31 Days of Courage: Walter J. Baldwin and The Lost Battalion

It was called “The War to End All Wars”, and if only it had been.

World War I is remembered in our time for the way it changed war.  Barbed wire, armored tanks and The Great Influenza are some of the markers of that devastating darkness that left great sadness on the earth.

But where there is great darkness there is also great courage.  And I am utterly honored to devote this particular day of 31 Days of Courage to my husband’s grandfather, Battalion Sergeant-Major Walter J. Baldwin, a survivor of World War I’s  “ Lost Battalion”.

Battalion Sergeant-Major Walter J. Baldwin 

Much of the information below can be credited to Smitty’s uncle, Tom Baldwin, who took all of his father’s papers and published a book for the whole Baldwin clan.  I am grateful to him for understanding the value of words…that they live, and are mighty to change lives. 

Grandpa Baldwin’s own parents died before he reached his teenage years.  He had an 8^th grade education, proof that character is completely independent of social status or outside opinion.  Clearly Walter was self- educated.  His memoirs are clear and detailed.  Like many of the great men in the wars of the past, he really never spoke of his time as a soldier.   Thankfully though, he believed the record of his time with The Lost Battalion was worth preserving.

For 18 months, during  1918-1919, Walter Baldwin was part of the 77^th Division of New York State’s Statue of Liberty Division, made up almost entirely of men from New York City.  For six months he was involved in the U.S. drive from the trenches of central France through the fortress of the Argonne Forest.  And according to Uncle Tom, he was unable to even change his shirt during those 6 months.  Hardship was a constant companion.  For six interminable days during that time, Grandpa Baldwin survived what most people could not.  For six days, 24 hours a day, he and the other men of the Lost Battalion were shelled constantly, subject to fire from their own side and the enemy’s.  Without food or water in a spot called “the pocket”, 554 men were surrounded by German forces with their location unknown to the Americans battling on behind and unaware that the French advance had been stalled.

Cut off from communication and help, men of the 77^th Division suffered terrible loss of life and unimaginable suffering.  They also performed awe inspiring feats of valor.

Grandpa Baldwin received the Silver Star for pulling a fellow soldier back to a “funk hole”, during one deadly mortar attack, saving his life.  Sleepless and afraid, these men carried on without surrender, making the higher cause their bedrock, and though no doubt longing for relief, refusing to relent. 

That, my friends, is courage.

Longing for relief, but refusing to relent.

Roughly 197 men were killed in action and approximately 150 missing or taken prisoner before 194 remaining men were rescued by American forces. Grandpa Baldwin survived.  If he hadn’t, Smitty wouldn’t be here. Or Joseph, Hannah and David.   Nuf said.

I’ve been writing these October days on the subject of courage to become a little braver in my own life.  And to hopefully encourage you to be a little more brave in the everyday.  But there are some acts of heroism, some duties fulfilled with such courage, that they drop me to my knees.  And I ask the Hero of Heroes to help me be brave enough, should the time ever come, to be willing to do the right thing no matter the cost.  Like Grandpa Baldwin.  And the great men of The Lost Battalion.

Still, there is value in the courage of small things, every day.  And I’d bet the farm that Walter J. Baldwin had plenty of practice in small acts of valor before he ever advanced to the Silver Star.

Such a debt of gratitude I owe this man who died long before I even met my husband.

I pray his courage will live on in my children.

And in their mother.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage to Try Something New

The earth is filled with a million wonders.  There are places, people and things that are simply bursting with the life and delight that the Creator originally intended.  Some of us tend to be more pragmatic, and often miss the party.  Everyone knows the world is wracked with sorrow.  But there’s still and always a reason to dance

Everyone who knows Smitty and I will tell you…we love the classic movies.  Those pictures from the 1940’s are my favorite.  And if there’s any tap dancing in one of those films, I’m all over it. 

When Fred Astaire does the firecracker dance in Holiday Inn (music and lyrics by the inimitable Irving Berlin) well, I’m done for.

I’ve wanted to learn to tap dance since I can remember.  But the pragmatist in me never found the time.  There are too many responsibilities; it’s too expensive, blah, blah, blah.  Truth be told, I didn’t relish looking like an idiot.  And having failed miserably at drill team when I was in 2^nd grade, I remain quite insecure about my coordination, or should I say extreme lack there of.    

