Our Son


 

Our Son

Leaving Mom and Dad

Going from child to man

A calling he heard

Then a verbal word

He had a very important task to do

He got on the bus, he’s waving too

With Mom  tears streaming from both eyes

Even Dad and sis were saying goodbyes

Their son, her brother was on his way

This was so very important a day

In God they had no choice but trust

That he would be coming back on that bus

And now he is completely out of sight

We love our son with all our might

I know he will do his very best

He will give it all each and every test

And although he may be called to front line

I pray dear Lord keep him safe and let him shine

For we will be hoping to see him one day

Our son who chose the military way.

Written by,

Terry Shepherd

11/11/2013

veterans

 

Return


Walking down the dirty streets, hands in pockets. Kicking a few pebbles to see how far they could go. Paid his debt to the run-down rooming house he had taken up space in the night before.

He’d been transferred home due to a medical injury. A back injury. An actual stupid mistake. Tripped over his own two feet; coming down hard and twisting the wrong direction.

He could still walk but the column in his back was like a bomb getting ready to explode. The wrong direction, and bam, paralysis could be a new word in his vocabulary. From the diagnosis, he was packed and titled useless, and sent home.

Jim had run a way from home once before now being forced to return to his roots. But what roots were there to return to? He had been a kid when he left. He got a girl knocked up and got scared.

His parents said, “marry her” but he didn’t want to. He wasn’t ready to get married, so he ran. He enlisted, he planned to wipe out those bad things he had done and replace them with heroism.

For years he hadn’t given a thought to his past. Now with money in his pocket and nowhere to go he wondered the streets. Walking past his folks home he stopped. Looking at an x-ray of what once was years ago.

He hadn’t stayed in touch with his parents. He didn’t have any real reason. He just wanted to put it all to rest. Pretend it had never existed. The shame he carried of what he had done to that girl’s life haunted him now as he saw himself walking out the front door and heading down the street to see his girl.

He picked up his stride and ended up leaning against the same oak tree that he had first kissed her. That kiss had melted him like warm, gooey, hot fudge running down ice-cream.  He smiled to himself as he thought back to that moment. He wondered whether she still lived around here. Was she married, what happened to the kid?

He mentally kicked himself. What a coward he had been. He should have married her just like his parents said to do. At least he would have known the ending. A tear fell from his eye as he thought of the kid and wondered boy or girl. What did they look like today.

He stood upright and started to leave when a young girl came running out of that house. Long blonde pig tails, slender, a big smile on her face. Could that be her? Did his girl still live here?

He watched her as she skipped down the sidewalk. Where ever she was headed she was happy to be going. When he couldn’t see her anymore he took off walking again. He walked back towards town.

He went into the same doors that he had bought her hamburgers and malts. He sat down in the same booth they had once shared. He stared out the window as he waited for the waitress to come take his order.

Emotional pain was running through his veins. Being shoved back into the past hurt more today than the day he looked around and whispered goodbye to his home town. A voice said, ” do you need a menu?”

He turned towards the voice and looked into the eyes that he once knew so well. Silence was thick as they each had recognition of each other. Taking her waitress cap off and tucking her pencil and pad into her apron she sat down beside him.

The two were the only ones in the room as the world became quiet. They both opened their mouths to speak at the same time.meeting http://youtu.be/iIpfWORQWhU

 

 

 

Pressed Against The Glass


fireworks.jpegPressed Against The Glass

I see  your face

Pressed against the glass

And I play  it over and over

Again as I lay here  bleeding

I can not feel my legs

Not even my arms

But my heart can

Feel you laying

Next to me

That last night

We spent together

And now I lay

Out in the open

Waiting for help

Crying out to you

Hoping you can hear

My words through

The stars that shine

Down on me; my love

If I don’t make it back

Please always know

That I loved you

Until my last breath.

Written by,

Terry Shepherd

07/02/2013

Photograph In My Mind


Soldiers Gather for Twilight Vigil at Fort Hood

Please don’t cry

When I turn a way

For I must go

And this you know

I have to do

What is right for me

I must serve

In the  military

Please dry your eyes

And smile for me

Let me savor

It in memory.

Terry Shepherd

05/03/2013

A PRAYER FOR THOSE LEFT BEHIND


IT IS ALMOST MIDNITE

9/11 Memorial

AND MY HEAD IS BENT

AS I REMEMBER THE DAY

WHERE THOSE PLANES WENT..

A DAY OF WORK

WAS TO BE THE WAY

NO ONE EXPECTED

WHAT HAPPENED THAT DAY..

A PARENT, A FRIEND, AND A CHILD

WERE TAKEN FROM SOMEONE WHO CARED

THE CRIES AND THE GASPS OF THE NEWS

AS THE WORDS LAID OUR HEARTS TO BE BARED..

DEATH BY THOUGHT AND PLANNED MURDER

SHAKES OUR MINDS, STIRS OUR MODE OF CONTENT

IT OPENS OUR EYES TO MAKE US REALIZE

THAT DAYS SHOULD NOT WASTEFULLY BE SPENT..

