Serve Others

That's been my mantra of late. Well, it's my attempted mantra. It's hard to "serve" the jackass who's swerving like an idiot on the highway, or the customer who's being ignorant to a coworker. People are shit. How the hell did Jesus do it? I mean, the man didn't just die for the people he liked; he died for assholes and ignoramouses alike. (Okay, YOU spell ignoramouses...) I reckon that's why he's God, and I'm not. Lol if I were god, there'd be a lot of sudden, unexplained deaths happening during rush-hour traffic. But taking that phrase as a mantra is my effort to get back to the compassionate person that I have a distinct memory of once being, before my experiences with others of my race began to harden and jade me. At some point, I developed a pretty short fuse when it comes to dealing with people that are douchebags, and I need to get over that, 'cause the short fuse is gradually spreading to all areas of my life.

On a similar topic is, despite having been in a relationship for coming up on a year and a half, I still have difficulty finding the middle ground between serving the love of my life, and being true to myself. Recent example is that I want so much to make her happy, to absolve her life of whatever difficulties it may contain, that I almost did something that I really didn't want to do; something that, really, would have been a pretty ignorant thing. Where is the line between wanting to take care of the one you love, versus maintaining your individuality? I haven't gotten my brain around that yet. I mean, I must be doing an okay job of walking that line, though, because for the most part I feel like I'm still the same person I was when I started dating her (perhaps more willing to share my life now though), and she certainly seems happy enough with how I treat her. Maybe there is no precise "here" point between the two extremes? Maybe the best you can do is take situations as the come, and decide individually if they're "sacrifice for the other" situations or if they're "stick to my guns" situations. I'll let you know if I figure it out.

Eulogy

Aunt Pat asked me to deliver the Eulogy for her today, and before I get to the part she wrote, there’s a short dialogue I’d like to read that I think is appropriate. The scene is one of battle, of two friends, one a veteran warrior and the other inexperienced, as they stand by each other as the enemy beats-down their defenses. The first sentence is spoken by the younger, untested man.

P: I didn’t think it would end this way.
G: End? No, the journey doesn’t end here. Death is just another path… One that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass… And then you see it.
P: What? …see what?
G: White shores… and beyond, a far green country, under a swift sunrise.
P: Well, that isn’t so bad.
G: No… No, it isn’t.

On June 11th, 1924, Clifford Thompson Sr. was born. He was an angel, sent by God, but he never knew it. He was the youngest of four children, and looked exactly like his mom. More than that, he also seems to have inherited his loving nature from her, as he always said that she had a good heart and took care of her brothers and family the best that she could. At the age of 18, he joined our country’s military; During World War II, he was shot and captured in the Battle of Anzio, and spent 18 months as a prisoner of war. He rarely spoke of that time, except to a young man in the 5th grade who interviewed him about it; he hopes that interview will be read today.
Though Cliff undoubtedly endured hell in his 18 months in a POW camp, it only served to make him an even more compassionate and loving man than he’d already been. While he was held prisoner, his mother passed-away. This hurt Cliff to no end, and it was 60 years later that he finally achieved some degree of peace of mind by buying her a headstone.
He worked on the railroad for 34 years, during which time he worked hard to earn a living and provide for his family. When Pat met him, she said was the most respectful, decent, honest person she ever known. It seemed, according to her, that he “made it feel like Christmas even when things went wrong.” She considered him to be her own personal “knight in shining armor,” and they wed in 1987. The happiest day of her life was when she looked into his eyes at their wedding and he said “til death parts us.”
Cliff never felt he was a hero, even with all his medals. He never thought he was special. He never wanted riches. He only wanted to make others happy, either with special Christmas’ at his house, or just by helping those in need if he could. He loved everyone, but he swore that if anyone hurt Pat, he would ask God to let him come back and pay them their dues. So passionate was that thought, he actually requested, to many people, that it be said at his funeral.
Whether from his mother, his time as a POW, his nature, or just the life he chose to live, there can be no doubts that Cliff was a man of boundless love and compassion. If you hurt, Cliff hurt. And although he was an obsessive worrier, the last thing he wanted his wife Pat to know is that he loved her and all the family with all his heart.
He may not have believed he was a hero. He may have forgotten that he was an angel. But he’d’ve earned those titles even if he hadn’t fought in the war; God sent him to Pat to be her hero. He was her angel. And he was so brave that even unto his last breath, he cared only for her. And that is the greatest blessing that she could receive, for if someone had Cliff’s love and respect, they were loved as God loves, by a love that survives even death. And because of the strength of that love, I have no doubt that when we see him again, on those white shores, by that green countryside, he’ll be smiling, and sitting upon a white horse, with the sunrise glinting off of his silver armor.

PS

I find it entertaining that my post in august said that I don't whine as much any more, which must mean I'm growing up. And then in my post from five minutes ago I bitch about having to wake up early. Ah, well; the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Success!

After almost a half-hour of attempts, I finally remembered how the hell to sign into this damn thing! I was talking with a fairly new friend of mine yesterday, and she was completely unaware that I'd ever had a blog. That made me sad, so I told her where it was, then I started reading it, and thought, "Damn, I don't post on there nearly as much as I used to." So here I am.

A lot's changed since August of '07, and most (if not all) is for the better. I'm in such a happier place now than I was 6 months ago. I'm infinitely more comfortable with my girlfriend, we're planning to move out together in september, I'm happy with my job and doing well at it, I'll probably be going to grad school within a year (on the company's dime, no less), and (lol it's kinda sad that this makes the list) I'm role-playing like nobody's biz. I'm running a pretty solid campaign that's been going on for over a year now (both in real life as well as in-game time), and I think I've done a decent job of making it feel realistic as evidenced by the fact that one of my players (my girlfriend) cried last time when one of the other characters died. That's realism.

Anyhoozy, it's late now, and I need to get to bed. That's one thing I haven't gotten used to, even after 1+ year at this place: I hate, hate HATE getting up early. But, such is life; never perfect, eh what? Sleep well everyone; you should be hearing more from me soon.