A Military Twas the Night before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
In a one-bedroom house made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney, with presents to give
and to see just who in this dwelling did live.
As I looked all around, a strange sight to see,
no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.

No stocking on the mantle, just boots filled with sand.
On the wall hung pictures of far distant lands.
Medals and badges, awards of every kind,
a sobering thought came alive in my mind.
This house was different, it was dark, it was dreary.
I had found the home of a soldier, I could see that most clearly.
The soldier lay sleeping silent, alone.Curled up on the floor in his one-bedroom home.

His face was so gentle, room in such disorder,
Not at all how I pictured a U.S. soldier.
Was this the hero, of whom I’d just read?
Curled up on a poncho, a floor for a bed?
Then I realized the other families that I saw this night
Out there lies the soldiers who are willing to fight.
In the morning around the world, children would play
Grown-ups would celebrate a bright Christmas day
But they all enjoyed freedom, each month through the year,
because of soldiers like the one lying here.

I couldn’t help but wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas Eve, in lands far from home.
The very thought brought a tear to my eye.
and I dropped to my knees and I started to cry.
The soldier awakened, I heard his rough voice,
“Santa, don’t cry, this life is my choice
I fight for freedom, I don’t ask for more.
My life is my God, my country, my family.”
The soldier rolled over, and drifted to sleep.

I couldn’t control it, and I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent and still.
as both of us shivered from the cold night’s chill.
I didn’t want to leave him on that cold, dark night.
This guardian of honor, so willing to fight.

Then the soldier rolled over with a voice soft and pure.
He whispered, “Carry on Santa, it’s Christmas Day, all secure.”
One look at my watch and I knew he was right,
Merry Christmas my friend,
May God bless you this night.

Without A Witness They are Forgotten

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.

The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,

Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.

Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Chris tmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..

To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night."
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.

No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at ' Pearl on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ' Nam ',
And now it is my turn and so, here I am..

I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue... an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.

I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall."

" So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."

God is Busy

If you don't know GOD, don't make stupid
remarks!!!!!!

A United States Marine was attending some
college
courses between assignments. He had completed
missions
in Iraq and Afghanistan ... One of the courses
had a professor
who was an avowed atheist, and a member of the
ACLU.

One day the professor shocked the class when
he came in.
He looked to the ceiling and flatly stated,
GOD if you are real
then I want you to knock me off this platform.
I'll give you exactly
15 min.' The lecture room fell silent. You
could hear a pin drop.
Ten minutes went by and the professor
proclaimed, 'Here I am
GOD, I'm still waiting.'

It got down to the last couple of minutes when
the Marine got
out of his chair, went up to the professor,
and cold-cocked him;
knocking him off the platform. The professor
was out cold.
The Marine went back to his seat and sat
there, silently.

The other students were shocked and stunned,
and sat there
looking on in silence. The professor
eventually came to,
noticeably shaken, looked at the Marine and
asked, 'What
in the world is the matter with you? 'Why did
you do that?'

The Marine calmly replied, 'GOD was too busy
today protecting
America 's soldiers who are protecting your
right to say stupid
stuff and act like an idiot. So He sent me.'

The classroom erupted in cheers!

That Girl (I borrowed this because I couldn't have said it better myself)

I am that girl.

I'm the girl standing behind you in line at the grocery store, eyeing the newest Support Our Troops magnet. The look on my face is complacent and my thoughts are miles away on some military base I've only been verbally described over the phone.

I'm the young woman in the next car with the windows rolled up and the glassy visage only on the road ahead. The radio is set to one of the local country stations which is currently playing "Letters From Home". But you can't hear it because you're talking to a family member or friend on your cell phone.

You catch a glance at the US ARMY sticker on the bumper of my car but you don't know when the song reaches "my dearest love it's almost dawn, I've been laying here all night long, wondering where you might be", my heart breaks a thousand times.

I'm the girl who visits the military wives web site at odd hours of the night to find some kind of comfort for that lonesome feeling that has settled in the pit of my stomach.

I'm the woman who has fought an inner battle, trying to accept the path the man I love has chosen. I'm the woman who will willingly sacrifice my family, my home to follow a man clear across the country. I'm the woman who never asked for this but deals with it without complaint.

I'm the young woman who swells with pride everytime I see my soldier standing tall in his uniform. I'm the one who spots a US Military sticker, license plate, or flag and feels a connection with its owner, hoping that maybe I'm not alone in this melancholy, sacrificial situation.

