VALOR© 2008
By Ronnie Johnson
When you think about it, the Good Samaritan who helped a stranger and at his own expense saved a man who was half dead was a man of valor. He gave this person another chance in life to live again.
Whether we are in a uniform or not we can all be soldiers of valor—the people of uniform serving our country around this globe today deserve our utmost thoughts and prayers. They deserve our memories on this cherished holiday in this great nation—MEMORIAL DAY. It is truly a day to remember our fallen comrades who gave the ultimate gift for our freedom and the freedom of others—their life, their liberty and their pursuit of happiness.
Valor is a word that comes from the old Latin term valere, meaning to be strong, stoutness of heart and bravery in battle.
I think all of us are connected somehow, someway to those people of valor who have been strong in the wars our nation has fought in.
This is why we are here today. It is because of valor. It is because of the strong, stoutness of heart. Whether we are visiting a small soldier’s grave in the country or musing through Fort Logan National Cemetery; whether we are at the shrine tomb built for the Unknown Soldier, or touring the countless graves at Arlington, Virginia we are there because we are mystified and so inspired by valor.
In the sacred scriptures we read, “Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13 RKJV).
My father at 83 years of age carries a piece of shrapnel near his heart from World War II; surgeons would not remove it for fear it would kill him.
My late grandfather, Ernest Finklea, lived for 14 days without food during our conflict in France in World War I. Somehow he survived the starvation, and escaped the enemy’s fire.
Valor is that bravery of young men and women who have stained history and time with their sweat, blood and tears on the battlefield of foreign soil—bringing hope, freedom and peace to those who have been abused and imprisoned by hate and oppression.
Valor is the picture of American Soldiers and their quest to free other nations as well as our own from terrorists, demagogues, rogue leaders, and evil people who ascend to a ruling power they should have never known.
Valor is the soldier’s commitment to mankind and his desire for a freer, happier, and safer world in which to dwell in. It is more than just a word, more than just a thought; true valor cannot stay upon a printed page in a library or encyclopedia of thought—true valor is alive, it is moving and magical and memorable.
People who have died for our freedom have given us the essence of the meaning of valor. When the Wall, The Viet Nam Wall replica came to Colorado some years ago I placed my fingers as many of you did, upon the names of those soldiers of valor who I knew that died in this lengthy engagement of war.
To me valor speaks. It is a word that means bravery at it highest. The soldier who gives everything is the true hero. When some Americans defect, and turn from their responsibility as a citizen of this great country, there are those who are ready and willing to give their very lives for our freedom. What a contrast! What valor!
Winston Churchill once declared, “Without courage, all other virtues lose their meaning.”
For those of you who stand before me on this Memorial Day and have lost a family member, a friend or even a fellow comrade in war you know the meaning of valor. You may only carry a small picture in your wallet of that soldier, or have a photo by your bed, but you know the power and strength behind this simple but awesome word—VALOR!
At the National Iwo Jima Memorial there are six young men raising a flag. Their names were:
Harlan Block, an all-state football player, who enlisted in the Marines along with all the graduating seniors in class. He is the one placing the pole in the ground. He was only 21 years of age. He never made it back home—he died with his intestines in his hands.
Rene Gagnon, an 18 year old lad who carried a picture of his girl friend in the top of his helmet. He, like many of those who fought on this remote Pacific Island was only a kid—most of the soldiers who fought and/or died there were only 17, 18, or 19 years of age.
Sergeant Mike Strank, known by his platoon as the ‘old man.’ He was 24 years of age. He ignited the idea in his platoon that the flag needed to be raised on this island if they were going to give their lives there for the emancipation of others.
Ira Hayes. He was from the Pima Native-American Tribe from Arizona. He never accepted the thought of being a hero. At the White House when he was honored by President Truman he asked, “How can I feel like a hero when 250 of my buddies hit the island and only 27 of us walked off alive?” He felt that the true heroes were those soldiers of valor who gave all they had-their lives.
Franklin Sousley He was from Hilltop, Kentucky. He died on Iwo Jima at the age of 19.They still talk about how his mother screamed and cried all night when she learned about her fallen son.
John Bradley, from Antigo, Wisconsin. He was a medic. He held the hand of many young soldiers who died in valor. In all over 7,000 Marines died on this island—the worst battle in the history of the Marine Corps.
