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Today the Army is conducting a memorial service at Fort Hood for those killed last week. Since hearing of the murders, I am still distressed and upset that in a country where people can freely choose love and goodwill, once again someone has chosen hate and evil.

I am ever thankful for the brave security personnel who shot and stopped the shooter. Yet, stand in amazement at the medics who worked to save his life.  I actually told Dale, “Good thing I’m not a medic. I don’t know if I could do that.” I then asked, “What is the point of saving his life? I know the FBI will want to question him to see if it is an organized plot, but is he worth it?”

I find it remarkable that the medics were willing to save the life of their enemy immediately after he gunned down their fellow soldiers. Whether their motivation was duty to save a life that could be saved or the God given ability to love the enemy, I do not know. Either way, to me it shows great character.

Character that I seem to lack during a tragedy and immediately after. For, I do not want to show mercy, kindness, forgiveness, and love. I want the hateful individual to be shown justice, my determination of justice.

I was still struggling with these thoughts as I was sitting and listening to a missionary from South Africa, Charl van Wyk, speak in my Sunday School class. When the rebels were fighting for South Africa, they attacked his church and fired on his people. He fired back and repelled them.

For awhile he was furious at the rebels and refused to forgive them. Then God began to work on his heart. After Charl forgave them, he started a ministry of reconciliation to the very men who fired upon the people of his church. Amazingly, the rebel leader came to Christ and was saved.

Sitting there, I realized once again that I am not the rightful judge. I cannot put myself in God’s place. My righteousness is as filthy rags to God. I don’t know who God will save. I don’t know which heart He will change. Is it possible for God to bring the Fort Hood shooter to salvation? Yes. Will He? I don’t know.

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” Matthew 5:43-45 (NIV)

This is a difficult Christian passage for me, because it wars with my flesh. Can I love my enemy? Yes, but only through Christ who lives in my heart. Love is not a feeling, it is an attitude and an action. I must choose to forgive and to pray and to love.

Five years ago, when we headed overseas to live in Hawaii, our pets did not travel with us.  At the time, the quarantine was long.  Our Siberian Husky, Czar was 12 1/2 and Hawaii would have been a torture for him, so he was given to a friend and ridiculously spoiled for the last year of his life.  Our Ragdoll cat, Magnolia also decided she loved the good life lavished on her by a dear friend.  So, for close to 5 years, we have had no pets.  When you must live as a renter, it is very difficult to keep pets.  It severely limits your choice of places to live.  So, we told the kids that when we returned to the States and owned our home, we would once again get pets.  Dale’s deployment delayed the fulfillment of the promise, but now that I’ve started, there’s no stopping.  Dale went with the children to choose fish.  They happily named them which I discovered was probably not a good idea after some fish died and had to be replaced.  I had somehow missed the time worn advice of “Never Name Fish!”  However, fish were not enough.  On Saturday, we will be bringing home a Golden Retriever puppy.  I have spent the last several months reading dog breed, dog training, dog care, and dog cleanup books.  The kids and I watched multiple episodes of the Dog Whisperer and on Saturday, we wandered lost through the aisles of the pet store choosing brushes, dishes, toys, leashes, etc.  Before Dale brought home Czar, our first dog, there was no preparation, no research, and no plan.  Reading all these books and watching all these shows, I have concluded that we did everything wrong with him.  Czar was never completely housebroken, he chewed up everything, and ran away every chance he got.  We loved him dearly, but here’s hoping I can do it right this time.  For the last month, I have felt like I am preparing for a baby.  Instead of nursing/formula, crib, and diaper brand decisions; I must now decide which dog food, kennel, and brushes are the best.  Dog food is very complicated now.  There is endless research on dog food nutritional value and endless personal reviews that alternate between “this food is excellent” and “this is rubbish, it made my dog sick”.  For now, I am going to feed him the food the breeder uses as well as a dog vitamin.  Yes, a dog vitamin.  In the midst of debating how much I’m willing to pay to ensure my dog has the proper nutrition, I’m feeding my children waffles with peanut butter, chocolate chips, and syrup for dinner.  And no, I didn’t give them a vitamin.

Last week was filled with art and music events at the school.  On Wednesday, Josiah and Abby played for their middle school band concert.  Josiah plays the baritone and Abby plays the flute.  They both started band 4 months ago and have improved greatly since.  Dale was able to hear the band play at chapel when he was home for R&R.  In fact the blog picture shows them wearing their band uniforms of white shirts and blue ties.  The band played Turkish March, March Militaire, Rock Island Express, and Jump Street Boogie.  For Jump Street Boogie, they donned gold satin vests, black shiny hats, and sunglasses.  I found it quite amusing.  I am now going to have them play Rock Island Express for halftime of Bears games to fire up the crowd.  The crowd, of course, is Zeke and I and the “Defense Defense” chant.  On Friday, I attended the Art Show with Abby and Gabe.  Gabe won a third place ribbon for 2nd grade with his colored paper flower pot and Abby won Honorable Mention for 6th grade with her drawing of an abandoned building.  The High School hosted the Art Show and the work of all the winners K-12 was displayed.  They had live music in each room.  A boy played piano in the main room and two girls played violin in the hallways.  Everyone was dressed up.  Gabe was happy to wear his tie.  Josiah, however, opted to stay home and watch Zeke rather than subject himself to another mandatory tie event.  The level of artwork was impressive.  One student’s scratch off artwork was phenomenal in the detail, some of the paintings were lovely, and the robot created out of junk was clever.  They served hors d’oeuvres and a lovely red punch.  Gabe in his crisp, clean white shirt wanted very much to have a glass of that tasty punch, but he was denied by his unfeeling Mother.