I am the young woman who tries to hide her tears whenever she recieves a call from her soldier. Knowing that no matter what the problem is that he still loves her. Whether or not shes red & blotchy. I am the young woman who holds her breath everytime she recieves an unknown call. Worried that somewhere her heart may be breaking.

I am the young woman who tries her hardest to go about my everyday life.
I am the young woman who tries to concentrate during my classes and do the job I get paid to do.
I am the young woman who hates sleeping alone.
I am the young woman who closes my eyes and pretends that the man I love is laying there next to me, his arms wrapped around me.
I am the young woman who tries not to miss him, who tries not to cry whenever I hear his name or even the mention of a soldier
I am the woman who is terrified that the love of my life will be sent off to war.

I am many things.

A mother

A daughter

A sister

A cousin

A niece

A co-worker

A friend

But most importantly, I am the wife of a United States Servicemember and wouldn't trade that girl's life for anything in the world.

Paying Respect

A battlefield cross, or fallen soldier battle cross, is a memorial to a fallen or missing soldier, consisting of the soldier's boots, bayonet, helmet, rifle, and sometimes dog tags. As the name implies, a battlefield cross is generally erected at or near the field of battle, allowing the soldier's comrades to pay their respects and to begin to process the loss. Among the military, the image of the battlefield cross has become quite iconic, and it appears in military tattoos and sculptures as a motif which is meant to symbolize loss and mourning for fallen comrades.

The battlefield cross is made by standing the soldier's boots upright, perching the rifle upright in the boots, and hanging the helmet from the rifle's upright stock. If dog tags are included, they are typically draped from the rifle. Other tokens and mementos may be added to the battlefield cross by comrades, symbolizing inside jokes and other moments of friendship with the deceased.

The origins of the battlefield cross appear to lie in the American Civil War, and they are a bit grizzly. Until this period, fallen soldiers were buried where they were, sometimes by opposing forces, with crude markers being erected and sometimes later replaced. In the Civil War, however, soldiers began to be sent home for burial, so after a battle was over, people would move through the battlefield to mark the bodies which needed to be removed; the most convenient marker would have been the soldier's rifle with his helmet balanced on top, and over time, this image came to be associated with military loss.

During the second Gulf War, the battlefield cross began to attract popular attention, with numerous units erecting battlefield crosses to commemorate their comrades. Since they could not attend the funerals of their fellows, some units made a habit of paying their respects at the battlefield cross, and photographers following the war captured iconic images which were widely reprinted in the United States. Since the Pentagon does not permit the publication of images of flag-draped coffins without a fight, the battlefield cross has come to be used as a poignant reminder of the cost of war.

Although the battlefield cross is not an official military honor, many higher-ranking members of the military have recognized the value of the battlefield cross, encouraging member of their units to memorialize fallen comrades and sometimes holding ceremonies at the site of a battlefield cross. After a set period of time, the memorial may be respectfully dismantled, with the components being returned to the government for appropriate disposition.

Lest We Forget

I wanted to share this because no matter how many times I see this ceremony performed; it is always very moving. This remembrance makes patriotic holidays even more meaningful. I pray that as we all celebrate at holiday events we never forget those who have sacrificed so much and their families that wait for their return.

Below is the script that is read for the ceremony. I what I have printed is the way I've heard it presented most often. There can be modifications and more formal presentations.

As you entered the room, you may have noticed a table at the front, raised to call your attention to its purpose. Those who have served and those currently serving the uniformed services of the United States are ever mindful that the sweetness of enduring peace has always been tainted by the bitterness of personal sacrifice. We are compelled to never forget that while we enjoy our daily pleasures, there are others who have endured and may still be enduring the agonies of pain, deprivation and internment.

We call your attention to this small table, which occupies a place of dignity and honor near the center of activity and to remind all Americans to never forget Servicemembers and civilians who have answered our nation’s call and served the cause of freedom in a special way. At this time, I would like to explain the meaning of the items on this special table.

The table is reserved to honor those missing from this event. It is round to show our everlasting concern for our men and women who remain missing. The table is set for one, symbolizing the frailty of one captive alone against his or her suppressors. The chair is empty to remind us of their physical absence.

The tablecloth is white, symbolic of the purity of their motives when responding to the country’s call to duty.

The single red rose in the vase, signifies the blood they may have shed in sacrifice to ensure the freedom of our beloved United States of America. This rose also reminds us of the family and friends of our missing who keep the faith, while awaiting their return.

