100% FREE ONLINE DATING
sponsored links
Previous
| Topic: Love & thanks ~ to our beloved Soldiers... - part 2 | |
|---|---|
|
|
|
America The Beautiful
America, the beautiful, the place I was born, 
I'll cherish till the day I die. 
Where the bones of past heroes 
Lie buried in the ground,
Who loved her the same as I.
Her mountains are so tall They reach for the sky; With prairies where the green grasses grow. There's billions of trees where wild birds nest, With creatures that flourish below. That blue gold called water With which we are blessed, As raindrops or crystallized snow; Changes to rivers and fresh water lakes While the winds of our seasons blow.
There's the haunt of a whistle From a lonely freight train Racing on ribbons of steel, With the harvest of farms and from the factories Balanced in a box on a wheel.
Some cities have buildings A hundred stories tall, Concrete, glass and steel. A statue in a harbor, a present from France, Describes how, inside, we feel.
That flag on the moon With red and white stripes Proves our dreams come true! America has the freedom of choice
To strive for those things we must do!
By Tom Zart |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Edited by
Rapunzel
on
Fri 08/08/08 06:54 PM
|
|
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ivS5wjwGbn8
Peter Green's Fleetwood Mac "World Keeps Turning"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
god bless are soldiers and there familys
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
GOS BLESS ALL THE SOLDIERS AND THEIR FAMILES. THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Edited by
Rapunzel
on
Sat 08/09/08 09:26 AM
|
|
god bless are soldiers and there familys
Amen...Grammy....
thank you dear Sister for stopping by...
I feel bad, but i have not been online much and my mail is piling up... 
i have 41 messages in my email here... 
and over 160 in my yahoo... 
and every time i try to get caught up,
there are that many more... 
I don't know what to do!!!
please forgive me...i do care...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
GOS BLESS ALL THE SOLDIERS AND THEIR FAMILES. THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH
Thank you too Ruby...for your love & prayers
I love my Sisters and Brothers in the Lord..
Just wish i had more time for everyone...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Edited by
Rapunzel
on
Sat 08/09/08 09:37 AM
|
|
The Bugler
June 12, 2008 ". . . to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan . . . " Abraham Lincoln April 7th, 2008, I hid my eyes deliberately from the crowd in the dining room as I walked outside into the night that was chaste with the glow of natures cannon fire . . . or perhaps I fantasized, they were mortars falling in the distant darkness, leaving behind a thundering roll of them falling to earth. On any other night in any other town, it would have merely been lightning , a precursor to a coming storm. But On April 7th, as I sat in the dining area of the motels restaurant, I heard the faint crying of a lone bugle from somewhere in the darkness beyond the reach of the motels lights . . . a song of mourning . . . of despair . . . the sound of a heart crying through the note of a single trumpet . . . somewhere beyond the veil of night, and it called to me. There was such a needing to be near it, to listen to its reverence . . . and tears formed and fell across my cheeks . . . and I hid my eyes from the folks in the dining room as I made my way out of the restaurant, past the pool gate and headed into the expanse of grass east of the motel to the small forest lining the property . . . shielding the motel from highway 69. I followed the cry of that trumpet . . . barely able to see the bushes . . . and finally I stepped into a small opening where a gazebo stood resolutely in the flash of the thunderstorm forming to the south. I stood there letting my eyes adjust to the darkness after a particularly brilliant and blinding strike . . . .the thunder began rolling . . . like a chorus of many drums that herald a coming finale . . . and then the song of the bugle began again . . . Taps . . . and it is impossible to tell of the longing and the loneliness of that sound . . . a cry of honor for the fallen . . . a single horn playing a symphony of ‘I remember you" and gratitude and respect and good-bye . . . and it tore at my heart. I could see the silhouette of a man . . . standing in the gazebo . . . bugle to his lips . . . holding the last note of the ‘good-bye’ for what seemed like minutes . . . without breathing. I wished I could have recorded that moment for all to see and hear . . . the lone figure silhouetted in the