In Flanders Fields and In Our Home

In Flanders Fields the poppies blew; here, they serve to remind us of the sacrificial gift of life that was given for our freedom. In those fields where once young men marched valiantly, only painful memories floating amidst wooden crosses remain. Here, in our home, an eleven year-old girl won't allow their memory to be in vain.

Meghan sobbed throughout the War Memorial service we were viewing on T.V. this Remembrance Day. Cameras scanned face after face of wrinkled and weather-beaten veterans, eyes brimming, hands trembling. Wreaths were laid, children sang, and canons blasted periodically while prayers were raised and words were spoken in this annual funeral-celebration. All of my children were riveted, at times, but it was she, who still knows the pain of loved ones lost, she, who listens to the stories of Canada's past and internalizes them, who shook her head in grief. She threw her arms around me sideways where I sat and I held her awkwardly as she mourned. It's this tender heart that wouldn't let the rest of us turn away from the T.V. for a single minute, pointing us back time and again, when we were distracted. She will do great things for God with that sensitive spirit.

In Flanders Fields, they beg we take up their quarrel with the foe and here, in our home, that baton is received, and in prayer, one girl marches against the real enemy behind every war.

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.