Currently Listening Sahara By Original Soundtrack Right Place Wrong Time see related
I Love Beer Commercials
Why is it beer commercials have to be the funniest in the world? I mean, for example, this one is classic, it appeals to every working man's desires, the desire for fame, the desire for glory, the desire for women, and the desire for relaxation. Gotta love it.
I can't vouch for intelligence or how witty I am, I can't even say for myself that i have great power, but you have no clue on the feeling of responsibility.
He has no name. His deeds of bravery are unknown. His identity lies forever lost, securely held in the sands of time.
I see him in my dreams sometimes, but he is ever elusive, ever fading in a mist, ever retreating down a path where I cannot go. I strain to see him clearly, but the more I try, the dimmer he becomes. It is during the moments when I am least expecting it, when he is farthest from my thoughts, that suddenly his face flashes in front of me with startling clarity. As if he wants to remind me, “I am still here.” I gasp and try to study and remember, but he is gone. All I am left with is a memory of haunting emerald eyes, a firmly set mouth, a square jaw…
He was a boy once, 8 years old, laughing and eager. Perhaps he had siblings he would play with, and tease, as only a little brother can. Then he was a teenager, gradually changing from a boy into a man. When he was 18 he made a decision. Many events followed, but it was this choice which transformed him into the man that I know. He decided to devote his life to something much larger than he; to a cause that would never pass away, no matter how many men died in its defense. He became a soldier.
As he took the entrance examination, he looked up for a moment at the bowed, closely cropped heads of his fellow soldiers, intent on their work. They looked as if they were praying. He noticed the American flag at the front of the room and was vaguely reminded of the flag resting in an oak chest at home.-The flag that had draped his father’s casket. He found himself wondering if this war would bring a newer flag to accompany the old one. The sound of a slamming door jarred him back to reality. He shook his head abruptly, chiding himself for such an idea, and continued with his work.
He witnessed the horrors of war, fought courageously beside his companions, and saw many of them give their lives for the cause they all fought for: the cause of liberty.
As he prayed one icy morning, he sensed that today would come his turn to make the ultimate sacrifice. He prayed only that he might die in a manner worthy of a United States soldier. There was no questioning, no sorrow, no fear. And that afternoon, he gave up his life on the battlefield. Yet his name marks no grave.
He is the Unknown Soldier. Heroic beyond all others; his identity known only to God.
Someday I will meet this man and at last, we will all know who he is. I will have so many questions to ask him, and so much to thank him for.
But until that day I will wonder where there is an old wooden chest hidden, with two American flags in it resting peacefully side by side.
I am really tired but some of you doubt my abilities to write. The other posts have been Julie, but these are my own words.
Somewhere far from here but closer than any of us would imagine, there is a great field of wheat that stretches as far as the eye can see. In the middle of this golden ocean of grain there is a giant oak tree that has been gnarled with age and wind but has grown to such a majestic size and strength it is beautiful and terrible all at once. Underneath this tree lived a community that called themselves the "Chosen". It was their responsibility to care for the field and to bring in the crop every harvest-time.
But they rarely went out, this field was known for being treacherous, at one moment it would be nothing but sunshine and calm breezes and suddenly it would become the most terrific storm that could kill by sheer force of wind. The only protection from nature in this field was the old Oak standing in the middle of the great expanse and the workers were usually very careful to stay within a short distance of the tree.
The process of harvest was incredible to behold, a worker would cut the wheat where it was ripe, would tie it into a sheaf, and then would carry it all the way back to the tree where the exhausted worker would place the bundle beneath the protection of the great boughs. At that instant, the sheaf would mold into the image of a human being, and then would begin to slowly move, and then would stand on it's own two feet. As soon as the worker knew that the sheaf was functional, he would run back into the field to where he was working before and create another sheaf.
Over time, the Master of the Field became frustrated that the vast majority of His workers would not leave the shelter of the tree. They simply lived in complacency beneath the shelter of the tree. True, there were times when one of the workers would come back from the field and would speak excitedly to those who were asleep under the tree and tell them of the rewards of working in the field. Every once in a while someone who had been sleeping would get excited about this work in the field and would join the few laborers for a time, but would often just return to the warm comfort of the Oak.
But there were three people who had been working in the fields for
years without help and they gathered together and cried out to the
Master to send fire from the heavens to wake up the Chosen and to bring
in the harvest for once and for all. It seemed that there was no answer.
The Master of the Field tried everything to bring His workers into the field to bring in the harvest, He sent messengers to tell them that the season was growing short, He sent storms that would rock even the boughs of the tree, but the lethargic people never moved.
Finally, the Master of the Field turned to His Steward at His side and said, "Steward, send a rain of fire into the field. The Steward took an arrow soaked in oil and placed it into the dancing flames of a furnace, turned back to the field, and drew back the bowstring. As he released the arrow, hundreds of Servants to the Master ran to collect their bows and arrows and they joined in sending a rain of fire down on the field.
The workers in the field saw the very first arrow coming from the sky and wondered if their pleas were being answered. Then as more and more arrows flew from the sky, the workers rejoiced and worked all the faster as the field lit ablaze.
The Chosen beneath the tree woke to the smell of smoke and knew that something was wrong. As they saw the flames surrounding them, many were filled with trepidation. But then there was a large portion of the people who realized their blunders in sleeping away so many years and they ran joyfully into the field to bring in the harvest.
Even with the increased work force, the harvest was not coming in quick enough. The Master of the Field watched the work carefully. Then He turned to His Steward again. "Steward, send the breeze." The Steward leaned across the field and blew gently. A breeze fanned the flames and sent them faster. But now, as the flames grew, the wheat brought itself into sheaves and formed into Chosen even in the middle of the field!
Chaos grew though as the workers threw themselves into their labors and more and more Chosen formed in the field. Just as it appeared that the flames that were seemingly bringing in the harvest would overwhelm the workers in the field, a quiet rain fell across the field. A gentle, refreshing, and cleansing rain. The Chosen workers stood and embraced the water from the sky and looked across the burnt and harvested field.
