The Transformative Power of Love and Forgiveness

"Not long after sunrise on a Sunday in December, a pilot guided a small plane over...the northern tip of Oahu Island...Far above (Pearl Harbor) the pilot counted eight battleships, the Pacific Fleet's full complement... The pilot's name was Mitsuo Fuchida...Behind Fuchida, 180 Japanese planes peeled away and dove for Oahu. On the deck of the Arizona, the men looked up."

So begins Laura Hillenbrand's account of the attack on Pearl Harbor in her book Unbroken a chronicle which she herself describes as "A World War II story of survival, resilience, and redemption." Though the focus of the book is not upon December 7 and the attack on Pearl plays a supporting role in the larger context of the story Hillenbrand relates to her readers, I can think of no better tribute to the men who were lost 70 years ago this morning then the story of Olympic runner and WWII Bombardier Louis Zamperini.

Unbroken is indeed a story of survival, resilience, and redemption. After missing out on the race he wanted in the 1936 Olympics in Berlin, Zamperini had set his sights on Tokyo where he hoped to have a second chance. Fate, the Empire of Japan, and Nazi Germany conspired against him, however, and his Olympic dreams came to an abrupt end following the invasions of Poland and China and subsequent cancellation of the 1940 Olympic Games. As a result of seeing his dream of running in a second Olympics fade away Zamperini redirected his passion into the defense of his country and began training to be a bombardier in the US Army Air Corps. The story of Unbroken relates a stirring account of the incredible trials and atrocities that Louie went on to face, first at the mercy of the Pacific Ocean, and then at the hands of the Empire of Japan, in particular the merciless and domineering grasp of Mutsuhiro Watanabe, one of the most notorious of Japan's war criminals and more commonly identified by his nickname, "The Bird."

As I read the account of what Louie went through I was overwhelmed with simultaneous feelings of admiration for Louie and anger at the Japanese. I would have left the book maintaining this anger had it not been for the most profound and moving element of Louie's story, which comes near the end of the book when Louie attends a revival led by Billy Graham. For years after the war Louie had been consumed by rage, despair, and a profound passion of vengeance, toward The Bird in particular. At the close of the sermon Graham gave an altar call and Louie arose from his seat intending to flee from the tent and wallow in his anger. Instead, when he reached the aisle he found himself engulfed in memories and his feet led him, not in retreat, but rather toward the altar. The following day Louie left home with his old military issue bible and began reading it while sitting under a tree in a local park. It was in this moment, combined with his experience the night before, that the true transformation of the story occurred.

"Resting in the shade and the stillness, Louie felt profound peace. When he thought of his history, what resonated with him now was not all that he had suffered but the divine love that he believed had intervened to save him. He was not the worthless, broken, forsaken man that the Bird had striven to make of him. In a single, silent moment, his rage, his fear, his humiliation and helplessness, had fallen away. That morning, he believed, he was a new creation."

There was something more profound, deeper, and more meaningful than pain, loss, and destruction, and in the end this something more is what came to control the life of Louie Zamperini.

Louie's story is not unique. There are many other accounts of hate and misunderstanding resulting from the Japanese treatment of prisoners during WWII turned into love and affection through the redemptive power of God's love. Interestingly these stories are not restricted only to those who suffered at the hands of the Japanese, but also to the Japanese themselves. One of the most potent examples is that of the young Japanese Captain mentioned in the opening lines of this account, the man who was responsible for the coordination of the entire aerial attack on Pearl Harbor, the man who gave the command to drop the bombs on that fateful day in December, Captain Mitsuo Fuchida.

As was the case for many of his Japanese compatriots, allied outrage concerning the Japanese treatment of POWs was inexplicable for Fuchida. Under the Bushido code that typified the Samurai tradition of Japan, revenge toward a captured enemy was not only permitted, but was a responsibility in order to restore one's honor. After encountering stories of American kindness toward captured Japanese soldiers and seeing the anger of the allied nations toward Japan for their actions during the war, Fuchida embarked on a journey to try and understand why anyone would treat their enemies with such love and forgiveness.

This journey ultimately led Fuchida to a New Testament where he encountered the story of the crucifixion of Christ. The words Jesus spoke from the cross, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do" (Luke 23:34) arrested his heart and became the catalyst that would transform his life.

Fuchida went on to become a Christian evangelist, traveling throughout the United States to tell the story of a love that has the power to change human hearts. His forgiveness of his enemies extended so far, in fact, that he became a United States citizen in 1966. Among the many places where Fuchida spoke after the war was the Peninsula Bible Church in Palo Alto, California, where he stayed at the home of Alison's grandparents.