Today as you visit this Memorial you will see the largest bronze memorial in the world—The Iwo Jima War Memorial.
I find it most unique that the creator of this bronze memorial has 13 hands raised as the American flag is being positioned on the Mt. Suribachi on this remote Pacific island.It was later learned by those who caught this mystery that the man who made the statue said the 13th hand represented the hand of God.
No wonder Irving Berlin wrote those timeless lyrics:
GOD BLESS AMERICA
While the storm clouds gather far across the sea,
Let us swear allegiance to a land that’s free,
Let us all be grateful for a land so fair,
As we raise our voices in a solemn prayer.
God bless America,
Land that I love.
Stand beside her, and guide her
Thru the night with a light from above,
From the mountains, to the prairies,
To the oceans, white with foam
God bless America, My home sweet home.
Together on this Memorial Day in Elbert County, Colorado we are standing among the dead.But we are also standing among those who have shown the power and lasting legacy of men and women of uniform who have given the ultimate gift to all of us—their sacred valor in death.
Speech given at Elbert County Veteran’s Rally, Elbert Colorado, May 26, 2008.
Down the road ...
Ronnie Johnson
I Messed Up Badly© 2008
By Ronnie Johnson
Grace is for that person who has at some point
in life been sinful, disobedient, arrogant, self-assertive,
sneaky, and wayward at times—He-e-e-e-y! Wait a minute!
—Jason Lloyd
It was a cold day in May in colorful Colorado. I was speaking at a veterans rally. With many people on hand at this outdoor event I was intrigued by the Scouts who were attending this rally and their Troup Leader.
When one of the boys one the program came up to play taps I could not imagine how he would do so in such cold, damp weather. But he heisted his bugle up to his mouth and began to play. As he pressed his lips against this cold piece of metal I thought to myself, “His lips may get stuck on that horn,” it was so frigid upon that cemetery hill.
He began the taps. However, right in the middle of his playing, his horn went terribly flat. I can’t read music and know very little about music, but I can tell when someone is ‘way off.’ And he was. It was like someone bursting a big balloon. He himself had to stop momentarily to get back on tune.
In his boyish and innocent way however, he turned to his Troup Leader, then blurted out, “I messed up badly.”
As I stood there before many grown men and women who had served in past wars and gone through rigorous military training I thought to myself, “Do they really think much about such a small blunder with all the wars, sweat, blood and tears they’ve witnessed in the past? Do they care if this innocent child messes up badly? With what they personally have seen battlefields and in real warfare, really, what is a little blooper to them?
The child was so darn honest. He could not have given a more honest and noble confession in the presence of all those distinguished military people dressed in their various colors of military service.
I love those words of King David. He did everything wrong. He sinned before God and mankind. He messed up real badly. But somehow in his heart he came right back to God his Creator and Maker, and admitted openly his stupid mistakes.
For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me.
Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight…
Psalm 51: 3, 4a (KJV).
People hate their blunders, their mistakes and their guilt. But even more so, people hate to admit they are wrong. I do.
I think as God looked down upon this child he saw an honesty that all mankind needs to see, and be. “I messed up badly.” We all do. “We have all like sheep have gone astray and gone our own way,” the Bible teaches.
Messing up is one thing, but admitting that we mess up is another. I am convinced that the way to God’s own heart is through our true confession. We are flesh, he is Spirit. We are weak, he is strong. We are man, he is God. We are inadequate, he is all-sufficient. We are sinners, he is the Savior.
If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
1 John 1:9 (KJV).
I do not believe that anyone totally understands God. Of course, we don’t. God is found through acceptance, faith. The just shall live by faith. I also do not believe that anyone can even come close to fathom God’s rich, supernatural grace and mercy. When he pardons, the books are close. The slate is completely and totally clean. The sin is blotted out forever. Grace vetoes guilt’s powerful legislation.
When we pardon someone who has wronged us however, we still hold that little piece of grudge and resentment in our hearts. We never get over our hurts and wrongs—NEVER!
But God’s grace covers all wrongs—all wrongs! Even for a boy who fouls up on a cold, rainy May day upon a cemetery hill with his little bugle. Those horrible keys or notes he played just may have been the best part of all. That was a slice of humanity at its best. That was a perfect picture of who you and I really are.
Why? Because everyone of us can identify with that child’s admission, “I messed up badly.”
Down the road ...
Ronnie Johnson