The yellow ribbon on the vase represents the yellow ribbons worn on the lapels of the thousands who demand with unyielding determination a proper accounting of our loved ones who are not among us at this time.

The Bible represents the strength gained through faith to sustain those missing and their families who seek answers from our country, founded as one nation under God.

The candle is reminiscent of the light of hope which lives in our hearts to illuminate their way home, away from their oppressors, to the open arms of family and a grateful nation.

A slice of lemon on the plate is to remind us of the bitter fate of those who are missing.

The pinch of salt sprinkled on the plate reminds us of the countless tears shed by families as they wait.

The glass is inverted for they cannot toast with us at this event.

Let us pray to God that all of our loved ones will soon be back with us. Let us remember and never forget their sacrifices.

May God forever watch over them and protect them and their families.

If a picture is worth 1,000 words. . . . . . . .

Silent Ranks Stand Tall

I borrowed this from CNN.com. I was recently asked by a dear friend how I would feel or what would I say if either John or Katie said, "Mom, I want to join the military" considering all of my experience with the Armed Forces, both good and bad. This family is the model of my answer. I just think it's a shame that the everyday strength of Military Families is only highlighted immediately before and during patriotic holidays. We are the Silent Ranks everyday.

McDONOUGH, Georgia (CNN) -- Huddling in a dark parking lot outside a budget motel near Camp Shelby, Mississippi, the Callaway family held on to the two things they value most in this world: their faith and each other.

Ryan Callaway, left, Jared, center, and Seth enjoy a moment before shipping out to Afghanistan in June.

Crying, Mark and Karmen Callaway and their daughter Anna Katheryn clutched the family's three soldier sons before the trio shipped off to serve in Afghanistan.

Karmen wasn't thinking about how rare it is for three brothers to go off to war together. She was thinking about Ryan, 25, Jared, 23, and 20-year-old Seth all returning home unharmed.

"I know people lose their children every day," Karmen said a week later as she sat in her kitchen in McDonough, Georgia.

"A fear that I have is that something might happen to all three of them. But at the same time, I have an assurance that I will see them again."

Mark Callaway, describing the farewell, said he was trying to ignore a group of curious beer-drinking construction workers gathered around a nearby truck watching the tearful scene play out.

"These construction workers saw three boys crying and Karmen and Anna Katheryn crying, and I'm sure they were wondering what's going on, because the boys were still in their civilian clothes," Mark said with a smirk. "It was just rough leaving the three of them."

Anna Katheryn, at age 18 the family's youngest child, seemed confident about her brothers' safety with U.S. and other NATO forces fighting Taliban and al Qaeda some 7,400 miles away.

"They're Callaways," she said with a smile. "They're going to be all right. Sometimes, it does worry me, but you have to give it to Jesus and know that he's going to take care of them."

Family sacrifice

All three brothers are serving in Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 121st Infantry Regiment of the 48th Brigade, Georgia Army National Guard. The Pentagon says it's unusual for three siblings to serve in the same Army company, which consists of about 100 to 125 soldiers. But it's not unheard of.

Siblings who enlist in the National Guard in the same state are more likely to serve together because Guard forces are state-based units, military officials said. Enlistees in regular armed forces could be deployed in units based across the nation.

For example, Nevada's Army National Guard counts nine sets of brothers among its ranks deploying for Afghanistan this summer, according to a spokesman.

There are no regulations banning siblings from serving together, but for obvious reasons, commanders don't send siblings on the same missions.

Carol and Michael Ewens of Gig Harbor, Washington, know the worry of having multiple sons in battle and the pain of losing a child to war. In 2006, an Afghan roadside bomber killed their 28-year-old son, Army Lt. Forrest Ewens. Now, three more of their sons will be serving in the region.

Lt. Oaken Ewens, 28, and Staff Sgt. Elisha Ewens, 26, are in the Army's 10th Mountain Division.

Just six weeks after his brother's death, their youngest son Stephen Ewens, now 24, announced he had enlisted in the Army's Stryker brigade.

"I threatened to shoot him in the foot," his mother joked. "I felt almost like doing something to make him ineligible to go because I didn't want to have a third son there. But no matter how much I begged and cried, it didn't count."

Fighting in the same war that took his brother's life "was something he felt like he had to do," Carol Ewens said. "It was part of his expression of honoring Forrest and grieving for Forrest and wanting to carry on what Forrest was doing."

She said she relies on God to pull her through.

"My faith has been the only thing that has given me peace with Forrest's death, so I have to prepare myself and trust that God has a greater plan," she said. "When one of my children is taken away from me, I have to believe that it's good."