But here I am, spouting about courage.  And as I said in a previous post, I have no interest in being a big mouth.  I’m taking this 31 day challenge because I want to practice writing, but also because I want to change. 

So this evening, after work, after grocery shopping, after dinner…all those practical duties I’m famous for, I drove up Columbia Turnpike to Isabelle’s school of dance, borrowed a pair of worn out tap shoes and joined the adult beginners class.

I shuffled and heel tapped and grapevined an even tried to ball-change.  I was perfectly awful.  But I had fun!  I overcame my 5 decades of insecurity and tapped my little feet on the floor.  This body that’s birthed 3 babies, sags in all the wrong places, and will likely be sore tomorrow grabbed hold of a little of life’s pleasures. 

I say all this to say all this: Go try something new!  Even if you stink at it, even if you try and decide it’s not for you…there’s something so spiritually healthy about stepping out of your cotton pickin’ box!  For me, I’m such a melancholy baby that it does me a world of good to dance to “Steppin’ Out With My Baby”.  For you maybe it’s cooking or painting or skiing or taking pictures.  Just do something you think sounds fun.  Don’t worry, life’s troubles won’t go anywhere while you take a little break.

Speaking of fun, here’s a little fact about Fred Astaire that always amuses me:  When RKO Pictures did a screen test on Fred Astaire the report came back as follows:

“Can’t sing.  Can’t act.  Balding.  Can dance a little.”

Taking a few tap dancing lessons is not exactly earth shattering bravery.  But these 31 days are for ordinary folks like me. 

Can’t sing.  Can’t dance.  Sagging.  Can be brave…a little.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: When Celebrity is Mistaken for Courage

I am truly sorry for the late Michael Jackson.  It appears he had a tough upbringing by a severe father.  He clearly could not cope with the rigors of celebrity.  He was confused about who he was.  In the end, his extreme efforts to numb his pain wound up killing him.  It’s a tragic story, especially for those who really loved the true Michael.  And I’m not talking about the hordes of fans.  I mean his family.  I wish Michael Jackson could have found his way to some hope. 

But Michael Jackson was not a hero.  At least not the way the media and his adoring fans proclaim.  He may have been brave in some unseen places we’ll never know.  But he has been assigned a public status that is undeserved.  Talented, yes.  Generous, perhaps.  But courageous…certainly not for the things the public credits to him.

Let’s not confuse celebrity and courage.  Some truly courageous people become famous, but most famous people in today’s culture are considered brave for no apparent reason other than that they are famous.

Oprah may be a courageous woman, but not because she donates cars to people and makes a public display of it on her TV show.  Courage is generally something that makes us less popular, not more.  It usually involves swimming against a cultural tide, not with it.  Celebrity in some ways makes courage less likely.

But if Oprah overcomes some difficult personal area of stubborn sin, where no one sees, and it costs her in some way…now that starts to fit with the definition of courage.

Lance Armstrong was considered a hero for his perseverance in the face of “false” accusation.  He rode his bike so very fast, but did that make him a hero?  A great athlete, perhaps…but did it make him brave?  In the end, perhaps the folks who he falsely accused were the truly courageous people.   They stood up, told the truth and were vilified for daring to contradict a celebrity.

   

In no way am I trying to say that being famous disqualifies a person in the courage department.  The point I’m making is that celebrity must not be confused with gallantry.  Most often, those practicing true courage are trembling in their boots.  There are internal wars going on that no one sees.

Perhaps reaching out to difficult family member who has hurt us requires greater strength of character than standing up at the Oscars with a statue in hand platforming our dearest cause to folks who already agree with us.

 

So no offense meant here to your favorite celebrity.  Only the strong conviction that fame does not equal stoutheartedness. 

When the last trumpet sounds, there will only be One celebrity left standing anyway.  And let’s not forget He was spit on, mocked, tortured and falsely accused to death.  For the sake of our salvation.  To give hope to folks like Michael Jackson, Oprah and Lance Armstrong.  And you.  And me.

We are the only trophies He wanted to hold.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage to Turn Back

“I do not think that all who choose wrong roads perish; but their rescue consists in being put back on the right road. A sum can be put right: but only by going back til you find the error and working it afresh from that point, never by simply going on. Evil can be undone, but it cannot 'develop' into good. Time does not heal it. The spell must be unwound, bit by bit, 'with backward mutters of dissevering power' --or else not.”   ~ C.S. Lewis

Math is another country to me.  Those who love it wax rhapsodically about the beauty of its logic and the perfection of its forms. 

