I will never forget the day my son was born, nor will I forget the days he and his brothers wound up in the emergency room. Although they’re fully grown (and no worse for wear, despite some scrapes and bruises and one concussion from being hit by a truck), I still enjoy bantering with them regularly. The difference is that now we do it by text message because they live all the way over on the East coast. I must admit, as a father, it ain’t all bad having an empty nest (of course my wife would vehemently disagree!), but I certainly miss my boys, and my daughter in law, and especially my grandchildren. Terribly.

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When I was on active duty in the Air Force, I served as a volunteer on the Hill Air Force Base Honor Guard. I can distinctly remember each and every time I served on a funeral detail for a fallen veteran. I usually called cadence for the rifle detail, probably because I had the biggest mouth on the team. But there were a few occasions when I was called upon to present the flag to the next of kin. To this day, I have never performed a more solemn and honorable service. I’ve done many funerals, as a pastor and as a ceremonial guardsman, but nothing can possibly prepare you to look into the eyes of a grief-stricken family member and somehow convey the full extent of the gratitude, respect, and reverence you have in your heart for their enormous sacrifice, for their overwhelming loss. There is no manual, no drill, no practice for such an experience.

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