was interrupted by the vibration of my iPhone. I wanted to quickly check my email so I could continue to warm my hands. Then it hit me. It was like a bolt of lightning. It came out of nowhere with an intensity that I had never experienced in the past. This feeling was like a burning in my chest. My throat closed like an asthmatic. I knew exactly what I was staring at. My eyes scanned the email back and forth. It streamed over every aspect of the picture to see if the face is one I know. The report of another fallen soldier allowed my heart to sink deeper into my chest.

Though I am not in that unit right now physically, my heart and soul is attached to these soldiers currently deployed in Afghanistan. Its like being in two places at once. The focus is hard to keep on the here and now where I am but rather is focused on where I am not. Its like being in love with that perfect person, your perfect other and yet they are thousands of miles away. Time slows down and at times seems to pause. People begin jeering and giving you false advice to just hang it all up and turn it in. But this love is something you cannot let go.

Every morning when I wake up my mind already turns to my future. It’s the heavenly goal and responsibility that has been placed on my life. As I walk into chapel I quietly tap the glass containing the pictures of alumni serving in the armed forces as an act of support and prayer. Every time my ears capture the subtle clinking sound of my ring against the glass, I am transported to a mountain range far away and to a time in the future. I can hear the distant sounds of battle raging, I can feel the ground shaking under the immense weight of explosions, and I even can see the ultimate fear staring me back in the face from the soldiers placed under my care. I see their pain, hear their hope, and see their perseverance. I already am so aware of the frustrations that plague them. Though I am physically in one place I can sense their pain of loss with every obituary posting I read.

It’s a sense of brotherhood and an eternal fraternity that no human hand can break. It’s a belonging to something higher and more important than you that is tangible. It’s a duty that we are bound to by the ties of something invisible that grips us at our very soul. This sense of finishing the job the right way at all costs possible to help others. Every day I spend on this side of the line only increases my desire to be on the other side. It is why I was made and designed. This purpose grips me. It completely grips every fiber that is in my body. It keeps me focused on the task at hand but yet distracts me every free minute I get. Though I don’t want to go through this life alone, this calling of service is enough to keep me satisfied.

As my walk continues I notice something about my demeanor. It is that of a defeated fighter. Though he has one more round of miracles inside of him he is left gripping on the ropes for safety. He is faced with a choice. Does he stop fighting completely or does he return to his feet though battered, bruised, and bloody and continue the fight. With one goal in my I release the ropes I hold onto in my life. Though I may stagger, get hit, or even stumble to my knees the driving force, this raging beast, this calling inside beckons me to continue forward no matter the cost.

Lonely, confused, and lost I continue my walk. With the fall foliage still crackling underneath my feet a tear begins is slow and tumultuous journey down my cheek. In my minds eye, I can already see my Nike's being transformed into combat boots. This soft, leaf-covered grass replaced by colorless desert clay. The view of buildings on this campus twisted into forsaken snow capped mountain ranges. The tear in my eye feels more like sweat with each passing moment. The weight and pressure of succeeding slowly becomes a Kevlar vest and a rucksack as my iPhone transforms into a rifle. I see the end so clearly and yet for a second I am captivated and moved into the same area where my mind, heart, and soul is. For that split moment in time I am where I have been called to go, for that split moment I feel complete and lacking in nothing. But as that second fades and reality replaces the fantasy in my eyes I remember what my mission is. Finish well. When all else is fading away, finish well. When my present world is beating me down and I am up against the ropes I know I can and will spring to my feet and finish well.

Mommas Boy

Swollen, bleeding, crying in the front lawn of a friend’s house I laid there helpless and totally unaware of my surroundings. Friends began running for help. I knew then my career was in jeopardy. This was it. My dreams were lying on the ground and slipping away with each tear that fell. From the top of the hill at the house I heard a very familiar voice. “Get up, YOUR FINE!” It was a familiar phrase that sounded very peculiar to those listening. Shaking and crying I could barely walk. “STOP THAT LIMPING, YOUR FINE!” Even though I knew I wasn’t I squared my shoulders back, wiped the tears away and walked the most normal that I could to the top of the house. Even though I wasn't fine and had a tumor in my leg mom made sure I was strong and didn't show pain.