gazebo against a backdrop of lightning and thunder playing in the background. Finally he stopped and sat down on the bench that lined the inner circle of the small gazebo and I hesitated . . . not wanting to disturb him . . . but finally said, "That was probably the most beautiful rendition of taps I’ve ever heard" And he looked in my direction briefly . . . then turned away . . . and I could see as he pulled a hanky from his pocket and wiped his eyes, that he had heard me. Finally he spoke in a voice that had tasted the good and the bad of his eternity . . . "Thank you . . . that’s kind of you to say. I hope I wasn’t disturbing you" And I was nearly offended by his gentle unspoken apology to me. "May I join you?", I asked him. And he motioned to the bench across from him. "My names Leo . . . short for Leonard . . . but friends call me Buzz . . . an’ I reckon yer ok . . . you can call me Buzz if ya like". "I gotta tell you Buzz . . . you brought tears to my eyes, like your heart was in that Bugle". "Has been", he said, "For nearin’ 70 plus now, and tomorrow is the last good-bye to a fellow soldier. I been playin’ Taps for my buddies funerals now since ’64, been blowin’ the horn since boot in ’41. I got no other way to let’ em go." He stopped, visibly fighting back hurt and memories of so many years. "I’m 92 last week, and tomorrow I’m playin’ for ‘Golpher’. His plaques gonna read Staff Sergeant Patterson , Geoffrey S, but I’m playin’ for Golpher", his voice cracking a bit. "We was in the same outfit in the war ya’ know . . . him n’ me and 27 others . . . an’ we made a pact that the last ones standin’ would blow the horn for each other as we got laid down. Last year, Golpher n’ me played at 3 funerals . . . .tomorrow . . . I’m playin’ for Golpher . . . .an’ then its just me left." "I’m am so very sorry to" . . . But he held up his hand to stop me . . . and I stopped. There was a long pause . . . punctuated with the chorus of rumbling drums in the background . . . flashes of mortar in the distance . . . streaking across the night. "I have had the honor and the humblin’ privilege", he said after a few moments, "of being able to say good-bye to so many. Esther, my wife of 69 years, has been there with me at every one of ‘em . . . and she is waiting in the room for me to try on my dress blues again. Don’t cry for me sonny, and don’t give me your pity . . . I am the luckiest man on earth to have played at nearly every National Cemetery . . . an’ bein’ the last one standin’ to say good-bye." We talked for a bit . . . well I mostly listened . . . as he took some time to cross the familiar bridges of his memory . . . about how he’d played at San Bruno, Little Rock, San Diego, one called Zachary Taylor in Kentucky where "the trees cried at that one", he said, and on and on, naming off places he has said good-bye. "An’ ya know somethin’? It’s awful dang fillin’ to stand up an’ be the last one to say good job soldier. I’ll see ya later. An’ it never meant nothin’ to me that most times, my wife an’ me was the last ones there, when everyone else was gone on. I kept my word, an’ I’m proud o’ that". He wet his lips, put the horn up to blow and paused to say . . . " If ya don’t mind, I gotta practice one more time . . . since this is the last good-bye I’m gonna play . . . it’s gotta be perfect." I said simply , "Thank you sir, and God Bless you. You are someone I will treasure having met". He looked at me, smiled and said in a grunt, "My friends don’t call me sir. They call me Buzz." And he began again . . . allowing the Bugle to cry the song of his heart. Nor do I think he heard me say . . . "God Bless you Buzz." But I have a feeling that God will do that . . . even with out my permission. And as I walked away through the veil of trees to my room, I heard a bugle cry, and the mortars fell, and their flash that streaked through the night seemed to say "Amen". By Robert VanDerslice |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Thanks for telling me about your thread Vanessa, You can bet I will be here to support it strongly. GOD BLESS ALL WHO ARE SERVING NOW, AND IN THE PAST |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Edited by
Rapunzel
on
Sat 08/09/08 03:17 PM
|
|
Thanks for telling me about your thread Vanessa, You can bet I will be here to support it strongly. thank you so much BooneDog...
i appreciate your energy here...
GOD BLESS ALL WHO ARE SERVING NOW, AND IN THE PAST Amen !!! Thank you God Bless all of our Troops
Our Active Military & All of our Dear retired and disabled Veterans
 & to All of Those who are no longer here on Earth,
 Those Brave Souls who paid the Ultimate Price with their Lives...