One of his last actions as president of the United States was a presidential proclamation, delivered on December 5, 2008 by George W. Bush, authorizing the World War II Valor in the Pacific National Monument, which encompasses the whole expanse of the many battles fought between the Americans and Japanese in the Pacific and includes the final resting place of the USS Arizona in Pearl Harbor. http://www.nps.gov/valr

The Arizona remains the centerpiece of the monument, lying only 25 feet beneath the surface as an enduring underwater memorial dedicated to the honor and sacrifice of not only the 1,177 servicemen who went down with her, but all Americans who fought, suffered, and died in the fight against Japan. To this day the Arizona continues to bleed engine oil, a poignant reminder of the blood that was spilled 70 years ago. But the Arizona, like Fuchida and Zamperini, is a symbol, not only of pain and death, but also of new life and transformation. Despite the leaking oil the sea has taken over the Arizona, transforming her into an reef filled with marine life. This great symbol and loss and sacrifice has become the progenitor of new life and greater purpose.

This is a day of remembrance for those who paid the ultimate sacrifice 70 years ago this morning, and in the ensuing battle for the soul of the world. But let us not only remember the pain and the sorrow, but rather look also to the new life and transformation wrought by love and forgiveness.

Both Fuchida and Zamperini were men whose lives were intimately tied to the chaos that reigned in Pearl Harbor. Each was consumed by hate and a thirst for vengeance, and each was transformed by the loving power of the cross and forgiveness.

Let us remember their stories this day and join with them in partnering with God to bring his kingdom here to earth and bring about the redemption of his creation.

The mistreatment Louis Zamperini suffered at the hands of the Japanese meant that he would never compete in the Olympics again, but it did not mean that he would not run in them.

In 1998 the Winter Olympics were held in Nagano Japan. The man selected to run the torch through the former Japanese POW camp of Naoetsu (one of the most notorious, and the final location where Louie was imprisoned) was none other than Louis Zamperini.

"On the morning of January 22, 1998, snow sifted gently over the village once known as Naoetsu. Louis Zamperini, four days short of his eighty first birthday, stood in a swirl of white beside a road flanked in bright drifts...At last it was time. Louie extended his hand, and in it was placed the Olympic torch. His legs could no longer reach and push as they once had, but they were still sure beneath him. He raised the torch, bowed, and began running. All he could see, in every direction, were smiling Japanese faces. There were children peeking out of hooded coats, men who had once worked beside the POW slaves in the steel mill, civilians snapping photographs, clapping, waving, cheering Louie on, and 120 Japanese soldiers, formed into two columns, parting to let him pass. Louie ran through the place where cages had once held him, where a black-eyed man had crawled inside him. But the cages were long gone, and so was the Bird. There was no trace of them here among the voices, the falling snow, and the old and joyful man, running."


http://www.nps.gov/history/history/online_books/npswapa/gallery/album13.htm

Summer of a Hundred Bears

The transition has officially come to pass. I write to you this morning from my new home in McLean, VA having departed from Shenandoah National Park for the last time. I am once again officially unemployed, and am scheduled to depart for Thanksgiving in Arizona later today. When I return to Virginia on November 30 I return in hope that congress will have done something about the budget and that progress will have been made to bring me back into the folds of the park service. I also return to enter into the final 45 day countdown before the wedding. The pieces continue to fall into place to bring that day into reality and now that I am back in civilization it will make it significantly easier to finish the puzzle of wedding preparation.

I am certainly in quite a different place now than I was a year ago as I prepared to finish the last few weeks on the National Mall. Life can change pretty fast.

The eight months I spent in Shenandoah were filled with adventure, exploration, disturbingly stupid and odd questions from visitors, and quite a lot of hiking and American Black Bears.


I learned a great deal about Black Bears this summer as they were one of the most common subjects of questions from visitors as well as the centerpoint of one of the terrace talks I developed. But I did more than simply learn about them. I also had the wonderful opportunity to observe them in the wild in a myriad of different situations. I saw young bears, old bears, male bears, baby bears, mother bears, and Smokey Bear (okay, that was in a video, but I did see him in the park!) All told it was a rather productive bear summer.

Prior to this year I had never had a confirmed bear sighting in the wild. In the eight months that I spent in Shenandoah National Park I spotted a total of 102 bears in all sorts of different situations. Amongst my favorite sightings was the mother bear descending a tree holding her four cubs to chase away a juvenile bear, a bear flipping rocks to search for food in a stream, a bear up in a giant oak tree out on tiny limbs in pursuit of acorns, and the bear I saw traipsing through my "backyard" out my bathroom window. I'd say I improved my bear average a bit this summer!

