Memorial Day

American Flyer salutes all who have served and are serving, and remembers those who have given the "last full measure of devotion." If it weren't for those who loved country more than life, we would have neither. God bless all of you, and God bless America.

My Country tis of Thee,
Sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing,
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountain side let freedom ring.

My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free, thy name I love.
I love thy rocks and rills, thy woods and templed hills,
My heart with rapture thrills, like that above.

Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees, sweet freedom's song.
Let mortal tongues awake, let all that breathe partake,
Let rocks their silence break, the sound prolong.

Our father's God, to Thee,
Author of liberty, to Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright, with freedom's holy light,
Protect us by Thy might, Great God our King.

Mr. Potato Head

Everyone was dressed in their finest formal wear, enjoying the most expensive dinner imaginable, in the extravagant, formal dining hall of Buckingham Palace. At the head table sitting to the left of the Queen of England was her husband, Prince Philip. Next to him the First Lady of the United States. At the Queen's right hand sat President Barack Obama in all his boyish splendor.

The last time they met Obama gave Queen Elizabeth II a gift worthy of a self-absorbed 12 year old, and his wife put her arms all over Her Majesty. Whether they agree with the monarchy or not, as the leader of the greatest nation on earth, proper protocol in foreign relations is a given, and anybody with half a brain would have learned what was proper to do before making a fool of himself in front of the whole world.

Not to be stopped, Obama proceeded at the state dinner last week to outdo himself. When it was his turn to speak he stood, made a few remarks from cue cards (no teleprompters were available), and asked everyone to stand for a toast to the queen. Then things began to get interesting. Headlines have announced that the Queen humiliated Obama by refusing to acknowledge his toast. But that's not really what happened.

Obama, great "orator" that he is, said, "To the Queen." The inflection in his voice dropped as if it were a final word, and he paused. The orchestra began to play the British National Anthem. Obama continued to speak, holding up his glass, and then turning to toast Elizabeth II. Only when she did not respond did he apparently realize that he was the only person in the entire hall holding up his glass. So he put it down, raised his arrogant chin, waited for the music to stop, and then when everybody including the Queen raised their glasses, he held his up to her again and she did respond.

I don't know a lot about royal protocol, but apparently when you toast the Queen, the National Anthem has to be played before completing the toast. Whether or not it is required, when it is played, everybody stands to attention in silence to honor the Queen. At least that's what everybody in the hall, including the president's wife, did, except for Obama. He kept right on babbling in his own little dream world, completely unaware of what was going on all around him.

Queen Elizabeth II humiliated no one. She followed the same protocol she has lived by for nearly 70 years, while the bumbling President of the United States didn't have enough common sense to put his glass down and shut up while the music played. The only one who humiliated Barack Obama was Barack Obama. What's worse, our buffoon of a president insulted not only the Queen, but every patriotic Brit, and every true American by his complete lack of class, and any understanding of the proper way to do anything. He is an embarrassment.

One good thing about his trip was his search for his ancestors in the potato fields of Ireland. He apparently found his roots.

Crossing the River, Part 2

Stonewall Jackson's last words, "Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees," prompted me to write this continuation of the last entry, but it has nothing to do with the Civil War or Confederate heroes. When I was young I used to think those were the silliest last words ever. But as time went on they became more meaningful.

My Grandpa's favorite hymn was the gospel song, Shall We Gather at the River. It's a song about crossing over into heaven and gathering at the river of the water of life that flows from the throne of God (Rev. 22:1). There is also reference in the old Negro spirituals to crossing the Jordan, meaning to cross over into heaven. It makes sense then that Jackson would want to cross that river of death and rest in the shade on the heavenly side where there will be no more war and no more struggle, but only peace.

Years ago I was attempting to share the Gospel with a squadron mate, and he said he didn't care to go to heaven. No booze, no sex, there's nothing to do. It will be boring, he told me.

