What a Magnificent Woman

To be driving at 92 is remarkable in itself, but what happens at Walmart is simply amazing.

http://faithtap.com/420/grandma-witnesses-to-robber/#t/420/ 

How sweet her voice is, and how firm and sure her faith is!

Some Men Live Above the Common Man

"Courage is contagious,

When a brave man takes a stand, the 
spines of others are often stiffened."

Reverend Billy Graham

If you recognize this raccoon, please call the Austin County, Texas Crime Stoppers Unit, no reward is posted thus far, but I am sure they would still like to know if you do recognize this raccoon.

Do you recognize this intruder observed on my side porch in the dark of the night two nights ago?

A couple of evenings ago, in the middle of the night, my heart stood still as I awoke to unfamiliar sounds of intrusion on the porch at the side door.  I froze in bed a moment, and then collected both the Glock and the 410, which are always loaded.  I wasn't sure what it would take to bring down whatever it was trespassing on my porch in the night.  When I peeked through the curtains, I observed a determined raccoon.  I had left the cat food in one of those big containers like you buy at Wal-Mart, and it was sealed up tight, so when a sudden shower hit, I just left it there, choosing to instead gather all my tools up and put them up in the barn.  I jerked open the door, he dove off the porch into my best flower bed, and headed out over hill and dale.  I smiled and went back to bed, amused at my little masked intruder's antics.  I hadn't even fallen back asleep when the same, now familiar sounds, came again from the porch.  I was amazed that he was already back, and this time when I peeked around the curtain, he was trying to pry the lid off with his teeth.  I chuckled, and watched a little more.  He had acquired an audience of several barn cats which should have been really ticked off, and trying to defend their own food.  They seemed rather unconcerned at this intrusion and assault; perhaps they were familiar already with this nocturnal visitor, where I wasn't.  This enemy that had come trespassing was to me, clearly up to no good.  At any rate, they were not taking care of the situation, so once again, I opened the door, and he dove off the porch.  

By now I was more sensitive to just how serious his persistent intentions were, and had a strong suspicion that he was committed to his present mission.  It was on now between him and me.  Repeatedly he hid in the dark, and then returned the minute I thought of going back to my peaceful slumber.  He finally, as I watched and photographed, got the lid off, tumbling down the porch and kind of surfing on the container lid all the way down the 13 steps.  Quickly and nimbly, without so much as a check for personal injuries, he scampered back up the steps, crawled over into the container, and our large, white, tom cat that faithfully fights snakes, jumped in with him.  

I thought, “Now you are going to get it raccoon, those cats aren't going to stand for this.”  To my surprise, the cat joined him, and began eating too.  Perhaps he was thinking to himself that I was stingy with that cat food, and not that good a friend anyway, since he is never allowed in the house.  He must have decided, "Well, her pockets are deep; I am going to take what I want too."  Eagerly his buddy cats began joining him in the container until it would hold no more occupants.  That did it.  I had been taking pictures up to that point, trying not to scare him off by opening the door.  I jerked the door open, pulled back the trigger on the 410 and watched the mayhem as they exploded out of the container when the shell contents launched into the sky and the report thundered through the night.  I confidently resealed the container and went to bed. 

To my surprise in the morning the container was at the bottom of the stairs, overturned, and empty.  I couldn't grasp for a second that he had fearlessly waited and returned to carry out his mission.  There wasn't a cat in sight, and they usually greet me at the door when I go out to feed the animals demanding to be fed immediately... obviously, they were already full.
I thought about an old friend who has gone on to her reward as I laughed about the raccoon entertainment, and resolved never again to leave my cat food unprotected on the porch. (My husband is still in service in the Middle East, and I have to amuse myself any way I can.)  

The raccoon raid made me think of an old friend and another raccoon encounter.  Her name is Linda Messer, she was such a fun and beautiful person in this world, and I am sure she keeps them all laughing in heaven every day.  We shared a period of our lives when our youngest children were in grade school together, and our older children were in junior high school.  She was the wife of the local Church of Christ minister, and a strong Warrior for the Lord.  Her son later married my daughter's best friend, and I always thought I had a small part in that.  I am going to claim that regardless, because it makes me smile to think of that couple, who have always both been such good people.  Also, I remember the very night that those sparks first flamed, and I was there to watch it all.  Linda and I were both so delighted, and I know what a wonderful daughter-in-law sweet, gentle, and beautiful Patti made for Linda.  I love match making!   

The memory of this delightful friend, who later died of breast cancer, was triggered by a new friend's daughter going camping with the Girl Scouts, as well as the raccoon burglary.   Linda helped with my Girl Scout troop when our girls, Beth, Merrie, and Alanna, were Brownie Scouts and we took our troop camping to Camp Booth Oaks.  Our little troop had arrived at the Girl Scout Camp in Nolan County, Texas, made our cots out in the wooden platform "tents," unloaded our groceries, arranged our crafting supplies, and explored.  We had made hand decorated walking sticks and painted them with Indian symbols, made a "sit upon" out of newspapers and duct tape, and we were confidently and without a care, roasting marshmallows on our own campfire we had successfully built. There were signs everywhere "do not feed the raccoons," and " please secure the clasp lock on the garbage containers when you dispose of all trash, especially food items." I had a large bag of still unopened marshmallows on a small wooden table when he first waddled through the camp, and I began to grasp the meaning of those signs.