I also did a great deal of hiking. My most notable accomplishment was completing the 101 miles of the Appalachian Trail that lie within Shenandoah National Park. It was in a lot of sections, but I officially traversed every inch of those 101 miles. I added to that an additional 241 miles of different trails within the park for a total of 342 of the 516 miles of hiking trails that lie within the park. I also doubled up on a lot of the trails and hiked several of them several times. The total mileage that I hiked in Shenandoah this summer comes out at greater than 485 miles.

It was a wonderful opportunity to see and experience the backcountry of the park in a manner unprecedented in my life up to this point. I backpacked in for an overnight trip three different times and spent countless hours on the trails, sometimes in an official ranger capacity, but much more often in my off hours. Considering that nearly every weekend was spent traveling to DC or elsewhere with Alison I feel pretty good about my final tally for the summer!

It is amazing how much things change in a relatively short distance. Last Saturday I made the final trip from Shenandoah back to the DC area and the very next morning I drove from our new home in McLean in to Alison's house in order to go to church. In a matter of a couple of hours I had traveled from a wilderness park to our nation's capitol.
 
It takes about 25 minutes to drive from McLean to Alison's house on Capitol Hill in DC. That journey takes me along the Potomac River on the George Washington Memorial Parkway (itself a national park unit) and passes within sight of memorials to seven US presidents (Theodore Roosevelt, Lyndon Johnson, John Kennedy, Abraham Lincoln, Franklin Roosevelt, George Washington and Thomas Jefferson),  Robert E. Lee, and (now) Martin Luther King Jr. Also viewable
(amongst others) are Arlington National Cemetery, the National Cathedral (still being repaired after the August earthquake), memorials to the Navy, Coast Guard, Marine Corps, and Air force, the Pentagon, the Supreme Court building, the Library of Congress, and the United States Capitol. Those are some rather significant sights along the route to church!

We know not what the days ahead will hold, but we know that we are living our lives to the full, in humble thanksgiving for the many blessings that the Lord has lavished upon us.

Celebrate this Thanksgiving holiday in dangerous wonder!

The Final Countdown

The final countdown has begun. We have officially moved into the closing chapter of my time here in Shenandoah. I have exactly two weeks left, ten days of work, and then I am finished. My official housing checkout and inspection is tomorrow morning so we have been doing a lot of cleaning (stove, oven, fridge, windows, bathroom, etc) in order to get things up to scratch.

Nearly eight months have passed since I first arrived here, having little idea what to expect and uncertain what life would be like here in Shenandoah. It has turned out to be quite the adventure and I am sad to see it coming to an end. It has been hard to say goodbye to the many people who have already left, especially since  I still don’t know what comes next, but I have been striving to enjoy these last weeks as much as possible.

There has certainly been no shortage of unique experiences, both within the park, and without, since last I wrote. There is much in the area surrounding the park that I have not been able to explore since I have gone into DC nearly every weekend. A week and half ago Alison and I decided to help change that and joined family friends from her church in California in a grand adventure into the southern Shenandoah Valley.

Much of the trip was spent in Lexington, a charming community at the southern terminus of the valley that features two universities and significant connections to some of the most famous officers who served in Confederate forces during the Civil War. We visited the home where Stonewall Jackson and his wife lived when the war began, and from whence Jackson set off for war in 1861, never to return except for his funeral. We also visited the cemetery where he is interred and ate lunch along the cemetery wall before exploring the history lying inside its gates. We saw his horse, Little Sorrel, as well as the raincoat he was wearing the night he was mortally wounded. Both of these items were on display at the Virginia Military Institute, where Jackson taught natural philosophy and artillery prior to the war. Also in Lexington is Washington and Lee University where Robert E. Lee served as president from shortly after the war until his death a few years later. We saw his tomb in the university chapel, as well as that of his beloved warhorse Traveler.  Also housed in that chapel is the Charles Wilson Peale portrait of Washington as a young colonel in the Virginia Militia during the French and Indian War, the first portrait of Washington ever to be painted, and the only rendition we have of him prior to his role as commander of the Continental Army.

It was a region I have long wished to visit and I was certainly enraptured by all the history surrounding us and could have spent much more time in the area, but we had one more stop to make, this one concerning history of a different century. Our final historical site of the day was the Woodrow Wilson birthplace and Library, thus taking us from civil war to war on an international scale. This destination also marked the third (along with Truman in May and Hoover in June) presidential library/birthplace that Alison and I have visited this year.