You may not be here with us in Earthly Form anymore...
but
You are ever present in our grateful Hearts
& always Alive to us, in Spirit... Forever & Ever
 I look forward to hugging all of You,
in Heaven, past St. Peter & the Pearly Gates
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Our Declaration 2008
July 11, 2008 July 4th 2008 It may be the last July 4th party we would have at my parents home overlooking Lake Union in Seattle Washington. The place has probably been sold, and the whole family will be moving to different places around the country or even the world. I have been wanting to keep peoples mind on the reason for the 4th of July holiday foremost for the celebration. So, I decided that we would do a reading of The Declaration of Independence. I searched the web for the text and printed it out. As I read it over - once again I was overwhelmed by the passion and commitment within those few short pages. I worked out a division of ten approximately equal or at least logical parts to be read aloud by the guests at our party. My plan was to have the reading shortly before the fireworks show started on Lake Union. We had Red, White & Blue punch, A Red, White and Blue cake. We had best patriotic music playing on the stereo. We had a large military US flag hanging from two separate balconies overlooking the lake, as well as our state flag of Washington hanging between. Almost all of our guests were wearing red, white and blue. and as we settled into party mode I mentioned that we would have a reading of the Declaration of Independence before the fireworks show, and if they would like to be part of the reading they were all invited. I did not choose whom would read until just moments before I handed out the copies of the Declaration. The surprises started then - everyone read with a voice I had not expected to hear. Some who had been sitting - stood up to do their section of the reading, others slowed down their speed and enunciated every word, another - a very mild mannered widow - who seemed to me a bit frail, read her section with a voice I could have imagined was from Ethyl Merman. Everyone read their parts as if it belonged to them. Everyone read with obvious respect and a heightened force than their normal speaking voice - no one made any side comments or jokes and everyone tried to make sure they were reading from the intent of the document. Since I was the one who handed out the copies - I kept the last paragraph for myself - but as I started reading I choked up and became misty and though it is only a few short sentences, I was shaking a bit and almost crying by the time I made it to the part where I read ... we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor. Everyone was still for a moment - then, about half of the people in the room said simultaneously - God Bless America! The room was full of many generations, many backgrounds, many political persuasions, and very different income levels - yet we all felt the importance of the July 4th 1776 Declaration - the risk those 56 men had put on the line and we all felt the promise of the great experiment of democracy. Will it make any difference that I tried to focus for a few moments only a few peoples hearts and minds on the reason we have a holiday and watch millions of dollars worth of fireworks sent up for our entertainment? I can only hope that the ripple effect of this little pebble in the pond of our party will keep us all aware of what it takes to keep honest patriotism alive and well. By Leslie Clement |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
No One Hates War More Than A Warrior
2003 During late Spring of 1974, I took my three year old son to tour Washington, D.C. One of the places we visited was the tomb of the unknown soldier. As we watched the changing of the guard, everyone became very quiet. Suddenly it was... too quiet. I looked down and realized that my son was no longer at my side. I looked around to see him... marching down one of the sidewalks leading up to the tomb. He looked very serious... much too serious for his age. Everyone was watching him... and some of the folks had tears in their eyes. One man came out of the crowd and touched my shoulder. He identified himself as a Veteran of the United States Marine Corps. He said, "I volunteered for the Corps and was sent to Vietnam. My son is your son's age. I was in Vietnam when he was born... I fought the good fight... hoping that my son and all of America's sons and daughters would never have to go to war ever again. I am here today... to be with the souls of soldiers who will never be identified... to pray for families who will never know what happened to their soldier sons and daughters. War is hell. The only winners in any war are those who profit from it financially. Everybody else loses. Some lose their very life. God Bless You, Mother... May you and your son know a life of peace because of those of us willing to go to war." My son is now thirty-something... married to a wonderful woman he loves very much. They have three children. He does not remember that day except as I remind him of it occasionally. I have never forgotten that day or the USMC Veteran's words. They are burned into my mind, heart and soul forever. I know that every moment of precious peace and all the glorious freedoms we enjoy as Americans are granted us at the very dear price of the lives of those who volunteer for military service. From the President of the United States of America to the most common man alive...
We all owe every moment we live in peace
and enjoy freedom to our Veterans
and those in active Military service today.