I suppose that if that's the only things that you can imagine will bring you pleasure then heaven would be a boring proposition, except that the alternative is much worse. But that's the problem with most people's vision. They only see the here and now; they have no concept of what lies ahead, of a different life in a spiritual realm that is completely unrelated to how we live now.

Paul wrote to the Corinthians, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love him (I Cor. 2:9). I am quite certain that regardless of what we think or suspect, heaven is going to be so much greater than anything we ever imagined, and it's not going to be boring.

To start with, the city of heaven is a cube, about 1500 miles in each direction, left, right, and up. It sits on a foundation of precious stones and has twelve gates made of pearls. There is a river, a crystal sea, and the tree of life, streets paved with gold, and the throne of God Almighty sitting somewhere in the middle. There are no light switches because Jesus Christ is the light of the city. You can read about it in the Book of Revelation, but the little glimpse that God gives us isn't even the tip of the iceberg. It's only a beginning description of a place words cannot begin to express and we cannot fathom, and it will never end throughout all eternity.

The last words of believers in Christ as they die intrigue me. In sleep, in battle and in other situations death comes suddenly and there is no chance for a last word. When my cousin's son, Zac, died, he was so weak when the end mercifully came, that all he could do was raise one finger and point to heaven.

But there are others who at the last moment have their "spiritual" eyes opened and gain a glimpse of what's on the other side. The famous preacher and evangelist, Dwight L. Moody, on his death bed in 1899, looked up and suddenly proclaimed, "It's glorious." Then he passed from this life and crossed the river. With no more description than that it makes you wonder what he saw that could elicit from him such a triumphant declaration.

My grandmother was in the ICU in a hospital in 1994 with the family gathered around. As she approached her final moments she began speaking in her native Frisian language and said, "I have always loved my family." A few moments later she said, "I must leave," and she was gone. It was a peaceful passing without a struggle. It made me wonder if at that moment the angels had come for her.

When our dear friend Gully was dying three years ago, my wife's sister told him to try and raise his arms if he saw the angels coming. Gully had suffered miserably with cancer. When the end came, he not only raised his arms, he sat up in the bed and shouted, "Praise the Lord." No doubt he saw the angels coming, and maybe a whole lot more.

My mother's best friend all the way back to their high school days was Jeannine Konnerup. Jeannine and her husband, Richard, were missionaries in Africa. Richard to this day still is. In 1985 Jeannine was dying of cancer. One evening when it appeared she was about to pass Richard touched her shoulder and spoke her name. She woke then and said, "Oh I wish you hadn't called me back. It was so beautiful." Two weeks later she went on to that beautiful place.

Is it any wonder our Founding Fathers wanted to make America a Christian nation? They themselves were Christians with the same faith and hope for a beautiful eternal future. What other faith or philosophy in the world offers anything to compare?

If you're a martyr for the cause of Islam you get 72 virgins for eternity. It has nothing for non-martyrs or women. Buddhism offers an end of physical desire and complete enlightenment. What that means nobody knows. The many versions of Hinduism offer reincarnation into lower life forms thousands of times before getting to some kind of reward that is unstated. Atheism offers nothing and no meaning for life. Existentialism is more of the same with a pessimistic view, as if atheism weren't already pessimistic enough.

Only the Christian faith, belief in Jesus Christ as an eternal Savior who gave His life in our place, offers any hope for a bright, eternal, joyful after life.

I don't know any more that I could say other than heaven is a place that I don't want to miss. And I'm not going to because on January 8, 1967, when I was twelve years old, I asked Jesus Christ to forgive my sins and come into my heart and save me. He did and I have the confidence of the testimony of the Word of God that when I come to the Valley of the Shadow, I will cross the river and join those gone before in my eternal home.

How about you?

Crossing the River, Part 1

On Monument Avenue, a parkway in Richmond, Virginia, on consecutive corners are monuments to three of the most revered leaders of the short-lived Confederacy, Robert E. Lee, Thomas J. Jackson, and James E.B. (JEB) Stuart. A short distance away stands the Confederate Museum, in what was the Confederate Capitol building, a testament to a time that many Southerners do not wish to forget. To many, these men were, and still are, heroes.