Two days later (on Friday) I left the visitor center at 4:00 to walk over to the campgrounds to talk to the rangers there because they were not answering their phone and discovered that it had begun to snow. It didn’t stop until about 2:00 the following afternoon, blanketing the mountain for nearly 24 hours and depositing 10 inches of the fluffy white stuff upon us. That made for quite an interesting weekend!  The three of us who are still living here in Big Meadows  walked over to the visitor center on Saturday morning and ran it for the day since no one else could get in. Both lodges and the campgrounds were quite full Friday night so there were a lot of people trying to leave on Saturday after having that much snow dumped on them. That created all sorts of problems, since many of these people were not used to driving in the snow and quite a few of them did not listen and follow instructions which resulted in cars stuck all over the place due to people trying to get out before roads had been properly cleared. They ultimately evacuated everyone in the lodges and escorted them out of the park in a convoy following snowplows off the mountain. It was quite a day to be listening to the radio!

The drive fortuitously reopened just in time for me to depart for Washington on Monday, allowing me to both visit Alison and to see our new home for the first time. We officially took possession of the place and received keys on Tuesday evening and began moving stuff in right away. It had already begun to take shape as uniquely ours and will continue to do so over the next few weeks as I move the rest of my stuff from here in the park and we craft it into our new home. In addition to moving things in we christened the house by eating chinese food and playing skip bo and battleship on the dining room table that we resurfaced earlier this summer.

The excitement of the new home was marred a bit by the fact that brakes in my truck gave out Wednesday night, creating a rather expensive hassle that we will have to continue to deal with this week. But we certainly still enjoyed meeting the family that lives above us as well as their big fat black lab Buddy and one of the two cats.

My animal encounters this week were not limited only to house pets either. The deer are just moving into the rut, which means the bucks are displaying in the meadow. Then today as I was hiking on the AT I came around a corner and spotted a mother bear and her cub searching for acorns. They were not concerned about me being there so I was able to watch them forage for about ten minutes. Just as I was leaving I became aware of the presence of a third bear which had just come out of a nearby grove of trees and was moving toward the other two. This one was a male, so I am reasonably certain I had stumbled across the famous trio of mama, papa, and baby bear with whom Goldilocks has such a troubling relationship.

So as I enter into the final days here in Shenandoah and begin to transition to a new chapter living in McLean, VA I am reminded of the diversity of opportunities available to us in life and of the importance of training your eyes to recognize them. You never know what might be waiting for you around the next bend in the trail.

Finding New Life in the Beginnings of Tradition

Life is pretty uncertain these days and sometimes hardly seems like life at all so much as continued existence with little direction as to the way ahead, but then divine moments remind me that life is all around me if I have the eyes to see it and that there is indeed direction behind it.  Today officially marks the beginning of my final four weeks at Shenandoah National Park. My time here has gone rather quickly. It is hard to believe that I have been here for seven months. Soon I will be leaving, possibly never to return in the capacity of park ranger. My future with the Park Service after November 19 remains completely unknown. I have now sent out 93 applications for different positions with the Park Service since I began here at Shenandoah and have gotten nowhere with any of them. While that is certainly disheartening I also continue to believe that God has a plan and that the right door will open when it needs to. Apparently it is not yet time for me to see that door! The themes discussed in my last email have certainly continued to be true these last two weeks.

The masses of visitors here in the park have only increased, making for some very long days and also some rather interesting conversations with people who fail to grasp some pretty basic concepts such as the difference between left and right or north and south. A particular favorite occurred yesterday when a man came up to the desk and asked me if the bears were still there. I was at a loss as to what he was asking until I realized that he had looked at the sitings log and someone had mentioned seeing bears a few miles up the road earlier in the day. I went on to inform him that I was unaware of the precise position of every bear in the park, but that they usually were not inclined to stay in the same exact location for an extended period of time. He seemed quite out of sorts regarding this response. That is but a single example of a torrent of such visitors that we have faced in these last few weeks.

At the same time it also continues to be true that little nuggets of wonder arise amidst the repetitive collective stupidity. Such nuggets as the conversation I had with a lady this morning about the development of the Park Service and the ideas that lie behind it, or the gentleman who came in to stamp his passport, adding to his collection of National Park sites he has visited, a collection that currently numbers 386 out of 394 National Park units. I feel like I go to National Park sites with some regularity but I currently have just under 100 units that I have visited myself.

In the midst of the many hundreds of people I have spoken to these past two weekends appeared two couples that were particularly special. Both last weekend and this one of my former co-workers on the National Mall and her husband/boyfriend (both of whom I also know) suddenly appeared unexpectedly on the other side of the desk.  It was great fun to see a familiar park service friendly face amidst the sea of needy and demanding visitors.
Though it was certainly fun to see those faces, it was another face appearing in the visitor center that brought a special kind of joy to me last Monday, the face of my fiancé who had come out to the park to visit and continue one of our newly forming fall traditions.