To all that I say poppycock.

Especially I say “don’t be mixing my letters with my numbers”.  But math does have a way of telling the truth straight out.  If you fumble half way through a problem, in fact if you turn wrong at any point, you will not get where you want to go until you go back, figure out what went awry, and make it right. 

When I was in my 20’s and working for a TV show for children called Reading Rainbow, I travelled a lot to interesting locations.  We would shoot for several days or weeks at one place or another, with an entourage of production people and props.

On one of my first location shoots at the ripe old age of 21, we were shooting a scene on the Delaware River to highlight a sweet little book called “Three Days on a River in a Red Canoe.”  At one point the director asked me to move some towels off of some rocks in the river that were messing up a shot.  So I carefully waded in, on somewhat slippery footing, and grabbed an armful of some sunbather's stuff to move to another rock. 

All well and good, until I saw a watch that was in the clump drop and sink into the bottom of the river.  Lost, swept away, gonzo.

And I told no one.

Later, the owner of said watch approached me and asked if I had seen what turned out to be an heirloom time piece.  I cringe to this day when I think of how I denied ever seeing it. 

I was afraid I would lose my job, afraid I’d be thought a fool, afraid, afraid, afraid.

For months after that, the lady with the watch would call our office asking for compensation.  And finally, after the agony of my lie outdid the agony of my fear, I turned back.  I went back to fix the part of the equation where I messed up.  I went in to my bosses, told the whole truth, offered to pay for the watch, and repented of the whole ugly mess.

I didn’t lose my job, and I didn’t even have to pay for the watch.  My company reimbursed that longsuffering woman, and mercy was given to me.

The point here, though, is that it takes courage to make a U-turn.  A body in motion does tend to stay in motion, and so it’s hard to turn around even when you’ve got a bad feeling you’re headed the wrong way.

Perhaps it’s an unhealthy relationship that really needs to end.  Or an apology long overdue.  There are complete mindsets that must be questioned…where we must turn around and go back to where we should have made a left and instead made a right.  These painful trudges back to the place of decision will ultimately lead us to discover the correct sum.  But we won’t get there without turning back.

On its face turning back sounds like it would be the cowardly thing to do.  Would the Apostle Peter think so?  He had to turn back from his devastating decision in order to move forward and become one of the church’s greatest heroes.  Imagine if he wallowed in his mistake, and continued down the apparently safe road of denying Christ?  But Peter did turn around, and because he did he still speaks with authority and grace to all of us, lo these two thousand years later.

He couldn’t go forward until he turned back.

Somehow every member of my family got the math gene except me. Those crazy “radicals” my son is studying in Algebra 2 with Trigonometry might as well be written in Swahili.  If I never understand the joy some folks get from cosigns, it won’t matter in the long run.  But it will matter a great deal if I’m unwilling to turn around when I’ve got it wrong somewhere in the grand scheme of things. 

The theological word for all this turning is repentance.  About that I can wax poetic til they figure out the last number in pi.

And when we turn back, The Great One promises to be merciful to us, and not to keep a record of our sins and wrong turnings as if He were some miserly accountant with a chip on his shoulder.

His Son paid the debt, we get the grace.

That’s what you call divine math.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage to Rest Awhile

If you own a cat, you know that they do not need to read this particular post.  I’m not sure what recipe God used in their DNA, but it included the sleep gene in multiples.  Cats don’t need courage to lay back and slow down.  But people do.

Somewhere along the line we’ve whipped our race (the human one, that is) into a frenzy of moving at breakneck pace for days on end, early in the morning to late at night.  Taking a lunch break is akin to breaking the commandments.

What is at the root of this whirl wind of noise and motion?  Why is it so contrary to our nature to sit or stroll or God forbid, take a nap?

I can’t speak for the whole world.  But I live in one person’s antsy skin, and here’s how she sees it.

I don’t slow down when I’m most afraid.

What will happen if I don’t squeeze as much into a day as I possibly can?  I fear being a bad mother if my children have to eat spaghetti with Hunt’s sauce for a day instead of a healthy salad, chicken, rice and a corresponding vegetable.  So I over extend myself and snap at my family instead.  Fear leads me from bad to worse.