I AM TAKING THIS MOMENT WHILE ALL IS SO STILL

TO PAY MY RESPECT FOR ALL WHO HAVE GONE BY

MY HEART IS STILL WITH YOU, ALTHOUGH TIME HAS PASSED

THERE WAS NO NEED FOR THIS, AND I STILL WONDER WHY….

GOD BLESS EACH OF YOU, WHO LINGER BEHIND

WHO TAKE ONE STEP AT A TIME EVERY DAY

THAT GOD HAS SHOWED MERCY AND KEPT FAITH ALIVE

MY HEART AND MY PRAYERS ARE BEING SENT YOUR WAY….

AMEN

WRITTEN BY TERRY SHEPHERD

09/11/2012

 

 

Picture And Write It, July 29,2012


He was a warrior in my eyes. A man who never knew the word fear. I had heard from him each month by hand written words, and had his photo sitting by my bed on the night stand. Each night I prayed that God would watch over him and guide him through the day.

My son was always a tough little boy. He was the one when you would check his jean pockets you would  find baby toads still alive, screeching to get back out in to freedom. Stones, dead flowers, and anything interesting could be found in the inside of these pockets.

He was the child of the three I called my own, that would be right there at the precise moment, offering to help carry the groceries in, when you were standing at the front door, with two loaded sacks and yet trying to open the door. He helped his dad in the garage, handing him tools that were needed to fix the car. Mowing the elderly neighbor’s lawn.

He could be found selling lemonade in the front yard of our house, because he wanted so badly a new pair of skates. He was a good kid, never giving us problems or heart aches.

He didn’t care for school much, although he never missed days unless he was really sick. He didn’t want to participate in sports, choir or plays. He would rather learn life by living it.

When he became a teenager, he worked at one of the local grocery stores, bagging groceries, and even though he didn’t have to take them out to the cars or load them into the trunks, many times he did offer his help to frail ones.

Today, he is lying in pain. He can vision help. Aid to come his way by means of God or his buddies. He laid in the sand, the rays of the sun beating down upon him, trying to take the breath from his body. There was no more sweat to be released, and his mouth was dry. In his sleeping moments he could see the water and taste its coolness, splashing it over his head, but when awake, he saw nothing, but brightness and blue skies.

Bugs began their journey over his body, trying to take claim of his soul. He had walked over a booby trap, placed by the enemy, and the purpose of being  left dead and unfound, was being sought. He had lagged behind, a major mistake, from his troop, stopping to try to save a friend’s life, and when he realized he was too late, and had walked six feet from him, the  trap, engulfed him.

The troop did not hear  the small explosion and kept moving forward.  The sergeant was leading  the troop to  make it to the next city on the map by dusk, so they could set up camp.

After they arrived at their new location, one soldier noticed that someone was missing from chow. He went to the sergeant and told him his concerns, and was ordered to immediately return to the path of their travel and find him. He also sent two others in the group, to be of assistance if it was needed.

A sand storm had picked up and it was difficult to see. Beads of sand were hitting the faces and stinging  eyes, but they were not giving up. This was a team, and although they were taught to be tough, their hearts remained soft, and they wanted their member back with them safe and well. No thoughts entered of any tragedy. They were not allowed. Weakness was not a word in the dictionary of this platoon.

It was dark and the only light offered them was the moon and their flash lights. Their ears were keen to any sounds, and their eyes were keen to past  imprints. They stopped once in a while to check their map to make sure they were following the right direction, and kept moving with no breaks in their steps.

The day break of morning fell upon them, and in the skies they could see buzzards flying in circles as they were making plans to land on their prey. This was a sign to the men that they were close.

Up ahead of them lie the wounded soldier. Dried blood attached itself to skin that was showing and to his clothes. The sight was a blur, from lack of fluids and strikes from the sand. He was on his back, unable to flip himself over to protect his face, and he could make out the visions of the buzzards. He prayed in silence for his God to rescue him. Take me home Lord, don’t let me feel the bite of winged birds. Let nature have its way with me, but take my soul home Lord.

The Lord answered his prayer and with in minutes, the three troop members stumbled upon him. They checked his wounds, and told him he was going to be alright. Help had arrived. They didn’t take time to asses his injuries, for their goal was to get him back to the troop.

A letter arrived at our door, informing us our son had been injured, and was being cared for at a military city. It stated that he had been injured by a booby trap, but help had arrived in time.

The mother dropped her letter to the floor and got down on her knees, and with tears of joy streaming from her eyes, she thanked God for watching over her soldier.

Thank you Ermilia for another chance to write for your writing exercise.

http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/07/29/__picture-it-write-36/

Continuation of Picture and Write It July 22, 2012, Part 2


Sophie was standing among other little girls and boys and they were all awaiting for the dance instructor to come in. Parents were fussing with hair and dresses, and shirts, making sure that their child stood out in the crowd and was noticed by the teacher.

The teacher walked in, breezing by the children, paying no notice to any particular child, heading straight to the parents and saying only once, that all parents needed to remove themselves from the floor and take their places in the seats to the back. One by one, each parent left, but not before whispering in their child’s ear, to smile and do their best. In no time at all, the only ones standing were the students and one teacher.

Dahlia looked out over the class and saw some with fingers in their mouths, others acted like they ants in their pants, and couldn’t stand still. Others were seen with tears in their eyes, and one had to use the restroom. She made a sigh and thought to herself what a mess. It was going to take much work to get these children in line.

She cleared her throat, and tapped a wand on the table sitting before her, drawing all eyes upon her. Tears were stopped, and hands were lowered. She asked them to all have a seat on the floor, and the direct order was played out.

Dahlia was an old-time teacher of dance. She had been brought up by two very strict parents. Both of her parents had been in the military, and her home life had been of military style. Rules were made, and not to be broken. If they were, there was a strict punishment to be followed.

Her family moved several times during her life at home, and she never made the attachment of having close friends, like other children did. Dahlia had a bicycle, but was not allowed to ride it anywhere other than the yard. Some days you could almost see the yearning in her eyes, as other children rode by, and she was not allowed to go also.

There was too much to be done to waste time with day dreaming, so playing with dolls was being idle. Dahlia had one doll that she called her own. It was a stiff doll, that would not bend, and refused to be loved and cuddled. It had dark curly hair and blue eyes, and a few freckles on her nose. With stiff posture, Dahlia would imagine the doll dancing and would take her by the head and spin her around and around. She would raise the doll’s arms in the air, to twirl like a ballerina.

Dahlia was allowed play time only when all chores were done. She had to help hang the washing on the line outside of the kitchen window. She helped to wash windows, and scrub the floors. One of her earliest things she was taught, was to cook. She could make biscuits and cook up a fryer chicken. She could even make a great cherry pie, but during these times of training,  her mind would drift to her doll and the ballerina she had created.

When Dahlia was sweeping the floor, she would twirl around the broomstick, using it as a way to balance in order  to try to stand on her toes.  She would try making jumps in the air, mimicking the dancers she watched on her parents black and white television.

Each Saturday night, her parents would tune in one of the three channels they received, and watch a program that was a variety of singers and dancers. If Dahlia had been good that day, she was sometimes allowed to stay up to watch this, as long as she remained quiet and sitting in one spot. She glued her eyes to the dancers and memorized the steps they each took, and envisioned herself doing this also. Her heart would skip beats as she admired the beautiful clothes they wore, and promised herself that one day she would have such beautiful clothes also.

As Dahlia became a teenager, there was more opportunities to read, as the older children were able to enter the school library. She always made sure that she was one of the ones chosen to be able to go browse through the books on library day. She would spend her time gazing at all the titles, and then when it was about time to leave she would  pick out one special book and rent it for the week.

Dahlia did well enough in school, her grades always up to par, but as she matured, she knew with no uncertainty, that she wanted to be a dancer. She made this known to her teacher one day, and the teacher said that if she wanted something bad enough in her life, she should work for it and then obtain it. Dahlia asked the teacher for her help in reaching her goal, and the teacher’s response was positive. She explained to her that the most important thing for the next three years of school was her grades. She explained how any college that taught arts would first look at this.

Dahlia knew she had good grades, but what the teacher impressed on her, was that she needed excellent grades. She was also impressed with the idea of no missing school, adding some subjects to her lessons learned, and to open her mind to the opportunities of the world. Each thing the teacher said, Dahlia’s sponge took in, and she became a determined student.

One Lovely Blog Award


http://danbohmer.wordpress.com

The first thing I notice in my emails is a comment from Dan, that he has nominated me for One Lovely Blog Award. Dan is one of my newest friends here at WordPress, and I already love his words and am so proud of him. He has a nice size family, and he is a military man. The way he talks about his home life, I can tell that his family is very important to him. Please check out the link above and see all that he represents.

You are to say seven things about yourself.

Nominate fifteen others.

Give credit back to the one who nominated you.

I have been having many dreams lately. I have some unfinished business I need to take care of and God is using my dreams to push me forward with this.

Today, is the first day of my outings alone.

I am a Yankee Candle obsessed woman, lilac being my favorite scent.

When my father passed away, the only comfort I received for a long time, was my collection of Christmas trees. I had at that point, fifteen through out the house, all sizes.

I have a class reunion coming up August 11, and I am going to go, but am scared to death of my looks. I have changed too much, but I guess so has everyone else.

I tried playing the daily three lottery for the first time, and I won forty dollars.

I have two racoons in my trees in my yard, that I wish would find new homes.

For my nominations I would like to present them to:

brianwilliamsen.wordpress.com

washedfeet.wordpress.com

newviewfromhere.wordpress.com

Maggie L R
maggiephotgraphy.wordpress.com

terri0729.wordpress.com

Author Thelma Cunningham
http:www.authorthelmacunningham.com

Leon Maiolo
savedbyfaithinchrist.wordpress.com

birdmartin.wordpress.com

stadlerstyle.wordpress.com

longingsend.com

Thank you again, Dan for this beautiful award!