That was my momma, that was the way she raised me. Just because she was a single parent she set it upon herself to make sure I was not another statistic of a single parent situation. Life wasn’t easy, but there was always food on the table. I may not have had a dad around all the time growing up, but I had the most powerful thing; a praying mother.

My mother is the strongest woman I know and will ever know. The product of a strict Christian family, daughter of a woman of God who dropped to her knees before she complained even up till she passed. Her father was a man who knew what the essence of work truly was, a man who drove a school bus and cleaned the church for work even with his life long fight. The sister to the town hellion who drove his car too fast and drank liquor even faster. Her sister was a God fearing woman who took the Bible literally. Her other brother the proud business man who even after his wife died still worked for the state even though he could have retired and been comfortable. Raised in the lower income side of town in the foothills of Blue Ridge Mountains she was the first in her family to go to college. She not only got one degree but two. She worked herself through college and went on to be a missionary in the Middle East and a very influential minister in the Assemblies of God. She’s survived lung cancer as well as breast cancer and is still alive and kicking. Nothing can slow my momma down. Even during radiation this woman still ran three weekends of retreats for girls. She barely has said the word “No” in her life when it comes to helping others. Money has never been an object or a distraction. Excess is not in her vocabulary. She would rather stay at home and read a fiction book about the Amish with NASCAR on then go out and spend an afternoon at the mall. Racism has never shaded her eyes and judgment towards is never on her lips.

She’s the lady who has the bucket list which number one item is to see her son succeed and follow Jesus only topping going to her first NASCAR race. She loves country music but the Gaithers still fill our video cabinet. Shes proud but you would never know it. Momma never agreed with alcohol, tobacco, or a racaus lifestyle but rather dropped to her knees, prayed and supported her only child as he battled through that vicious fight. Shes the type of mom that would sing hymns when you were sick to comfort you and even at six in the morning as she gets ready for work. Late is not something defined by my mom. Three hours early is an understatement. She always drove me to practice and dealt with the attitude I had after a loss or even a broken bone. We had our fights and she never was afraid to slap me back to the right tone of voice. Mom is a woman of God. That is the only thing that she will admit to.

Momma raised me to be a man even when no man was around. She taught me how to be respectful to girls and checked me when I was wrong. She always has given the best advice on potential girlfriends, and when those relationships are over she is always the one on the other end of the phone still saying her favorite line “Your fine.” She raised me on hymns and classic TV Shows. She still cant stand when someone cusses on TV even in sports. She cried when I left home and still is there at the door when I come back. She tears up when she sees the flag and is proud of her son for defending it.

Even as I turn the page to the age of 23 I still have no shame nor will I ever as I am called a momma’s boy. Still calls me her baby boy even when I tower over her. Still is the one I call when im sick, having a rough day, or even when the Caps win another hockey game. She’ll surprise you with her tough as nails attitude and confuse you when she is the sweetest woman in the world. Even though she is my momma im still not embarrassed to go on our “dates” together. Whether if its meeting up for lunch after church or a hockey game after work. Not ashamed of giving my momma a hug. Even at 23 ill be mommas boy, and im proud of it. She is my inspiration and encouragement even when she is not around. Though I don’t see it I know she is on her knees at night praying for me even though I have given her every one of her gray hairs she tries to cover up with coloring.

My mom lived out the verse in proverbs that says to train up a child in the way they should go and when they are old they will not depart from it. Sometimes before I do something stupid I think not about what would jesus say, but rather what will momma do if im stupid and I embarrass her. I swear, when I was being a hellion I still was the only hell momma ever raised. Momma did the best she could with what she had when she raised me. But it will always be more than I ever deserved.

Momma is my best friend and im never gonna change that. So heres to you mom, my hero, my inspiration, my joy, pain, and sometimes frustration. Love you mom!