Is it so important that I answer every email in a timely manner?  Yes, because I’m afraid a coworker will think I’m less than reliable, or a friend will think I’m less than loyal, or the school will wonder if I really care about my kid.  Can you hear the unmitigated pride and fear in all of these matters?  So I rush to complete one thing with my mind on the next, spinning around being the center of my own universe, so very discontented.  So very tired.

It takes courage to stop the runaway train.  To stand in the middle of your own tracks and put up your hands and say “enough”. 

"Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest."  Mark 6:31

Here is the One who had 3 years to accomplish the redemption of the entire world.  Here is One who walked many a mile, but also sat and ate and drank and enjoyed little kids and told stories.  Jesus was a busy man.

But again, and this theme seems to keep repeating itself during these 31 days, He didn’t fear man.  He only feared God.  And the Father says we are to rest.  He even pounded the idea into the heads of his very own people for thousands of years.  Sabbath rest is a command, not a suggestion.

The courage to change our ways and slow down is one of those small acts of bravery that may not be seen on the outside, but can do us a world of inward good. 

Tomorrow, I’m taking a lunch break.  Because the cemetery is full of men who were indispensable.  I’ll go ahead and feel the fear of not getting it all done, and I’ll survive.  Who’d of thought you could find a little courage in a comfy chair somewhere with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?

Meanwhile, the cats are snoring away as I’m tapping away.

Time for me to go and get a little shut eye.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: Speaking Up When You’d Rather Walk By

I love candles.  That has very little to do with today’s post, except that it’s why I was in the mall on Sunday when I hate going to the mall, especially on a Sunday.

But my tea lights had reached critical mass and this is the time of year I burn, burn, burn.  I buy those little guys in bulk and dirt cheap at the Christmas Tree Shop, where I thought I’d go in and out…but it never turns out that way.

I wanted to get my son’s darling girlfriend a little birthday gift, so I headed toward one of those big department stores that give me agita with a little something in mind for her.  And on the way I passed a smaller store for the younger set called PCX Clothing, short for Pocket Change Exchange.  Glancing at the display windows I was stopped short by a black shirt with big gold letters shouting out the following:

You Can’t Sit With Us

At first I think I was too shocked  to process the thing.  Then, right on queue, my cowardly self reminded me how badly I wanted to blow this popsicle stand, and how it was Sunday and lovely outside and I still had to get a present for Nicoleen.  But that shirt infuriated me.

 

I got about 20 yards down the concourse and decided I didn’t want to be a hypocrite here on day 6 of 31 Days of Courage.  So I turned my I-can’t-stand-confrontation self around and walked to the cashier’s counter.  Two young girls asked if they could help me and I asked for the store’s phone number and the main address of the company.  Then I asked them if they’d like to know why.

When I explained the reason, they listened attentively.  In fact one of the girls mentioned that a young man had come in 20 minutes earlier with his girlfriend and suggested she buy the shirt.  Apparently the young woman said to her boyfriend “that’s kind of like bullying.”  Bingo.

Companies have a right to produce whatever they want.  This is America after all.  But we have a responsibility to voice the truth in a respectful manner.  We have a choice to let it go.  Or not.

That shirt was mean spirited.  Not funny. Not clever.  Down right nasty.

I’m sure there would be someone who would read this and tell me to lighten up.  That person likely never sat alone at a lunch table, or gladly wearied themselves in the discipling process to teach their children that it’s not ok to make people feel they don’t belong.  Can you tell this particular issue strikes a chord in me?

I don’t like being thought of as a killjoy, a legalist or any other manner of prohibitionist.  But there comes a point when what people think of us and what’s right are going to collide.  In the middle of that collision, courage is ignited.

So before I sat down and wrote this post, I emailed PCX.  And today (Monday) when the manager is in, I’m calling the store to voice my opinion.  I’m pretty sure they won’t like hearing from me.  But not as much as I don’t want to make the phone call.  Regardless, I must.

Because as I said from day one, it’s going to be harder to live this thing out that to write about it. What’s the point of all this if I don’t change?  Being a blowhard is not my goal.