Among the many activities we found ourselves engaged in last fall were three that stood out as ones we wanted to make a point to repeat. We succeeded, not without some difficulty, in doing each of the three again this year. In so doing we have begun to lay the groundwork for traditions in our new life together even before we are actually married. The first special event came on October 1 when we attended the National Apple Festival in Pennsylvania, like last year consuming all sorts of wonderful apple products (apple sausage, apple cider, apple butter, apple sauce, and apple fritters) as well as branching out this year into sweet potato fries and Wild Bill’s old fashioned soda. It was great fun despite rainy skies and missing the tractor square dancing that we witnessed last year.

Sadly the water filled skies, though not stopping us from enjoying the apple festival, did preclude the possibility of us completing the second fall tradition that night, the largest corn maze in the state of Maryland. Not to be deterred we came up with an alternate plan and last Friday I drove from Virginia, Alison drove from DC, and we met in Maryland, successfully completing all 18 checkpoints in the maze after watching the third transformers movie projected on hay bales. It was absurdly muddy so we emerged a little browner than when we began our journey, but it was well worth the dirt and the late arrival back in the park that night.
Then this past Monday Alison arrived in the park and we spent the next few days enjoying the fall color here in Shenandoah, thus fulfilling our third fall tradition for the year. This time we had her VW convertible bug, which we drove all the way to the southern entrance to the park and onto the blue ridge parkway where we stopped for a picnic, a visit to a historic farmsite, and a game of checkers on the front porch of the farmhouse.

 We have decided that we want to continue to take part in each of these three activities every year that we are in the area, one in each of the three nearest states to Washington DC.

Even as we have striven to enjoy fall here in the mid atlantic we have continued to make wedding related plans and decisions and also try and establish what is needed for us to officially began life together on January 14.

By far the most exciting development in that quarter is that we officially have a place to live. We found a basement apartment in McLean, VA, right across the river from DC underneath a beautiful house in a beautiful neighborhood. The attached picture is of that house (the others are of the apple festival). It seems like an ideal situation for us, especially because the rent includes all utilities, internet, and cable, so we know exactly how much we will need to pay each month. I will begin moving things into our new home when we take possession on November 1 and will officially move in when I leave the park next month. Alison will join me when we return from the west coast as a married couple.

So in spite of the unknown and uncertainty we are finding new life amidst the beginnings of traditions that will hopefully last for years to come. 

Colored by the Tapestry of the Divine

Fall has officially arrived in Shenandoah National Park, and with it a veritable torrent of leaf peepers, journeying to the park in hopes of experiencing the kaleidoscope of color that is fall in the mountains. This sudden influx of visitors (particularly evident on this holiday weekend) has provided a wealth of opportunities to see the human spirit itself in vivid color in hues that are sometimes surprising, sometimes disturbing, and sometimes inspiring.

Congress has once again failed to pass a budget, tabling the issue until November 18, at which point they may or may not actually do something about it. That, in turn, has once again left me in the lurch. No decision can be made concerning possible positions on the Mall until that happens, and the outlook for other positions currently lies somewhere between grave and dire, despite the 87 that I have applied for. Shenandoah is expecting a 5% budget cut next year, which translates into at least two less positions in the interpretive division than were fundable this past year, which does not bode well for me as the newest member of the staff.

In addition to budgetary concerns the park also just gained a new chief of interpretation who is talking about reorganizing things, which could directly impact whether or not I could even be hired for the same position next year, much less move into a role where I could do more interpretive programming.

Alison and I have been steadily attempting to get things done in preparation for the wedding, connected travel, and our lives afterwards, but even as we check one thing off the list it seems as though two more items find their way onto it. We have been doing a lot of searching of late, attempting to locate a place where we can live after we get married, largely without success. Nearly everything is out of our price range, and the one particularly promising lead of a basement apartment in Alexandria fell through when the tenants living above the unit rejected us as a married couple, preferring instead a single individual.

It is in times such as these that faith becomes clearly evident in the way we live our lives. I am surrounded by a multitude of emotions, thoughts, complications, issues, and concerns, and it would be easy indeed to be overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it all and to lose sight of the beauty, wonder, love, grace, and touches of the divine that are woven into the fabric of our lives with equal, if not greater, potency.

The sheer stupidity and ignorance of the masses can indeed be disheartening. Sometimes I wonder how people even managed to successfully drive to the visitor center and if they have any idea where they are, to say nothing of what a National Park is intended to be. Just today I had one person ask me where he could find the zipline and ropes course, a lady ask me what attractions (such as theaters and rides) were in the park, and another lady completely fail to grasp that the Byrd Visitor Center is named after Virginia Senator/Governor Harry F. Byrd and does not refer to an exhibit about birds, even after three different times of explaining the nomenclature (these being but a few of the many examples that could be given).

