It’s a cause for somber celebration;
Let’s Hear It for Vacations

Our Troops Are Headed Home
It’s a cause for somber celebration

After nearly eight long years,
our troops are coming back.
They caught and hung Saddam Hussein
who brutalized Iraq.

They rebuilt roads and hospitals.
They killed insurgent spies.
They trained Iraqi service men
beneath the desert skies.

These brave young people risked their lives
dismantling IEDs.
Defending rights God gave to all,
they fought for liberty.

And while peacekeeping troops remain,
in Baghdad and beyond,
let’s say a prayer and thank the Lord
our combats troops are gone.

But let us also close our eyes
and bow our grateful heads
acknowledging the sacrifice
of those who came home dead.

Let’s Hear It for Vacations
America’s summertime ritual

Let’s hear it for vacationing,
a chance to play and rest,
to reconnect with family
and shed all kinds of stress.

To hike and camp or shop and veg
to cruise or sail or fish,
to stay at home and sleep-in late
and do the things we wish.

To take the kids to Grandma’s house
or drive the Interstate
exploring landmarks history says
have made our nation great.

To stroll unhurried through the Parks
amazed at what we see,
to photograph the wonder of
God’s creativity.

Vacationing means spending time
to buy some peace of mind,
untangling what’s knotted up
that’s had us in a bind.

Vacationing is Sabbath-like.
A day of rest times ten.
It is the break we all deserve
to be refreshed again.

Jet Blue’s red-faced ex-employee;
A Requiem to the Murdered Aid Workers in Afghanistan

Going Postal on a Plane
Jet Blue’s red-faced ex-employee

That flight attendant for Jet Blue
is really in an awful stew.
White-knuckled as he faces jail,
he is a bit red-faced.

When Stephen Slater lost his cool,
he acted like a mindless fool.
The guy went postal on a plane
parked at the waiting gate.

He grabbed the PA system mike
and swore before he took a hike.
With beer in hand, he chuted down
the ‘vacuation slide.

And yet in spite of Steven’s rage,
there is a special Facebook page
devoted to this employee
who’d finally had enough.

He is a kind of patron saint
to those who feel they’re peeling paint
who do their job with little thanks
and then get criticized.

Me thinks there is a lesson here.
If Steven’s actions prompt a cheer,
more people than we realize
must want a chance to vent.

They want to tell their critics off
suggesting where they can get off
or take control by losing it
though that might cost their job.

A Requiem to the Murdered Aid Workers in Afghanistan
Compassion was their only crime

It was humanitarian relief
based on a deeply-held belief
that those in need throughout the world
deserve the chance to thrive.

They didn’t force faith down their throats
but helped those hurting Afghans cope.
Compassion was the only crime
those ten were guilty of.

Not true of those called “Taliban”
who terrorize Afghanistan,
who shed the blood of innocents
and arrogantly boast.

The Kabul stone streets stained in red
(from both the wounded and the dead)
bear witness to the reason why
our troops are needed still.

The evil that yet stalks a land
of mountain caves and blowing sand
must be decried and fought against
or those ten died in vain.

Lord, comfort loved ones who now grieve.
Please validate what they believe.
Convince them You’ve a plan for good
to rid the world of bad.

Judging the judge’s decision;
Lessons I Learned in High School

When Gay Rights Are Wrong
Judging the judge’s decision

Of the people, for the people.
That’s our way of life.
But when the people’s voice is stilled,
the outcome leads to strife.

You’ve heard about the judge out west
who overturned the law
believing California’s view
on marriage had a flaw.

“How dare you think that God’s intent
was what your grandpa said?”
“Don’t be old-fashioned,” said the judge. 
“Embrace new ways instead.”

But, Judge, who says that what is new
is better than before?
One can be rich in tolerance,
but morally be poor.”

“How can you say that marriage
is between a guy and gal,
when passion flames and lifelong plans
are dreamed between two pals?”

Don’t get me wrong, your Honor, sir.
I’m all for equal rights.
But marriage is to be defined
as ‘tween a man and wife.

If you start redefining truth,
God knows where it will end.
And you’ll be held responsible
for causing us to sin.

Lessons I Learned in High School
Reunion reflections and somber afterthoughts

Whoever said ‘you can never go home again’
must not have known the power of the human mind.
I find that memories indelibly traced there
transport me instantly to where it all began.
To those sacred places where, with youthful passion,
I learned to embrace life.
I know you can go home,
for I’ve returned often.
Like a panther pursuing his prey.
To a high school campus
where those who prepared me for my journey
gave me a compass for my trek,
camouflaged as lectures, labs, term papers,
projects, grades and tests.
To classrooms and hallways
where I learned the ways of the world,
and where I was praised for what I could do.
(And where, with humility,
I learned to accept the things I couldn’t).
To ballgames and dances and concerts and plays
where textbooks gave way
to what’s learned other ways.
Where losing hurt more
than winning felt good
and friends rallied ’round you
as only friends could.
Should it surprise you,
my panther-like prowl of the past?
I think not!
These trips that I take
to the days of my youth
remind me of what really lasts.

* While attending my 40 year high school reunion last weekend, I visited with Bob Watson, a classmate I hadn’t seen since our 30 year reunion. Bobby was quick to thank me for a poem I had read at that event and distributed to those in attendance. It was called “Lessons I Learned in High School.” “I keep it in my desk drawer at work,” he said. “It speaks to me every time I read it.”

Because I was privileged to serve as the emcee of this year’s reunion, it was my solemn job to read a list of twenty-eight names signifying those from our class who have died.

Amid the gasps of surprise, I invited the group to observe an extended period of silence as a way of remembering our friends and honoring their lives. At the conclusion of the silence, I encouraged the group to make the most of the remainder of the evening and visit with as many former classmates as possible. After all, I said somberly, we don’t know who of us will be added to “the list” when it is read at our next reunion.

I had no idea how timely my advice would be. Thirty hours later, Bob Watson would die in his sleep. When I heard the sad news, I remembered handing Bobby the microphone the night before and hearing him say how great it was to be together and how much he loved everyone.

I dedicate this poem “Lessons I Learned in High School” (previously unpublished) to Bob Watson and his widow Dottie. Oh, by the way. The mascot for Wenatchee High School is the Panther!