^“ He hath shown thee, O man, what is good: and what doth the Lord require of thee but to do justly and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?”  Micah 6:8

Listen, you and I aren’t William Wilberforce, laboring in Parliament for a lifetime to stop the slave trade in Great Britain.  We can’t tackle every cause, even every one we care about.  But isn’t there that moment, when a fire lights in your belly, and you simply know it’s time to be a tiny bit brave and speak light to the darkness?  Maybe we won’t have a bonfire in our gut like Winston Churchill did in England to stand against evil, no matter the cost.  But can we start with a little flame in our sphere of influence and do the next right thing?

Yeah, maybe this post was about candles after all.

Be brave my friends, in the small. 

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann 

31 Days of Courage: The Courage to be Glad

I wonder how many people of the tiny group that read here decided I was the consummate screwball when they appraised the title of this blog.

I mean, who needs courage to be glad?

There have been 2 serious stretches in my life that I can clearly remember when I had to pull up my bootstraps and enjoy joy…bucking the system in my head that programmed me to feel guilty for being happy.

The first time was when I was barely an adult, and 2 people I love so very dearly were suffering.  If they read this post, they know who they are. 

The second time started almost 5 years ago and continues to this day.  Ironically, though the names have changed, there is an eerie similarity: 2 people I dearly love are suffering.  If they read this post, they know who they are.

When people you love suffer, so do you.  This comes as a surprise to absolutely no one.

And beside our own “local” pain, there is a world gone wrong.  There are hungry people and lonely people, abused, forsaken and dying people.  Isn’t it almost heartless to laugh or sing or dance in this present darkness?

No, no, a thousand times no.

On the very night Jesus of Nazareth was betrayed, destined to die a horrific death and troubled greatly in His all too human soul, He rejoiced over a meal with his very best friends.  He told them He “greatly desired” to have that beautiful last time together. Knowing what He knew, how could he sit down at table and be glad in His great, broken heart?

I’m an amateur in the quest for courage, but He’s the Universe's Olympic Gold Medal Winner.  He sets the example.  To paraphrase a little bit from C.S. Lewis’ classic book The Great Divorce, hell can never hold Heaven hostage.  Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in morning.  Even if the morning isn’t looking much better than the night before.

So how can a mom who recently gave birth to a child with multiple birth defects rejoice? (If she reads this post, she knows who she is).  Because with courage, she can take that pain, very real and ever present, and dig down to something even deeper, something bedrock and solid and unshakable.  And in that place where she knows how the story ends, she can laugh and sing to her other kids and do the jig if she wants.  Because The One who is boss of all of this says to go ahead and rejoice!   Not because of your heartache, but in spite of it.

This is not pie-in-the-sky avoidance of reality.  Tears are just as appropriate as laughter.

My friend Martha Warner, whose daughter was murdered by her husband a number of years ago, has a loud, infectious laugh.  After her Liza died, understandably she had trouble feeling glad again.  There was a guilt that stifled her joy.  How could she smile with her daughter buried and the memory of such a violent death?  But with great courage she took a step of faith and risked being happy.  Step by step she made her way to hope, and now, at an age when most people are settling down to retire, she has a brand new job at Unity House, a shelter for battered women and their children.  There, she will be a lighthouse for women who wonder if they’ll ever smile again.  She’ll be their living proof that they can.

Martha Warner and Liza

It takes remarkable courage to stand up against the power of guilt.  It takes strength that only Strength Himself can supply to determine to live life in gladness in the face of relentless suffering everywhere.  It is a defiant act to say to the enemy of our souls: “My circumstances may be thus, my world may be thus, but you cannot shackle my heart.” 

Heaven cannot be held hostage to hell.

“Though the fig tree does not bud and though there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stall, yet I will rejoice in the Lord.  I will be joyful in God my Savior.”  Habakkuk 3:18

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: Courage in Darkness and Silence

“Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.”     ~ Helen Keller

She captured my imagination at the tender age of nine.  Helen Keller has wrapped herself around my heart, and I doubt a month goes by that I am not inspired by her courage and intrigued by her beautiful mind. 

At 19 months of age, Helen contracted a then unnamed disease (most likely scarlet fever or meningitis) that left her completely blind and deaf for the remainder of her life.  If you don’t want to take the time to read about her in a biography, I recommend the film “The Miracle Worker”, starring Patti Duke as Helen Keller and Anne Bancroft as her teacher and lifelong companion, Annie Sullivan.  It’s directed by the highly respected Arthur Penn, and has etched itself on the ivory of my soul like an artist scratching out scrimshaw.  Wonderful, beautiful motion picture.