Thank you, Veterans and welcome home... Thank you, those of you serving in active military service today... Godspeed and a safe return to your home and loved ones. Roberta Victor |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Memorial Day - Freedom Is Not Free June 25, 2007 It was an honor to spend Memorial Day weekend in Washington, D.C. and to attend the Gathering of Eagles to show support and gratitude to our troops. I know why I am free. As I walked around the impressive World War II Memorial with my husband Jim and my oldest son Matthew, an elderly man with a cane came up to us. He told us that he liked my son’s patriotic hat with the US flags sticking out of it. He was wearing a World War II Veteran’s hat. When I asked him where he had fought, he told me that he had been in the European conflict. I reached out and shook his hand and thanked him for serving. He broke out into a huge grin and thanked me for thanking him! As he walked away, I thought of my dad who had fought in the Pacific with the Army Air Corps. His best friend had died in the war. My dad named my older brother after him. I wish that my dad could have lived to have seen this memorial. Memorials are sacred places. They honor the ones who have given their all to keep us free. I know why I am free . . . because of Dad, his best friend Gary, that delightful elderly man, and so many others who fought in World War II. The words inscribed on the Korean War Memorial are words that we need to remember everyday: Freedom is Not Free. I know why I am free. . . because of all those who fought in the Korean War. Visiting the Vietnam Wall was very emotional. So many names are inscribed in that black granite. My husband served with the 25th Infantry Division in Vietnam. Like my father, he, too, lost his best friend in the war. We looked for Owen’s name in the book at the Wall and had a hard time finding it. A kindly park ranger came to our assistance. Apparently, there is a whole separate section for the “Mc” names. I also looked up the boy who had lived down the street from me in my hometown in Connecticut. I remember that my dog used to bark at Bobby as he rode by on his bicycle. I can see him now riding as fast he could to get by my sweet but noisy Cutie. After careful searching, we found their names on the Wall and touched them lovingly with our fingers. I know why I am free . . . because of my husband, his best friend Owen, Bobby, and so many others who fought in the Vietnam War. There were new names to remember and honor on this Memorial Day. Cliff, a young Marine who died in Iraq, was in a platoon led by a family friend of ours. And Patrick, the son of newly found friends, was a soldier who continued to provide cover for his fellow soldiers despite being mortally wounded. I know why I am free . . . because of Cliff and Patrick and all of the others who are fighting the war on terror. I am free because of the young wounded soldier who spoke so eloquently at the Gathering of Eagles in front of the Lincoln Memorial. It was an honor to say thank you to him in person. As I stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and looked out across the Mall, I thought of my son Michael. He is a 2nd Lieutenant in the U.S. Marines. He will be deploying to Afghanistan in July. Right after he received his commission at Quantico, he came first to the Lincoln Memorial and then visited all of the Memorials there at the Mall. To him, it will always be a special and sacred place . . . so full of history, the very essence of America . . . a place to remember and honor all of the Americans who have fought to keep our country free. I know why I am free . . . because my son and others like him know that freedom is Not Free. By Beverly Krause Proud Marine Mom |
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Bump diddy diddy do Bump diddy diddy do, yeah!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Edited by
Rapunzel
on
Sat 08/09/08 09:30 PM
|
Bump diddy diddy do Bump diddy diddy do, yeah!
yayyy...you're still up
i was gonna call you ...
<<< but i wasn't sure if it was too late >>>
now i think i will give you a call
oh the joys of the weekend partiers 
there is a big event happening
& the rowdies out & about are pretty bad tonight 
although you know you may call me
anytime really, is fine...
or when you are not too exhausted... 
from all the hard work & tiring hours
you put into your mastercraftsman projects
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
A little poem I wrote a while ago:
I have never met A woman more beautiful than her. Her tall, graceful posture Her sweet, beautiful smile This goddess of beauty and strength She stands there, proud and strong Her flowing ebony hair falling free in the tradition Of Native Americans Her eyes, glittering sky blue like that of the Europeans Her nose strong and bold of the Africans Her skin the olive tan of a middle-eastern princess Neck long and graceful as an Egyptian's Shoulders strong and broad of the South Americans Fingers long and graceful as are those of Asian artists and scribes Her body so perfect, so strong It had to be that on an Irish mother Her waist made to hold her many children Her legs so strong to hold the many weights on her shoulders Her feet are bare like that of the Caribbeans, Dancing in the sands. Who is this woman of such immense beauty? Of divine strength and grace? Who could this symbol of life and love and the embodiment of all things Beautiful Possibly be? What is her Name? America. And she is my mother too |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
thank you so much , Myriah
that is a very lovely poem...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