God and country

Reminders of God and country dot the Callaways' rural Georgia neighborhood about 40 miles southeast of Atlanta.

"God bless our troops," said a roadside sign outside a church along a two-lane roadway in Henry County.

Afghanistan is the second war that Ryan and Jared Callaway have fought for their country. From 2005 to 2006, they also served in Iraq. But Afghanistan will be the first war for Seth, whom Karmen Callaway calls her "baby boy."

"I just know that he is going to do something very important over there," she said.

Karmen and her husband recall how the brothers as kids would pretend to be soldiers in the woods behind their house.

"They were always out there playing army and making bike trails," said Mark. "They're still playing war, too, but they're playing it for real this time."

Sitting at the kitchen table at the family home, Karmen is surrounded by three sparkling ornamental stars hanging from a shelf on the wall -- reminders of her sons.

Karmen said she'll be comforted by the thought that her boys will be relatively close to each other. "They might see each other some, but it won't be like they're together all the time," Karmen said.

For most parents, protecting young sons or daughters who aren't serving in a war zone can be stressful enough.

Karmen bears the added burden of preparing herself for an unspeakable possibility -- something she learned to deal with when the oldest two were in Iraq.

When describing each of her sons, Karmen briefly began to cry. After quickly pulling herself together, she held out three rocks -- all smaller than her palm -- marked with the words, "count your blessings," "pray," and "laugh."

Each of her sons, Karmen explained, carries a rock with a special word describing their personalities.

Ryan's rock is imprinted with "accomplish." Jared's bears "courage." Seth's says "strength."

The stones represent her assurance that she will see her sons again, she said. They're meant to ease her worries during the yearlong deployment.

Family of educators

The Callaways are a family of educators. Karmen, who teaches an after-school program at a nearby elementary school, will pursue a teaching degree this summer, before returning to help students in the fall. Daughter-in-law Louie just wrapped up her first year as a teacher -- after eloping with husband Ryan.

"We met in November and got married in January, so it's just been crazy," said Louie, her family's nickname for Louise. "The most stressful part was taking a week off work and going to Mississippi ... so I have my students to think about -- getting them prepared for eighth grade -- and my husband's leaving for Afghanistan. So that was a bit overwhelming, I would say."

Louie and Ryan have almost daily contact, thanks to the Internet, as do Jared and his wife, Heather. Sometimes, when Ryan and Louie chat by phone, Louie feels the need to be upbeat and "try to have something good to tell him."

"He doesn't want to hear my play-by-play about the students, and I don't want to hear about the danger he's in," she said, looking at Karmen across the kitchen.

The Callaway home is decorated with scores of family photos in every room. A large, round, old-fashioned analog clock hangs above the family room fireplace, as if the Callaways need to be reminded of the passage of time.

The Callaways' 'miracle'

In a room off the foyer, Anna Katheryn sometimes plays the family's baby grand piano, a talent that -- in retrospect -- seems more like a miracle to Karmen and Mark.

On a rainy night in 2001, Anna Katheryn and Jared nearly lost their lives when their vehicle hydroplaned and Jared lost control of the car.

The Honda flipped off the road and into a fence post, leaving Jared shaken and Anna Katheryn in a coma for seven days, Karmen recalled.

Doctors told the family that Anna Katheryn probably had suffered brain damage and that they should "be prepared for a different child."

With support from their church and after multiple surgeries and rehabilitation, AK-47, as she's nicknamed, made a full recovery, graduating from high school with honors this year, her mother said.

The real-life nightmare provided Karmen with a valuable lesson in faith that she plans to lean on during the coming months.

"What I learned during that time is that if something were to happen to one of my children, God could sustain me and I could go on," she said.

She turned to look at the kitchen shelf and the hanging trio of ornamental stars -- gifts from an Army family support group.

"I got three because I have three soldiers, and we decided to put them up and keep them up until the boys return," Karmen said quietly. "That will help us when we're in the kitchen and when they're not around. We will feel that they're near us."

When is it okay to be an "Army of One"?

Invisible Mother......

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store.

Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?'

Obviously, not.

No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I'm invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?

Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.'

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated sum a cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going; she's going; she is gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England ..

Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in.

I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself.

I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe .

I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription:

'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:

No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.

These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.

They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.

The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.

It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life.
It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.

The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'you're gonna love it there.'

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right.


And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Great Job, MOM!
Share this with all the Invisible Moms you know...I just did.