Helen Keller’s writing and her thoughtful consideration of life’s complexities are startling when you consider she saw and heard NOTHING.  It was in complete and utter darkness and silence that she found her way to light and hope.  Even as I click away at these words I am humbled and awed by this woman’s courage and relentless optimism. I am convicted of my chronic complaining about my own dark corners when I think on what Helen's daily life must have been like. Simply climbing the stairs or fixing lunch were Herculean feats for a person with only 3 operational senses.

But in her dark, silent world Helen Keller changed the world by her words and deeds.  She bravely wrote in defense of the powerless while in the midst of her own powerlessness.  Not seeing, she saw the needs of those around her.  Not hearing, she heard the cries of the disabled of her day and became an early activist for them.

Every life has its own insignia of shadow and mystery.  What is it that is un-seeable for you now?  Is it an impossible way through a loveless marriage?  A prodigal child?  Debt the size of the Himalayas?  A deadly disease, a terrible addiction, a faithless soul?  Or just a sense that there’s no meaning or purpose to these 70 or 80 years?

Is God silent to you?  In the dark of night where no one sees, are you lost in a sea of unanswered prayers? 

There are no pat responses to any of these questions.  And God forbid I should make light of them.  But the Great One, He who created light out of darkness, He who spoke and broke forever the silence of the Universe, He understands all we don’t:

Even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you.  ~ Psalm 139:12

For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from him. ~ Psalm 62:5

It takes tremendous courage to stand and believe in the stone cold silent darkness.  When all your comforts are removed and you swim in an ocean of confusion or sorrow, this is the birthplace of bravery. 

It is in these times that courage, that lovely virtue second only to humility (in my opinion), rises up and finds its place.  Helen Keller put it this way:

“We could never learn to be brave and patient if there were only joy in the world.” 

She knows of what she speaks.

So if you are in darkness or silence, know that courage can be born and cultivated in that hothouse of trial.  And if you are not there now, how bout' being an Annie Sullivan to one who is?  To give courage is as precious as to gain it, and it is indeed added to your own soul as you give it away.

Persevere in the darkness.  It’s all light to Him.  And one day, at the end of this often dark ride, we’ll get the sight for which we’ve so longed, and hear clearly the Voice we’ve strained to hear.

I hope to see Helen there, eyes wide open. 

But really, were they ever not?

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage to Build Bridges

In the 19^th century, bridge building was deadly business.  It’s still feat of human endeavor that could blow my head off if I think too hard about it.

Of all the bridges I’ve personally experienced, the Brooklyn Bridge is my favorite.  Spanning the East River from Lower Manhattan to Brooklyn Heights, that monument to form and function was erected not only with granite and steel, but with perseverance and wild courage.

The bridge’s construction took 14 years.  In 1883 folks began crossing that marvel that engaged the sweat and muscle of 600 workers with a price tag of $15 million (more than $320 million in today’s dollars). At least two dozen people died in the process.  One of the first to lose his life on the project was the original designer, John Augustus Roebling.  Before even one steel cable came out of the box, Roebling had his foot crushed by a boat while taking compass readings along the river.  He died of tetanus 3 weeks later, leaving his son to carry on.

Immigrants did much of the dirty work of putting down a solid foundation for the bridge.  They were nicknamed Sandhogs.   In a process I don’t fully understand, but which sounds simply awful, workers excavated the riverbed in massive wooden boxes called caissons. These airtight chambers kept water out and pumped air in to enable the excavation of debris by the bridge builders.  Many died or were debilitated by way of  “Caisson’s Disease”, known in the vernacular as “the bends”.  Others perished in explosions, fires and conventional construction accidents.

So where am I going with this?

Most of us have some kind of relational brokenness in our lives.  I’d wager a stamp that that particular kind of trial is the most painful of them all, since we are at our core relational beings. 

And there’s a sort of unique fear that accompanies messed up connections with the people we love.  I can’t pinpoint what it is, but you know it if you’ve lived it.  Often times we want to make our way back to the folks who have hurt us, or we have hurt, but we fear the cost.  Bridge building can precipitate great pain as we excavate the debris of pride and unforgiveness or let down the walls that protect us from rejection in order to make a foundation for restoration.

