THE HOT SHIRT HUG AND THE LITTLE SEXTON

Those who visit my blog regularly know I am a HUGGER! I believe hugs are a great way to encourage others and let them know you see them as special people. When you hug as many people as I do there is bound to be some humorous interactions. Such was the case yesterday when I went to my credit union to pick up some newly released Arizona State quarters.

I, like some others in line, was not aware that it opened up a half hour later than usual on Wednesdays. I stood with them in the warm sunlight waiting for the doors to open. Finally, 9:30 AM arrived and the doors opened.

As I entered, the branch manager was standing near the corded customer line. I greeted her with a cheerful smile and a hug.

She smiled back and said, “My, your shirt is so hot, is that from standing in the sun?”

I responded, “No it is not from the sun. It is from the warmth that is generated within my heart as I contemplate the sheer pleasure and joy of entering my favorite Credit Union.”

She broke into laughter and replied, “Wow that is the best one I’ve heard today.”

It is fun to interact with others and spread a little sunshine along our paths.

On another note, I have been thinking about the train trip I am going to take back home this fall. This has spurred many memories of growing up in North Troy (Lansingburgh), NY. One of the memories from young boyhood was helping my father take care of the Episcopal Church cemetery. When barely old enough to walk we learned how to trim around the headstones.

Upon dad’s death my next older brother and I (12 years old) took over his job as sextons and church caretakers. It is amazing how the little things like this come back to become memories we cherish. As I reflected about them the following poem took form. . (Please note that the G.A.R. initials stand for Grand Army of the Republic. This was a large group of veterans who organized for comraderie and to fight for the pensions and health care promised to them, their widows, and orphans during the Civil War, but not provided. You can read more about them at: http://www.suvcw.org/gar.htm)

THE LITTLE SEXTON

I learned a lot in the graveyard,
In the days of my youth.
While I trimmed around the headstones,
I learned nuggets of truth.

Remove the grass two inches wide,
Was what my father said,
And cut the grass so nice and neat,
We honor here our dead.

I read words that were well chiseled,
On granite and limestone.
Messages of love depicted,
For those buried alone.

Cherubs were carved on the surface,
Children lay still below.
Parents grieved for their little ones,
They knew would never grow.

Young men gave all for their country,
With honor laid to rest.
Fought in a war between neighbors,
Believed their side was best.

Were carried home from the war front,
Buried beneath the ground.
Their families all stood there weeping,
Hearing the bugle sound.

Brass markers stand by their headstones,
Read simply G.A.R.
It shows how they fought together,
Nursed each other’s scars.

Mothers who died in childbirth,
Buried beneath the sod.
Their husbands now live in torment,
Cursing a silent God.

Three little letters on headstones,
A prayer for those who died.
May they in silence Rest In Peace,
Their loved ones gently sighed.

The headstones sit in somber rows,
Sweet memories they keep.
They testify of bygone lives,
Now buried in the deep.

And when the winter wind doth howl,
Then snow begins to fall.
Blanket of white now covers them,
Lord keeps them one and all.

So as I work to keep their graves,
My heart a blessing feels.
I know that someday very soon,
We’ll meet the God who heals.

I listen for the trumpet’s call,
The dead in Christ shall rise.
We’ll all be caught up with them,
To meet Him in the skies!

All sorrow gone, and no more death,
The tears are wiped away.
The grave has lost its victory,
Our night has turned to day!

I Corinthians 15:55(KJV)O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?

Don E. Cunningham, Author/Poet ©6-10-2008 658