Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Virgie Bell's View: "Thank You"

I enjoyed reading the post by Mr. Keen about accepting our vulnerability and agree with what he expresses so eloquently. It is never more apparent in life as when we reach the “last down of our life with goal to go”. When we need the touchdown to win and yet we are forced to settle for the field goal. Acceptance of our limitations is perhaps the most valuable lesson we can learn in this life on earth. My daughter laughingly remarked to me one day that her daughter-in-law didn't recognize a picture of me when I was a "Looker" and that the picture was not really even that old, as far as my past really goes back.

If I got to choose my life to live at any certain point in time, I just don't know what period would be my choice. Each period held its winning the game or getting sacked, the big slaps on the backs or setting there a complete loser. I write a lot about the Hollywood set. I grew up around that atmosphere as a child in Los Angeles during World War 2 and the Silver Screen was a routine part of my youth, as it was most everyone’s, but in that place, at that time, the war was an even bigger issue. The serial newsreel gave a report each week of the battles won or lost on foreign soil. At such a tender age I never realized that my entire life was up for grabs. Gosh for me, just waiting for Christmas was an eternity. The thought that I might not ever celebrate another Christmas was beyond comprehension. The adults in my life had the good sense to protect me from something so very near and yet so very very far away—with an ocean between us. I remember the shortages, I remember the sacrifices made by so many to ensure the dreams of one little girl that a Christmas to come was still a reality.

If I could only thank God for just one gift or talent, it would be that God made me a reader. I have been everywhere and done everything, from watching Sally run and seeing Spot jump to translating from Hebrew when the sons God looked upon the daughters of men, went into them, giving birth to a race that I cannot comprehend or understand, but I am fully aware of the fact they walk among us. I have been able to translate in Greek to read about the sacrifice on the cross and the statement "It is finished.” But it is a fact that when I was twelve years old, I accepted something as the most important event in my life. Something that I can read in Hebrew, and Greek, and English, yet I am still like John trying to express whether this is in the body or out, I cannot know. But I do know that at this point in my life that goal post is looming ahead and just seconds to go. I am glad that it was finished long ago. The last page on the final chapter, but still, there is the Epilogue. The looking back and pulling all the chapters together to come to an understanding of what it was all about. Why sometimes we do not all live happily ever after. And the acceptance that there is comfort in that knowledge gained. Agree or disagree... it is done. Period. But as in any literature I can still turn to the acknowledgments and give credit for help and assistance given. To claim all mistakes as my own, etc.

When I was a little girl in California, living in the midst of one of the biggest cities in the United States, I didn’t forget where I’d been born and raised, in a small town known as Amherst, Texas. In that small city in West Texas, just a few years before me, there was another person from that same little country town who had played a major role in my life. He was a farm boy, raised in a farming community and probably looking forward to a future that included the most beautiful wife in the world. Why shouldn't he? I found out that he was a looker. A handsome boy. A good kid. On December 7th in 1941 his country was attacked by an unknown foreign enemy. He, like millions of others rushed to the call of their country. Charles L. Moore was but a lad in whom my life was so intertwined, (sometimes we can never know just how much are lives are).We had all but lost the war until the Battle of Midway. Pearl Harbor had left the sleeping giant a cripple and it was nearly to the point that I would never see another Christmas. Charles Lee Moore was a radio gunner on a torpedo plane. The mission was for these planes to divert the enemy in order to give the dive bombers a chance to attack the enemy. The U.S.S. Yorktown was such a plane. The only chance they had was to go against hopeless odds and furnish the extra ounce that was required to turn this battle around. This was the conscious decision to give their lives for a cause that would never be part of their future.

There have been countless of our brave military that have given and will give up their lives for me, for us, for our country. But this past year I read about this one, the Amherst boy, the handsome, good boy. The one who had the beautiful wife waiting right there at stage right, when the script calls for him to Exit Stage Left … forever. When Charlie was the most vulnerable, he chose to give his life for me, for you, for his country. I feel the holiday season in the air and I know that once again I will have a chance to celebrate another Christmas. I would like to thank all of our military who are fighting for my right to have Christmas. For the chance to see Santa through the eyes of a great grandson. Greater love hath no man than to lay down his life for a friend. Thank you, Charles Lee Moore. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you. From one more Amherst girl who must admire you from afar, read of you only in a book, while you rest within a watery grave. There was nothing to send home but a victory.

PLEASE. SUPPORT THE TROOPS!

1 comment:

De'on Miller said...

Amherst has always had wonderful people. My greatest childhood memories come from there. I'm glad we were all born there.

And P.S. Does anyone know the whereabouts of the beautiful portrait of Jesus that hung in the hallway? I used to set and look at it as a child. And it was in that very same stairwell that my water broke the Thursday I delivered another Amherst hero, Aaron.

But they are all heroes to me, there. I know many of them would have done just the same as Charlie and Aaron did, had life permitted it to be so.

I don't have to tell you how this touches me, Mom. You know that already, and I only can just echo your beautiful "Thank you."