But then again there are equally opportunities to be a participant in a divine moment if you have the eyes to see them. Yesterday a woman walked into the visitor center on her 80th birthday, returning to the mountains from whence she had departed with her family at the age of six, 75 years ago when the park was established. She blessed me with several accounts of her and her family’s life here in the mountains including an account of her father and the manner in which he was involved in helping to convince the mountain folk of the value of the park and why they needed to leave, and went on to design much of the park signage while working with the Civilian Conversation Corps right here in Big Meadows.

This afternoon I went out to the front terrace to give a short talk about the American Black Bear, and found myself addressing more than 50 people in what became one of the better interpretive programs I have ever done on a non-historical topic. This program came on the heels of two other notable bear programs given in recent weeks. Last week I pinched hit for one of the interpretive rangers and gave the official bear program up at Skyland (which I am not supposed to be doing, but was asked by my supervisor to do) after which I discovered a male black bear only 200 yards distant from where I did the talk (pictures of which are posted on facebook). The week before I stepped in and gave an impromptu bear talk to a group of high level officials from the Office of Personal Management (the office that all of my applications first go to when I apply for any position in the park service—ie. the people who so often reject me before I get to an actual park official) who were visiting the park.
These were divine moments that transcended the normal routine of life and provided a glimpse into the wonder of the world in which we live.

I experienced a similar moment a couple weeks ago as Alison and I rounded the corner and encountered the magnificent vista of Yosemite Valley lying before us. We could not have asked for a more wondrous day to visit the park and plan out the details of the wedding ceremony and reception.
The visit to Yosemite was but a single piece of our whilrlwind trip to California at the end of September. We drove through a substantial portion of Northern California in a few days, culminating in the visit to Yosemite Valley that resulted in the attached pictures. Upon arriving in San Francisco we drove four hours to Redding for the memorial service of Alison’s Grandmother. That night Alison and I drove from there to Oroville where we spent the night with one of my dearest friends and groomsmen, Andy McCoy and his wife Bonnie. After a quick trip over the Oroville Dam and stop by the fish hatchery to see the multitude of salmon swimming up the fish ladder we headed back to Livermore where we spent several hours with the pastor and his wife, planning out the wedding.
That night we drove down to Fresno so that we could meet with the photographer the following morning before going into the park itself. Altogether a highly successful and productive trip. 
Despite the long list of things that need to be done related to the wedding, much continues to be accomplished, and we are eagerly anticipating the wedding day itself. We finished pre-marital counseling this past week and have nearly finished designing, printing, making, and putting together the wedding invitations. This past Friday marked 99 days until the wedding, so we have finally crossed into double digits!

There are many details (such as where I will be working and where we will be living), that despite my best efforts, we still do not know. That is very difficult for me, but rather than be discouraged by the lack of clarity before us we are instead choosing to let our vision be colored by the tapestry of the divine.

Determining the Course of Remembrance

Ten years ago this morning I awoke to go for an early morning run only a few weeks after beginning life as a college student in San Diego, CA. As I walked down the stairs into the front lobby I was surprised to find several guys in the common room watching what looked to be a disaster movie on tv, a strange occurrence that early in the morning. The oddity of the situation grabbed my attention and I paused to try and determine what they were watching. As I stood there I slowly began to realize that this was no movie; this was live footage from New York showing a flaming gash in the side of the World Trade Center. And then, even as I stood there watching, trying to take in the magnitude of what I was seeing, I was gripped by the image of a second plane striking the second tower. It is a moment I will never forget, an image forever burned into my memory.

There has been much talk and discussion as we have approached the 10 year anniversary of these events. There are many differing perspectives as we stand here now, with ten years of experience with which to judge the events of 9-11-01.  I am writing here this morning to set forth my own humble offering for general perusal.

Tragedies have a way of sticking with you far longer than most anything else in the fabric of human experience. Personal tragedies will often dramatically alter individuals for the rest of their lives. Corporate tragedies have the power to change nations. The attacks of September 11 have proved their power to do exactly that. The nation we live in today is dramatically different than the nation I woke up to ten years ago.

For many of you this is the ninth email that you have received from me on this date. My perspective and thoughts have ranged significantly over those years but the core spirit of reflection has remained the same. Something about this day inspires us to stop and think about what it is that we stand for and what it is that we believe. For what we believe is perhaps the most significant and important aspect of who we are, not only as individuals but as a nation. There is nothing that determines our actions so much as what we believe.

In his recently published book “Love Wins” emergent theologian Rob Bell writes that, “our beliefs shape us and guide us and determine our lives.” In these words Bell joins a chorus of others stretching across centuries of human thought and development who have advocated for the prominent role of belief in shaping the human experience.

There are many ways in which beliefs shape our lives. In September of 2001 many Americans believed that this nation was largely untouchable, that we were divinely destined to prosper and remain at the forefront of the world scene. Ten years later many are questioning those beliefs and considering what it is that both this nation and they as individuals stand for.