My Favorite Color 2005 In the early 1940's I started first grade in a small one room school out of Carrywood, Idaho. My parents raised four of us, two girls, two boys, on a Dairy/Beef cattle ranch. I loved going to school and one day the teacher asked us to name our favorite color and write about it. I immediately wrote down Red, White and Blue. She advised me I had to pick just one. I refused to do so. When I left school that afternoon, I carried home a note to my parents. In it the teacher stated the problem and indicated she would like to speak to them. Since my Mother didn't drive, that meant my Father would have to take time out in his busy day to drive to the school. Both parents did attend . . . and I do believe it was one of the shortest Parent/Teacher conferences ever. I can still remember listening to them talk. Dad never said much but had served his time in the Navy and asked just one question. "Do you have anything against being Patriotic?" I still refused to choose just one color . . . and to this very day, if someone asks me what my favorite color is I will say Red, White and Blue. I love our flag and what it stands for. This is the greatest country on the face of this earth. Let's hope it always remains so. Linda A. Rothschiller |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Edited by
Rapunzel
on
Sat 08/09/08 11:56 PM
|
|
Patriotic Real Story
Contributor: Becky and Jim Mizener Packed with Pride January 12, 2006 Our son Jesse was deployed for Iraq just six weeks after being assigned to Ft. Lewis Washington. With tears in our eyes we sat in the van saying our final goodbye. There were wives and families huddled together getting one last hug in before their soldier left. As his wife, sister, two daughters and I sat in the van saying our good byes, I couldn't help but feel anxious. There was also a sense of excitement. He was going to Iraq to protect our country and our freedom. I was excited about the thought of sending him things he might need while over seas. I had a box ready to mail as soon as he gave us his address. So it began, sending music CD's and videos of his favorite TV shows, letters, magazines, candy, pictures, and cookies. There were boxes of goodies going out every week. Jesse, having a big heart and thinking of others, asked me to send packages to his buddies. Before I knew it I was mailing off boxes for 17 soldiers, including our son. Jesse came home from Iraq for two weeks of R & R and to witness the birth of his son in November of 2003. Those days flew by as we all enjoyed visiting with him and the new baby. Sadly, it was time for him to go back to Iraq. As my husband Jim said, "It was the bravest thing I've ever seen as he walked up those airport stairs to go back into harm's way". Once again we were sending off packages knowing he would be home in 3 short months. January 7, 2004 our phone rang at 2:20a.m. Our daughter in-law was hysterical on the other end saying, "He's dead, Jesse is dead! The Army was just here and Jesse's dead."
The weeks that followed we lived in such a fog of sadness and disbelief.
Our 23-year-old, healthy, handsome son was gone.
He left a young wife Nicole, three-year-old Gia, two-year-old Eve and infant son, Jesse Alexander. He left an older brother Brian and younger sister Jennie. There were so many phone calls from his friends and family. One call that impressed us was the call we got at three o'clock in the afternoon our time and 2 o'clock in the morning Iraq time. It was his Commander calling to give his condolences. He said he knew Jesse and saw him that morning.
We told him how we supported what they were doing and how proud we were of Jesse. We spoke about how proud he was to be a soldier and that he believed in what he was doing. He was there to do his best as a soldier and to fight against terrorism. We asked the Commander if the soldiers knew of the support from the people of the United States. His reply, "Sadly, no, they watch the same news we do . . . and it is not encouraging". After the fog of sorrow had lifted a bit, I thought it was time to get back to normal. I began to pack boxes for Jesse's unit when I realized they were all coming home in a few weeks. I not only lost my son but I was no longer connected to the military. I wasn't a soldier's mom any more. We were fortunate to meet with Jesse' unit when they got back to Ft. Lewis. It was good to finally put a face with a name. I felt as if I had known them for a long time. These were soldiers to whom I had been writing, and sending boxes of goodies. We got to share stories about Jesse, laughed and cried together. It was a healing time for those who lived and fought with Jesse. We wanted them to know that Jesse's family would be all right and we were going to continue to support them. We got to thank them for their friendship with our son. Not long after I began to sink deep into depression. My husband Jim told me to find a soldier, any soldier to write and mail packages to. That's just what I did, I found one soldier on line. Not long after . . . our good friend Chris was deployed to Kuwait. He became my second soldier. I asked him if he had any friends that would like me to write to them and, so it began, again. We decided to start a project in which we send packages and letter to deployed soldiers. What should we call it? Thinking of a name became the topic at work! We decided on Packed with Pride because I pack each box with the pride of a soldier's mom . . . Each new soldier gets a "Welcome to the Packed with Pride family" packet. The welcome letter explains who we are and how our project got started. It explains that we do this to show our support for our troops. The most important part of this letter is where it states that you the soldier are under no obligation to Packed with Pride, except to enjoy the goodies. They don't have to be my pen pal or even write a thank you note. Some write back, some keep in touch via e-mail and some return the questionnaire. The second page of the packet is our Packed with Pride questionnaire. What we are trying to do is find out a little more about each soldier so we can personalize his or her box. Some of the questions are what is your favorite snack, what do you do on your down time? Do you have access to a VCR or DVD player? If they like sports, we send them a sports magazine, country music, we'd send a county music CD. We also include