IN A FEW DAYS WE WILL CELEBRATE MEMORIAL DAY. It was unofficially begun by women of the South during the Civil War when they placed flowers over the graves of the “men in gray.”

In 1868, General John A. Logan, Commander-in-Chief of the Grand Army of the Republic, issued an order officially setting aside May 30 as “Decoration Day.” It has now become an occasion on which we remember not only those who have fallen in war, but all our dead veterans.

A few years ago a wall was built in Washington D.C. and on it were inscribed the names of the thousands who had died in the Vietnam War, perhaps the most controversial war in our nation’s history. But regardless of what people thought about that war, this wall memorial reminds us that thousands of Americans sacrificed their lives in that far-off place.

Most of them were young people who wanted to hold on to life. Their names are on that wall. One of them was a young man from one of the families in my home church---a wonderful Christian family. I’ll never forget standing beside his coffin as he was buried with military honors.

All of us owe these young men and women a great debt. Down through the years, in many wars, millions have sacrificed their lives for the cause of freedom, so it is fitting for us to remember them as a nation.

I recall watching a video on the news that was profound in its message. Someone had taped a man standing next to the Vietnam Memorial. His right hand was extended to the wall and he was gently caressing someone’s name that was etched into that wall. It was very moving. Over and over again, he repeated these words: “He died for me. He died for me.” Was it a brother? A father? A friend? We’ll never know. But one thing is for certain---the man was visibly moved by the sacrifice of one man!

Just a few years ago, while living in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, I had the opportunity to visit the “traveling wall.” Did you know that there are two smaller versions of the one in Washington that travel throughout the United States? This enables citizens who cannot travel to D.C. to experience the sensations that arise when you stand beside this most unusual mobile monument. Once again, I found Dick’s name among the thousands and stood silently, pondering his sacrifice. And that experience set me to thinking.

Each time we enter a church we must remember another sacrifice. We must erect a monument in our mind. For you see, the sacrifice of Christ brought the greatest hope and freedom to the world. Julia Ward Howe’s Battle Hymn of the Republic speaks of this in stanza four: “In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me; As He died to make men holy, let us live to make men free, While God is marching on.”

Thank God for Good Friday and Easter! They are to be remembered, revered, and proclaimed as the greatest of all memorial days. We do not place flowers on His grave, for He is Risen! Let the parades begin! Strike up the bands! Wave the flags! Sound the trumpets! He reigns on high as King of kings and Lord of lords. One day every knee will bow and every tongue confess that He is Lord to the glory of God. Till then, we remember and rejoice.

WATCHING THE NEWS CAN BE DANGEROUS TO YOUR HEALTH, that is, your psychological health. Since most of the news is of a negative nature, if one is not careful, he/she can develop a very pessimistic view of human nature. Consider the following:

The year is 2065. An astronaut has been stranded alone in a space station for three years. Then one day, the astronaut receives a reply to his S.O.S. radio calls. The captain of a nearby shuttle has dispatched a rescue craft to the space station. As the rescue vehicle docks with the space station, the officer in charge says to the stranded astronaut, “Captain sends his compliments, sir, also these newspapers. Kindly read the news of the world as soon as possible and then inform the captain as to whether or not you wish to be rescued.”

Well, I happen to be one of those individuals that believe that most people are law-abiding, considerate, and generally nice, in spite of all that is presented by the media. And even though I do believe that human beings are seriously flawed, I also believe that common grace is at work in our world. Allow me to give you an example.

A friend of mine recently shared a story with me about a trip he and his wife took out west. They stopped in Des Moines, Iowa to gas up and when he was finished paying with his credit card, he inadvertently left his wallet on the roof of the car.

They drove off and stopped for the night in North Platt, Nebraska. It was then that they discovered the missing wallet. His wife had the good sense to call right away and stop payment on all the credit cards, but now he was driving without his license, say nothing of all the other valuable information contained in that wallet.

What they didn’t know, was that the wallet fell off on an expressway entrance ramp, and a passing motorist saw it and retrieved it. Amazing in itself! But that’s not the end of the story. This thoughtful gentleman left a message on their home phone in Michigan with his telephone number. And when they checked their messages, they called the number that he had left. He asked if they had lost something and to please tell him what it was. They did, and he returned the wallet to them.
He could have pocketed the contents and thrown the wallet away, but he didn’t because he was an honest individual. There was $35 in cash in that wallet. He was offered that as a reward but refused it.
After all, he reasoned, why should anyone be rewarded for doing what is right? However, to express their appreciation, they sent him some gift dining cards.

I love these stories because they once again demonstrate that most people are just like this man…decent, responsible folks who do what is right, not expecting anything in return. At least I like to think they are. So, the moral of this story is: Don’t let the downside of life color your opinion of those who, for the most part, live on the upside!

MOTHER’S DAY IS FAST APPROACHING and my mind went back many years ago to a TV program called, I Remember Moma (I guess I’m showing my age now). It was broadcast from 1949 to 1957 on CBS. It was a 30 minute show in black and white about a Norwegian-American family living in San Francisco in 1910---a wholesome program, something that is sadly missing today.

The lead roles were by Peggy Wood as Marta Hansen and Judson Laire as Papa Hansen. The story was told through the eyes of daughter Katrin (Rosemary Rice). The show opened by Katrin looking through the pages of the family album and remembering.

I remember my momma too. She’s been gone since 1967, but her life lives on in me. Even now, after all these years, I have occasional dreams about her.

I remember momma tucking me in at night, giving me a sweet kiss on the forehead, something that I didn’t relish at the time, but would love to feel at this moment.

I remember momma caressing me as I lay in bed suffering from pneumonia on three different occasions as a pre-teen. She gently placed a cold washcloth on my feverish brow and told me I would be all right. I needed to hear those words; they kept me going.

I remember momma hugging me before I had my appendix removed and the daily visits in the hospital. At times like these, when a boy is full of fright, he needs his momma more than anything. No one else can bring that special comfort at a time when it hurts so much.

I remember momma, sharing words of warning and wisdom when I was growing up. I didn’t always heed them at the time, but neither did I forget them.

I remember momma’s cooking. Even though she worked fulltime, she had the ability to put together some scrumptious meals. Her recipe for Spanish Rice was renown in the Howell neighborhood. I can remember kids from our area sitting on the kitchen floor, partaking of this wonderful dish.

I remember momma welcoming the young lady who would become my wife into our family and treating her as one of her own---and sharing her amazing recipes, which continue to bless me to this day!

I remember momma giving me my first Bible with a beautiful inscription on the inside cover. I cherished that KJV and used it till it fell apart. Did she know that in so doing, she was planting a seed within me? I wonder, does she know that I followed the call of God three years after death to prepare for the ministry? I can’t say with certainty, but I would like to think so.

I remember momma disciplining me (I always had it coming) and then through tears, telling me she was sorry, but it was necessary. When she said it hurt her more than me, I didn’t believe her. But years later, when I had to apply some discipline to my own children, I understood she was speaking of the pain of the soul.

I remember momma going to the altar of our little church, giving her heart to Christ. It was one of the happiest moments of my entire life, for it meant that we were now a part of God’s forever family and any separation would only be temporary.

I remember momma’s last day here on earth. She lay in a hospital bed, terminally ill at age 52. The last time she spoke to me, she asked if I would read from the Bible and have a prayer for her. What son would ever deny his mom such a request? I did it with mixed emotions, knowing that it could well be my last opportunity to minister to someone I dearly loved.

I long to see her again, take her in my arms and tell her that I love her and that I’m sorry for any pain that I might have caused her growing up. She is waiting for me in Gloryland and one day we will be reunited again. We’ll walk the golden streets together, hand-in-hand and I’ll catch her up on everything, including her grandchildren who she never was able to see grow up---or did she?

In the meantime, I remember momma and I smile.