We are a nation living in fear of the unknown. That is no more evident than in the new governmental department created in the post 9-11 world, an entity with the sole purpose of protecting the essence of what it means to be American. I refer of course to the department of Homeland Security. One of the more recent innovations to come out of this department is the full body scanner, now conveniently available at an airport near you. To stand in one of those scanners made me feel quite a few distinctive emotions. A sense of deep and abiding security and trust in the safety being provided was not amongst them.

Today we mark the ten year anniversary of the attacks that changed America in the midst of a time of significant recession even as our current president is proposing his plan to pull this country back to a place of great prominence, success, and even envy in the eyes of the rest of the world.  As I listened to the speech he delivered to congress Thursday night I was impressed by the similarity of much of his language to that of his immediate predecessor in the aftermath of the attacks.

Amongst the many statements made by President Bush were the following…

“Terrorist attacks can shake the foundations of our biggest buildings but they cannot touch the foundation of America. These acts shattered steel but they cannot dent the steel of American resolve.”

“America was targeted for attack because we are the brightest beacon for freedom and opportunity in the world and no one will keep that light from shining.”

These were inspiring words. Whatever your opinion of President Bush or President Obama, it is difficult to not appreciate the power of their words. Both have the ability to unify the nation around a principle, especially those principles upon which this nation was founded.

And these principles are worth uniting around. There is little of more value than the ideas of freedom, liberty, equality, and opportunity that were so much a part of the rhetoric of our founding fathers. I believe it is to these principles that both Presidents have so often referenced and even paid homage to. And it is belief in these principles that lies at the very foundation of what this nation is meant to be.

This year marks a notable anniversary for September 11. Ten years is oft recognized as a significant milestone and much is being done to commemorate reaching it. One such event is the dedication ceremony at the newly completed memorial for flight 93 in Shanksville, PA. Alison and I nearly got to visit this memorial earlier this summer, but were sadly unable to stop. I have yet to see it, but when I do it will complete the triad of 9/11 sites (along with ground zero at the WTC and the Pentagon in Virginia) that symbolize the tragic events of that day.

Though I have not walked on the ground where United Flight 93 met its fateful end, I have walked on much other sacred ground in this past year and have come to realize that September 11, 2001 is not the only date marked by a significant anniversary this year.

The world “Anniversary” is one that we often use to commemorate all manner of things from
birthdays and weddings to deaths and national tragedies. Simply defined the word refers to the commemoration and/or celebration of a past event that occurred on the same day of the year as the initial event.  First officially applied to commemorate saints during feasts in the Catholic Church, this concept is one that has been commonly applied in recognition of significant historical events that have helped to formulate and define the fabric of our national identity here in the United States of America. The year 2011 marks a significant anniversary of several such events.

This particular day marks the Decennial (10 year) of the September 11 terrorist attacks, but that is far from the only defining and influential moment or development in the history of the United States being commemorated this year. Among the other especially notable anniversaries celebrated in 2011 are the following… 

This year marks the Semicentennial (50 year) of the establishment of the Peace Corps by President John F. Kennedy, an organization created with a threefold mission to, 1. Help the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained personnel in particular fields, 2. Help promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served, and finally, 3. Help promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.  The people served by American volunteers in participating areas often have a dramatically different opinion of Americans than many others who live outside of this nation.

2011 also marks the Dodranscentennial (75 year) of Shenandoah National Park, where I currently reside. Shenandoah was founded in order to provide easy access to a protected wilderness area for the millions of Americans living in the mid-Atlantic region. It provides both recreational opportunities (I have personally hiked more than 250 miles in the park this year) and a venue for re-creation, in which the spirit can be renewed, rejuvenated, and reborn. 

Often overlooked in our history is the Battle of Tippecanoe, the battle in which Indiana Territorial Governor William Henry Harrison successfully defeated the confederation of American Indians led by Chief Tecumseh in 1811. Marking its Bicentennial (200 year) this year the Battle of Tippecanoe was in many ways the final straw for an American people who had grown increasingly perturbed with Great Britain in the years following the Revolution. When it was revealed that British officers had supplied Tecumseh and his men with firearms and munitions, the already volatile public opinion quickly blamed the uprising of Tecumseh’s forces upon British interference. This battle served as a significant catalyst leading to the American declaration of war against Britain only six months later.
But perhaps the most significant of all the anniversaries being celebrated this year is the  Sesquicentennial (150 year) of the American Civil War, arguably this nation’s single most defining experience. You don’t have to know me long to know that I am a huge nerd when it comes to the Civil War. So it has been of great interest to me to follow the various commemorative events centered upon the 150th anniversary of each battle and campaign. I nearly got to work as a ranger at the 150th anniversary of Manassas this summer but alas, things did not work out. I retain hope that I will get to do so at one of the other battlefields in the next few years.

