As we enter into another Memorial Day weekend, we must take time to remember those members of the Armed Forces both home and abroad who made the ultimate sacrifice in defense of this great nation and many others around the world. So many people think of this as an American Holiday, when we should remember that many nations have watched their sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, moms, dads, grandparents and more pay the price for humanities inability to get along with one another. In 1868, Major General John Logan issued a proclamation that a “Decoration Day” should be held nationwide to honor our dead. In 1915 after the 2nd Battle of Ypres, Lieutenant Colonel John McRae, a physician with the Canadian Expeditionary Forces wrote the poem “In Flanders Field”, the opening lines of the poem talk about poppies growing up from soldiers graves. In 1918, at the YMCA Overseas War Secretaries Conference, YMCA Worker Monia Michael wore a silk poppy attached to her coat. She also distributed over 2 dozen poppies to others in attendance.
So while we enjoy our long 4 day weekend(I will be watching Obi Wan Kenobi, Star Trek New Worlds latest episode, and going to see Top Gun Maverick), before you put that Steak on the grill, or those burgers in the oven, take a moment to remember those who laid down their lives, and allowed us to have this 4 day weekend. Please DO NOT “thank” a veteran this weekend, we will be to busy saying prayers for those who paid sacrifice, on land, in the air and on the seas. The ones whose names are in cemeteries all over the world, they are the ones we honor this weekend. I salute them, and I thank them for allowing me to be able to still live free.
In Flanders Fields
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.
