Blooms In Memoriam

Memorial Day: 

A federal holiday in the United States for remembering the people who died while serving in the country's armed forces. 

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I recently got a text from a dear friend that reminded me that we all fight and serve a kingdom much more than the U.S. 

Let me illuminate what I mean. 

We humans live and die for a cause that is so much more than fighting in other countries for freedom. 

We humans live and die for a cause that is so much more than our own peace and prosperity. 

We humans life and die to bring about God's kingdom.

Now, we may or may not be warring against physical forces, 

but we all face and must fight against spiritual forces in our daily lives. 

There are those of us who have lost loved ones in that cause, 

or even know beloved friends and family on the front lines of this ongoing war. 

 I haven't lost a brother in the armed forces fighting for the United States of America. 

I have, however, lost a brother who was fighting to bring hope and the good news of the Gospel to those around him. 

We all live and die for the cause of God's glory.

With these thoughts and more rushing through my mind, 

I've been focusing on what it is to lose, to say goodbye, to let go. 

All the while wondering what it is to continue the fight.

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In relation to all this, I was privileged to venture on a glorious hike to the TWA Flight 260 crash sight in the Sandias today and used the opportunity to sit and ponder my wandering thoughts.

The crash site, for those who aren't aware, is a memorial for the 13 passengers and 3 crew members that passed away when, on February 19th, 1955, a 4-0-4 Martin plane crashed into the side of the mountain due to low visibility and an off-course may-day. 

As you hike upwards, 

this is first sign of anything amiss in the foothills, 

below the massive cliff face,

a haunting message: 

It's hard to ignore what happened.

There, in the seemingly peaceful yet rugged terrain of the Sandia Mountain range,

a terrible tragedy happened 63 years ago.

It was not a war, not by any stretch. 

Not even a battle - but there are definitely scars.

There were investigations and questions and conspiracies.

But, most potently, there was grief and the knowledge of un-ignorable loss.

There were 16 souls. Gone. 

No longer able to fight for life or freedom or hope.

It's a sobering sight, to see the shrapnel of the leftover fuselage. 

There is a seat, lodged in the ground, untouched since. 

Sitting among the wreckage, I felt many emotions. 

Knowing I couldn't go back in time and change anything. 

Knowing that 63 years from now, 

my kids will probably visit this place 

and everything will be the exact same.

And yet. Not at all the same.

Those 16 lives meant something, they still have a message.

Their story is not done being told.

Their lives did matter. They still do matter.

As I sat pondering, I glanced around and noticed this…

And this…

And even this…

There are blooms, alive and well, amidst the pain of that place.

There is beauty in dirt, growing and thriving, even now.

I love that.

I love how, even in the midst of hurt and hurtful memories, there is life.

The fight is there, every day battles we must face, but there is hope.

Perhaps, out lives are more full of shrapnel that we can ever believe can ever be healed.

Perhaps our lives are marked by overwhelming wreckage and broken parts.

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But…

Perhaps, we can try to remember those who have gone before.

Perhaps, we can remember those who lived their lives fully, 

We can remember them, those who bloomed in the midst of hardship.

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I want to do that.

I want to keep fighting.