three postcards that briefly explain our project and space for new names and addresses of their friends who may want to be on our list. That's where we get our list from, word of mouth from one soldier to another. My heart is for those soldiers who are not receiving mail on a regular basis. There is always a note of encouragement in every box. As the word got out about Packed with Pride, more people have made contact with us to give us the names and addresses of their loved ones who are serving overseas. We are happy to see a box come back "return to sender", that means our soldier is back stateside. That's a good feeling. This project could not have gotten this far with out the help and support of so many people. My friends not only supported us through the death of our son, but also supported the idea for the project. Our church family at Twin Oaks Community Church has been a huge part of this project. The community of Stockton has been very supportive. Karl Ross Post 16 American Legion and Raleys Supermarket have taken on the challenge to help support our project. One afternoon I received a phone call from the producer of Dayside with Linda Vester from New York. It's a news program on the Fox network. I got to do a 4-minute spot on National TV. It was very exciting. From that broadcast we received many letters and e-mails of people who wanted to help with our project. It was truly a blessing and we are still to this day getting letters from all over the country. One of the questions Linda asked me on air was . . . did I get a response from the soldiers. My answer was yes; the letters I've received are so tender and loving. When I read them, it makes standing in line at the post office well worth it! This whole project has been in Gods hands since it began. When we were running out of postage money, we'd get a check in the mail from someone who just wanted to help. From our webmaster (my brother), lawyer, and printer . . . every one wants to do what they can to help. We found that most people support the soldiers . . . they just don't know how to show it. We have given them that opportunity. The first year we were learning how to manage our project, our money, and our time. I had never spoken in public or even imagined I'd be on national television. We had an opportunity to speak privately and pray with President Bush. I have been fortunate enough to speak at Rotary Clubs and Kiwanis Clubs. From that we are getting in touch with many more resources. We have learned to deal with the challenges as they come along. God has provided for us so far . . . and we believe He will continue to bless this project. Our project began in March of 2004 with one soldier. As time went on two soldiers became ten, twenty and fifty. Currently we are shipping over 400 boxes a month from our garage. It is a challenge but well worth the time and effort. Our plan is to send as many packages as we can as often as we can for as many soldiers as we can. Through donations for postage we are able to continue to send our support and love through a box of goodies and necessities to our men and women who serve . . . We use the term soldier,
but the fact is we have those serving in the Army, Air Force, Navy and Marines.
Each soldier gets two boxes. One package has toiletries and the other has food goodies. We make sure they have real food like tuna, cup of noodles, beef jerky along with the fun junk food. We pack cookies, candy, crackers, nuts and more treats they can't get over there. It has been and will continue to be our pleasure to . . . Pack with Pride.
I wanted you to know about us,
because we want everyone to know how proud 
we are of our son
and those who serve in the United States Military.
Update To Story February, 19, 2007... We now have over 1000 names on our list that we are shipping to from our garage. We are looking for space to relocate because we are out growing our little garage. Jesse's wife and children are living with us for a while until they can relocate from Virginia . . . We live in California, so we are happy about that move. By Becky and Jim Mizener Packed with Pride |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
All Soldiers Are Heroes
2004 I am new to the army. I have only been in for a little over a year. I come from a long line of soldiers. My father, Robert Ables is an Iraqi was veteran. I found out a month ago that I will be going as well in just a few months. I was scared out of my mind, as I had been keeping up with all the news since the war started. I talked to my dad about the war. He was there just before, during, and after the initial bombing of Iraq. I will never forget what he told me. He said, " Honey, you would be silly not to be scared. Being over cautious is what keeps most soldiers alive. Remember that courage is not the absence of fear, but the willingness to face it. It is in my opinion that every soldier is already a hero. People who join the military know that someday, sooner or later, will face conflict. That is heroism. I was in charge of a platoon, and one thing we did was go around and let everyone tell the story of why they joined. Most answers were for college money, for opportunity, to see the world... but one soldier told me something I rarely hear, He said that he lived in New York when 9-11 happened. His whole world died. His wife worked in the trade center, and his 11-month-old son was there at day care. They didn't make it out alive. He had no one to live for. His parents died when he was 17. He decided that he could live for his country and continue to fight for the freedom that his father and grandfather fought for him." With a hug and a good night, I went into my room and reflected on what my father said. He was right you know... I AM scared, but I am also ready to fight for my country, and for everything that our veterans fought for before my time. Christel Ables |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Rapunzel, you have the most inspiring posts!
Wishing all our heroes love and prayers of safety! |
|
|
|
|