Each of these anniversaries marks something significant that has helped to shape the character of America and determine what we, as Americans believe in, 9/11 no less than the others. So as we remember those who lost their lives ten years ago this day we would do well to remember what this nation stands for, the ideals it is founded upon, and what it is intended to represent. We would likewise do well to take a moment to go beyond our national identity and reflect upon our own beliefs about this world we live in and the role that God is calling each of us to play. Our beliefs shape us and determine the way we live. Let us believe in something worth the believing, in the loving compassion of a God that desires that all of his creation be reconciled unto Him so that each element might both bring glory to His name and live as it was intended to live, in an existence characterized by freedom, hope, community, and love.  

Beware the Bloody Bard of Bears

This weekend, for all practical purposes, officially marks the end of summer. It is the last major weekend of travel and adventure before Thanksgiving.  The weekend will be little different in terms of what I do as I am working Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, but the number of people I am interacting with in the visitor center is dramatically higher than what it has been recently due to all the extra visitors. So my holiday weekend is being spent serving the American public.

That is not to say that I have not experienced my share of adventure in the last few days. Just last night when I left to ride my bike home from the visitor center the road was shrouded in fog and it was challenging to see much of the way ahead. Whenever I am riding back and forth I look about the trees to see what animals might happen to be in the vicinity. This action most commonly results in sightings of deer, turkeys, or nothing. But last night things were different. As I looked down an access road off the main road I realized I was looking at the snout of an adult male black bear protruding from the trees through the foggy mist. I stopped to watch until he backed up into the trees and disappeared. The rise in excitement that I felt from this experience quickly changed as I made the turn onto the road leading to my house due to the dramatic appearance of a second bear (a bit smaller than the first) standing in the middle of the road looking up at me in great surprise. It made for quite the ride home!

If I were to identify a single word to describe the remainder of this past week apart from bear sightings it would have to be “bloody.” That word would more precisely be applied to Wednesday last, a day marked by distinctly bloody experiences.

At the repeated behest of the Red Cross Alison and I decided to attempt the adventure of donating platelets to be used to treat young children and cancer patients. I have donated whole blood on sixteen previous occasions, but had never donated platelets. It is an entirely different experience.
Alison was unable to donate platelets (but did donate whole blood instead) because they could not identify a good vain in each of her arms, for they require both of one’s arms to donate platelets, one out of which your blood will be sucked, and a second where your blood will be sent back into your body. It was a long and rather uncomfortable experience to sit essentially immobilized (as both of your arms have needles in them and should remain motionless) for two full hours watching  while the majority of your blood is sucked out of your body and then fed into a machine and spun around through a series or tubes  before being returned to you once more less an ever increasing number of platelets which are instead sent to a bag hanging overhead.

I thought that the experience would be easier to recover from than a donation of whole blood since very little blood would actually be lost in the process. I could not have been more wrong. I was so impacted that in the cantina afterwards Alison had to hold a can of juice up to my mouth so that I might drink as I was incapable of taking such action myself with either arm.

I have never experienced anything like the draining of life that was donating platelets. Apparently the human body completely recovers from such a loss within seven days, so I could donate again every week indefinitely. Judging by the lack of life and energy that I am continuing to feel at this moment, that is not going to be happening.  Apparently my body does not react well to the loss of platelets!
The theme of blood continued later that day when Alison and I acquired free tickets to and then attended a splendid production of William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. The actors did a fine job and the performance was both stellar and memorable, especially since we were seated in the second row and felt as though we were nearly on the stage ourselves.

If you are not familiar with the story of Julius Caesar you would, first of all, do well to remedy that failing, and secondly do well to know that a great many people die a violent death. This particular production did not skimp on the fake blood and by the end of the scene in which Caesar was fatally stabbed the white robes of not only Caesar, but also all eight bearers of the knife and Marc Antony were splattered with blood. It was quite a spectacle.Since Wednesday I have had to be especially careful not to injure myself as the blood would flow freely out of my body as a result of the recent diaspora of platelets. I have restricted myself to an electric razor, fearing the results of an unwary nick of a regular one and made a point to attempt to avoid situations in which I might have to wrestle a bear or fight a cougar.

Unlike Caesar my loss of blood (or parts contained therein) will most likely not result in my demise nor change the course of world history. Nor is it likely that anyone (much less Shakespeare since he himself is rather deceased at present) will either write or perform a play about the subject. So I suppose I will have to stick with bear spotting and explaining to people why it is worth planning a trip more than two hours ahead of time so that there is actually a possibility of finding a room or campsite available upon arrival to a national park on Labor Day weekend.