But then, when the crossing is made, there it is:  the beauty of the bridge.  Then, life can be lived there.  Fellowship and friendship and hope can move back and forth across the hard won path made not from steel and granite, but from the courage to feel the pain and die the death for the joy that will follow.

We Smitties are Simon and Garfunkel fans, especially on long car rides.  That duo’s classic song, “Bridge Over Troubled Water” never gets old for me.

When you're weary, feeling small
When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all
I'm on your side, when times get rough
and friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down

I confess that whenever I hear Art Garfunkel’s angelic voice chanting that verse I find myself in tears. 

The One and Only, He didn’t just build a bridge, He laid down to be the bridge:

“Christ suffered for our sins once for all time. He never sinned, but he died for sinners to bring you safely home to God.”  1 Peter 3:18  NLT

His great passion from the beginning was to bring us back across the chasm of separation in to the warm embrace of a good Father.  (Mysterious, but compellingly good).  He stands as the greatest bridge builder of all time, the bravest of the brave.

I continue on to grapple with the towering truth that He who was most courageous of all cheers us on in our puny efforts to be brave.

 There’s a letter I have to write again…it’s another pylon for a bridge I’ve hoped to build for years, without much success.  It’s just this…that even if the person we’re trying to reach on the other side doesn’t build back, we cannot lose.  The very effort to reach the bedrock, to stretch the cable, to remove the obstacle, makes us more what we were created to be: loving, relational beings with a destiny and a future hope that no deep river can constrain.  But it will cost us.

I can’t tell you how many times I have crossed the Brooklyn Bridge in the car, on foot, and best of all, on my bicycle.  That highway of alliance, commerce, recreation and interaction has benefited millions of people since it was completed in 1883.  I’m so grateful for the courageous folks who struggled, some to the point of death to provide that crossing.

How much more ought we to have the courage to build bridges that mend, heal and deliver.

Your Sandhog friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage to Stay Off the Defensive

As my 16 year old son would put it: “That skunk did us wrong.”

At four A.M. yesterday morning I was roused from my bed, not by a sound but by a stink.  Some black and white thing out there in the yard got scared.  Most likely it was spooked by that coy dog that’s been milling about lately, eyeballing Cosette and Domino.

He might have learned the hard way what happens when you mess with that particular brand of “all God’s creatures.” 

For me, it was a not-so-subtle reminder of the negative side of this 31 day topic.  Our reaction to fear will impact the atmosphere of our lives.  In particular, I want to consider the defensive response to insecurity (an insidious and well documented kind of fear), and what courage might look like as an alternative.

How do you react when your back’s against the wall?

I was recently misunderstood over the way I handled a scheduling problem at my job.  Oh friends, how immediately I jumped to my own defense, afraid perhaps that someone might think me incompetent, or even, God forbid, less than intelligent.  Listening to my tone as I defended myself and feeling the indignation rise within was like a blast of skunk spray, leaving everyone in the vicinity, including me, ESPECIALLY ME, with that lingering yuck for a while.  There’s no tomato juice bath for that kind of mess.  Repentance is the only cure.

By the way, and just for fun, have you ever heard this great expression:

“It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to open one’s mouth and remove all doubt.”

OK, back to the point.

Contrast that with Smitty, my main squeeze.  He made a mistake at work, which I can assure you is rare!  (He’s one humble smarty-pants…but I digress).  And no doubt with some trepidation, he went to his supervisor and owned the thing.  I think she was probably dumbfounded for a minute, since this is not the way human beings typically operate (especially those with Y chromosomes).  And I believe from what I heard about her reaction that Stephen left the good fragrance of everyday courage in her office.

“For we are a sweet fragrance to God in The Messiah among those who have life and among those who perish.”      2 Cor. 2:15

That’s what courage is.  It’s a lofty and lovely fragrance, bringing beauty to the person stretched out to be a little brave, and to all within its perimeter.  The aroma of simple acts of daily courage can change the place you work, you live, you worship, you learn, you play.  How priceless is it that you can be a bouquet wherever you go?

For every person, the thing that will trigger insecurity and the defensive posture that follows is different.  What if today, when your motives are wrongly judged, or your pride is injured, instead of putting up your tail you followed the way of The Master?

“When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly.”  1 Peter 2:23

What if today instead of the reek of fear, we left the perfume of grace?

I can tap the keys, but can I walk the walk?  Help me Jesus.  I don’t want to stink up the room.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann