In Flanders Fields the Poppies Blow

May 25, 2014

Dear God,

Good Morning! The birds are chirping and bobbing up and down in the garden baths. I woke up with You on my mind as well as some points from a sermon I heard recently. I grabbed my Bible and read 2 Kings 4, the story of the widow and the oil. Thank you for helping me to remain teachable. Let's chat about my thoughts on that tomorrow. Okay?

So often I read or see something that jogs my memory. Today, I was scrolling through Facebook posts and a story about the poppy caught my eye. All of a sudden, visions of my father coming through the back door, his hands full of poppies, came flooding into my present sense of reality. Each Memorial Day, he would buy poppies for his mother, sister, and our family. We would wear them proudly and remember the soldiers giving their all so that we would know freedom. For many years, my father would pull on his uniform, march in the parade, and be a part of the gun salute at the cemetery. The whole town celebrated in red, white, and blue and veterans selling those poppies were on every corner. My friend, Pam, said she remembered selling them with her mom.

You know me well, Lord. I couldn't just look at the posting of the poppy and not investigate. Google is wonderful! Here ya go: In parts of the front lines in Belgium and France (WWI) when the ground was disturbed by the fighting, the poppy seeds lying in the ground began to germinate and grow during the warm months.

The sight of these vibrant red flowers growing on the shattered ground caught the attention of a Canadian soldier by the name of John McCrae. He noticed how they had sprung up in the disturbed ground of the burials around the artillery position he was in. It was during early May 1915 that he is believed to have composed a poem following the death of a friend. The first lines of the poem have become some of the most famous lines written in relation to the First World War. I am choosing to share the entire poem because it is so beautiful and meaningful this Memorial Day weekend.

In Flanders fields...

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.

~John McCrae

Father God in Heaven, I pray that in the midst of this Memorial Weekend that we all would stop and remember the warriors, the soldiers including the dogs of war, and the fallen. Ease the pain of those who have lost loved ones knowing that they didn't die in vain. For those returning from war with injuries and PTSD, be with them calming their fractured spirits. Help us to celebrate our freedom knowing that it came (and comes) at a high cost. Most of all, Lord, I pray that as our soldiers come home that we embrace them, listen without judging, and let them know they are appreciated and loved. When I was in the Tampa airport, two soldiers boarded the elevator with me. I shook their hands thanking them for their service to our country ... the man, gave me kind of a puzzled look saying, "We are with the British armed forces." Oh, yes, the clue should have been their hats and the British flag patch on their sleeves. No matter ... they are working with our country and deserve a thanks. Jesus, I call upon your holy name to light the dark corners of shame and pain filling them with hope and healing. Amen!

Miss Dottie

NOTE TO READERS:  I've been on the lookout for the Buddy Poppy Flowers and haven't seen any. I think I might just plant a red poppy in honor of my father. Ernest, who served in World War II, my brother, Roger, who served in Viet Nam, and my cousin's son, Greg, who died in Afghanistan. Feeling honored and proud of these men who, in my eyes, stood up to the plate and hit the ball out of the field!!

PS My father was in Belgium when the poppies were in bloom. I wonder if that influenced his love of the poppy? One more question to ask when I get to heaven!!