The previous owners kindly left a bird house hanging off my back porch awning and I have a direct view of it from my kitchen window.  Two wrens began padding their nest and worked diligently for days getting it just right.  A few weeks later, I walked out on to the back porch to hear the little cheep cheeps of baby birds.  I have been observing the parents endless trips to bring their hungry children food.  Their task may be more labor intensive than mine, but after 15 days they throw their children out of the house.  For me, the feeding routine lasts 18 years for each.  Two days ago, I looked out the window and saw the black neighborhood cat standing on the porch railing and reaching for the house.  I flew out the door like a mad woman, yelling and chasing her off.  We had previously been on good terms and I often requested that if she was going to wander about my yard, she could have the courtesy to kill a few moles.  I watched her stalk a mole once, but she didn’t kill it.  I read online that cats do not like to eat moles.  They taste bad.  I then decided that I must now take some action to keep her off of the porch railing.  I read online that cats won’t jump on things if they are wrapped in tinfoil.  So, I went outside and wrapped my porch railing in tinfoil.  I was then on cat watch and constantly looked out the window to ensure my defenses were in place and prepared myself to chase off all cat threats.  There are actually 2 black neighborhood cats.  They are both solid black with golden eyes.  One is fat, one is skinny.  So, when I saw her fat brother sitting under my bird feeder, I charged out the door yelling, “Get out of here! Get out of here!  Leave my birds alone!”  He ran off and I was feeling quite pleased when I looked up to discover my neighbors sitting on their back patio.  All of a sudden it dawned on me…Not only do I have my back porch railing wrapped in tinfoil, but I periodically come running out of the house like a nutcase.  “She’s mad,” I say, “Stark raving mad!”  I slunk back into the house.  The next day, I walked out on my front porch to discover a lovely dead mouse, freshly killed, and left neatly for me.  A peace offering.  Being a cat person, I couldn’t help but feel touched.  Our barn cat in Germany, Fruhliche would bring all kinds of things to me as a gift: whole dead mice, mice with their heads decapitated, just the head, just the tail, a mouse gallbladder, etc.  When she wanted to add some excitement to our lives, she would bring the mouse in live, let it loose, and then stalk and kill it.  I never knew that cats growled until I was woken in the dead of night and heard her growling at a mouse next to my bed.  It was a fearsome sound.  So, I knew this was an offering given in the hopes of reestablishing our peaceful coexistence.  Either that, or she was making a  trade for the baby birds.

Last Thursday night, I put out the garbage and there was a thick humid feeling in the air that midwesterners know to fear. Soon, a storm came into Stafford. The thunder was pretty intense and the lightning quite bright. I know tornadoes are not common in Virginia, so I wasn’t all that concerned. However, at 2300, I decided that the storm sounded bad enough to warrant me checking the National Weather Service online. Actually, being a Meloch, I can make up any excuse to check the weather. So, I logged onto the National Weather Service, entered my town of Stafford, Va and read the following, “A tornado warning has been issued for Stafford, VA. A tornado has been spotted, seek shelter immediately.”  Ignoring the urge to scream, I immediately ran upstairs, woke the kids and took them down into the basement. The power flickered once , the rain poured down, and I prayed. We all slept in the basement that night. Abby slept on Dale’s recliner and being a true Manry said it was a very comfortable place to sleep. Josiah slept on a pile of beanbags. Gabe inflated air mattresses for himself, Zeke and I. As I was laying on the air mattress, all I could think was, “I am so glad we are not moving this summer and I won’t have to sleep on this for 3 months.” The next morning, we discovered that the tornado struck approximately 15 miles away. We saw some of the damage of snapped trees and missing windows. However, last night we realized that spring was not done with us yet. Another storm came through that dumped 3 – 4 inches of rain on Stafford County. My clean gutters decided they preferred to be clogged and rain poured off them and soaked the ground which overwhelmed my basement walls. From 2100 – 0100 last night, I attempted to stop the water. Gabe, who goes on duty during storms, and Josiah hauled all the toys and rugs upstairs and got everything off the floor. Josiah didn’t complain with his Wii and DVR under threat. I had placed a large rolling garbage can next to the porch under the largest stream of water coming off the gutter and would periodically walk out into the pouring rain and haul it to the curb to dump it. I was quite the sight at 0030. I would then return to the basement and lay down multiple towels and wring them out into a large pail and then dump the water from the pail into the utility sink. That was exhausting work. I thought of all the people I had seen on the news over the years filling sandbags to stop a flood.  How they keep going is beyond me.  I was so tired, it was difficult not to give up and admit defeat.  Throughout this process, I was thinking of the Army’s favorite motto of “Work Smarter, Not Harder!”, but in moments of crisis, more efficient actions always escape me. At 0100, I was too exhausted to stand and went to bed praying that the water would not flood the entire basement. This morning, Gabe woke up and performed the damage assessment. The boy is destined to be an Engineer.  After dropping the kids off at school, I drove to the home improvement store and purchased Dale’s Father’s Day gift: a 12 gallon wet/dry vac. I put it together and tested it out to make sure it worked. I’m sure he’ll love it.