JEB Stuart, jaunty, happy-go-lucky, and roguish, was an outstanding horseman. Wearing a plumed hat, he was the perfect picture of the cavalier of days gone by. Bold and daring, he rode into the camp of Union General John Pope and stole his dress uniform from his tent. He earned a place in the hearts of his countrymen during the first three years of the Civil War by riding circles around the Army of the Potomac, and making the Union cavalry look inept. His troops would have ridden "to hell and back" with him.

Then, during a skirmish at an abandoned inn called Yellow Tavern on May 11, 1864, Stuart was wounded in the abdomen and died the next day in great pain, calling for his wife to be at his side. His last words were, "I am resigned, God's will be done."

Quite in contrast to Stuart, Robert E. Lee was majestic and dignified, a magnificent sculpture of manhood. An accomplished horseman himself, he was a hero of the Mexican War and superintendent of West Point before the Civil War. Refusing to go against his own state, Virginia, he joined the Confederacy and became the commander of the famed Army of Northern Virginia. A brilliant strategist, and willing to take unheard of risks, he won a dozen victories over an army often two or three times the size of his own. So beloved was he by his men, they would have charged the gates of hell itself for him, and on the third day at Gettysburg, they did.

During the war Lee never smiled. He carried the burden of the war and the weight of the entire South on his shoulders. He alone could have engineered a Southern victory with slightly different circumstances, but it was not to be. After the war another Lee emerged, one with a sense of humor, who would get on the floor to laugh and play with his grandchildren. On October 12, 1870, lying on his bed he suddenly said, "Strike the tent," and passed away at age 63.

Thomas J. Jackson was an enigma. Orphaned as a child, he struggled through school and life in poverty. Through a connected uncle he gained admission to West Point, where once again he struggled with academics. Through sheer determination and self-discipline, he made up for his weaknesses with a stubborn routine of study, and finished 16th in his graduating class.

Also a hero of the Mexican War, he was teaching artillery at the Virginia Military Institute, where students were known to call him "Tom Fool" Jackson. But when the war broke out Jackson's brilliance burst out with it and no one ever called him a fool again.

He earned his sobriquet, "Stonewall," at the first Battle of Bull Run when his brigade stood its ground while the rest of the Confederate army ran taking with it any hope of a separate nation. Jackson's stand turned the battle around and the South was for real. His valley campaign in the Shenendoah in 1862 was a textbook masterpiece still studied in war colleges today. Outnumbered four to one he raced his "foot cavalry" all over the valley defeating the Union forces by surprise at every turn, giving rise to the speculation that his troops didn't have to charge hell, they would have outflanked it and captured the Devil himself.

With the valley secured Lee called Jackson to join him on the peninsula and together, through deception and daring, they were virtually undefeatable. Jackson became a legend for his flanking movements, and the oft argued debate is whether or not if he had been at Gettysburg he would have driven the Union right flank off Culp's Hill on day one and changed the course of the battle and the entire war.

All three were devout Christian gentlemen outside the war, but in battle they were as cold and hard as steel. Jackson was the most curious. He was almost painfully shy and uncomfortable speaking to people in public, but put a uniform on and he barked orders with the command of an evangelist calling people to repentance. He always tried to avoid fighting on Sunday and would pray all night before a battle, but then challenge his troops to "give them the bayonet."

On May 2, 1863 at a whistle stop called Chancelorsville, Lee divided his army not once, but twice, and sent Jackson on a flanking movement that crushed the Union army just as it was sitting down to dinner. Jackson had made his greatest march, and Lee won his greatest battle, but late in the evening Jackson rode ahead of his lines to reconnoiter. In the darkness his own men opened fire and Jackson was wounded. He lost his left arm, but would have recovered from it except for pneumonia setting in. On Sunday, May 10, a day he saw as fitting, Stonewall Jackson passed from this life.

News spread quickly and papers reported that for the first time people in both the North and the South mourned together. Jackson's last words were, "Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees."