Writer, Church leader, Eccentric Nut, Marketer

I'm Church Leader, Writer, Speaker, Marketer, Kindness Project Founder, Broadcaster and Superhero. But most important I'm a Husband, Father and a worshiper of Jesus.

11 November 2008

The White Woodbox in my Basement


We live in the house that was my Grandparents home for 50 years. When we moved in, there was a generation of accumulated junk that needed to be moved out... or thrown out. During the purge, we opened an old, white, wood box that was filled with 1970's style Christmas ornaments. Luckily we were careful to go through piece by piece because at the bottom of the box we found a buried treasure.

It was a smaller box filled with war documents, medals, telegraphs and the death certificate of my Grandfather John Carrol. John died in Europe while my Grandmother was pregnant with my Dad, who grew up only knowing bits and pieces of his blood father. My Grandmother remarried a good man who was a good father and a good Grandfather. But what moment it was watching my Dad read his father's correspondence to his wife, written from a trench to the soundtrack of shrapnel.

Part of me wondered why these fascinating pieces of family history remained buried and unspoken of for so many years. I don't KNOW the answer, but I suspect it's a matter of perspective. To me... it's family history. To my Dad it was a piece to a puzzle. To my Grandmother... it was her man whose life was woven into hers... then ripped out for the sake of "King and Country". The contents of the box were too much a part of her to throw away, yet too raw to share. The sacrifice was very real.

On Remembrance Day, I often wonder how those for whom "sacrifice" actually means something, can even sit in family living rooms across Canada, hearing teenagers quibble about who gets the most fruit of their labor. Each generation has their own battles to fight... but the call to arms is something else altogether. I don't know about you, but I think about the plans, dreams and visions that God has put in my heart... and wonder what I would do if my country called on me to die to my own plans, risk ever seeing my family again, and lay down my life for the freedom of strangers and the betterment of a generation that I'd never see.

Spend 2 minutes really thinking about it... and you'll remember why we remember. And why we should NEVER stop remembering.

1 comment:

Melissa said...

well said, my friend.

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