I don't know if you know how loud fifteen little second grade girls can scream at the sight of what had to be a 40 pound raccoon, calmly walking right though a camp fire circle and straight for the marshmallows on the table, but it is the highest pitched tone that can be heard before the decibels disappear into those that only a dog can hear.

He was so large that when he stood on his hind legs, he could easily reach the bag of marshmallows on the table, and he began pulling them toward its edge. I was right there trying to calm the girls, who were trying to wake the dead, and I just took my new walking stick and poked him gently two or three times.

He ignored me, so I poked a little more urgently... he didn't ignore me then. He dropped the marshmallows, took both hands... paws... hand paws.... and jerked the stick out of my surprised hand.  With my mouth hanging open, my friend Linda Messer, and all the little girls laughing hysterically, he picked up his bag of marshmallows, dropped to the ground, picked them up with his teeth and waddled back into the woods where all his raccoon friends were rolling around on the ground and also laughing hysterically. Well, that's the way the girls still tell it anyway.  I didn't see any other raccoons at all.

Sometimes foes surprise us because of our lack of consideration of their determination.  They appear outgunned, outsmarted, and random in their attempts to "seize the day."  I would have never believed a relatively slow, and fat, raccoon could confront two grown women with new walking sticks, and fifteen screaming second graders, and take what it wanted.  We were bigger, smarter, better equipped, and certainly louder, but he did.  We had failed to evaluate the dedication with which he would conduct his assault.  We had not anticipated the lack of fear he would exhibit in a confrontation with a clearly superior enemy.  I just stood there, failing to understand exactly what was happening, and in my confusion and lack of a predetermined plan of action against marauding fat and fearless raccoons, stood doing nothing.  I was not really anywhere near as determined as he was, so I just cut my losses, gave up the fight, and the raccoon prevailed.

Luckily for our Brownie Troop, Number 243, we didn't highly prize that bag of marshmallows.  We all had a great laugh, acquired a story that has been retold many times, especially to the grand-children, and so it was no great loss. 

Sometimes in life, the stakes are higher, and sometimes, they are imperative.  It is a fight to the death with some enemies, with much more than marshmallows at stake.  We are primarily a nation of peaceful, generous, and industrious people, who abhor war, and whose hearts are torn at the sacrifices that have been required of our beloved military and their families thus far.   In the light that even one more Soldier should be required a sacrifice too great, from  our  inferior enemy who is possessed of lethal determination and commitment, our hearts grow faint, and our hand lifts from the plow...  We should remain mindful of raccoons and marshmallows, and decide just how important our marshmallows are to us, because the raccoons are in the camp, and they are determined. 

When God Sends a Woman Flowers

It seems to me that often media leads the way in the strangest of behavior; I am speaking of the vilification of American companies who achieve great success.  Sometimes when men and women conceive of great companies and then personally, through hard work, sacrifice, and dedication lead them to the greatness that was their vision, thus achieving the “American Dream,” they become a target.  As I said, for some strange reason, they always draw at least a few vocal critics.  It does not matter that they provide along the way to their success, good paying and secure jobs with benefits, for literally thousands of American citizens, give back to the communities in which they conduct business, and pay taxes into these communities.  Often that beautiful American principle that enables one to become, as my mother and father always instructed me, “anything you want to work hard enough to become,” makes them targets of criticism.  The particular irritant for some seems to be people getting rich while achieving the “American Dream.”  That to them is just not acceptable, and in their minds must involve something sinister and evil.  When this flawed thinking became acceptable to anyone but the seriously in need of medication, and extensive mental health services, due to being haunted by paranoia, I cannot recall, however,  the thinking is accepted by more people than one would think these days.  I could at this point share some of the highlights of the integrity with which Sam Walton lived, all he gave back, and stories that reveal his heart and intent, which will I think contribute to his going down in history as the remarkable person he was.  Instead, I would like to focus on my own personal experience with Wal-Mart, in particular the Sealy, Texas Wal-Mart, and the people who work and earn their living in this company in that same spirit with which Sam Walton first envisioned his company.

                                           

When we first moved to the Sealy/Bellville area we bought our dream place, 42 plus acres, partial ag exemption, big pond, 13 heavily wooded acres, a 126 year old antique barn, and a big three year old Solitare double wide with 2X6 exterior walls. (Colonel LeCompte balked at the “double wide” thing, but since he trusts me in all things, when I told him in a year he would never know it had ever been anything but an authentic Texas working ranch house, he bought it for me.)  It had some challenges, the previous owners had 9 children between the two of them, 7 still at home.  I did not know that bubble gum came in that many colors, that anyone ever let chickens roost in a bathroom inside their home, nor that weeds could become 9 foot tall.  It was explained to me that it was a variety of ragweed called “blood rag weed.”  I was soon to learn how it got its’ name.  In order to meet and actually exceed the flood plain requirements, as the pond was originally dug, the dirt had been piled higher and higher, and packed by the heavy equipment as they went, thus building the pad on which the house was to sit.  It resulted in a pad 9 feet above the flood plain, and the house was placed on that hill of dirt with only about six feet to spare at the widest area all around the flattened top.  That produced so many unique landscaping challenges.

When we first moved into our new home, we had a push lawn mower, a weed eater, and a machete that Randy had used in the Malaysian Jungle Survival School.  As most of you know, my husband is Colonel Randy LeCompte, a West Point honor graduate, as well as an Army War College graduate, and currently serving in Baghdad, Iraq.  He and his little machete began clearing weeds, but soon we realized we needed a little more equipment.   Of course, we went to Wal-Mart on many trips for needed materials, seed, and tools, not to mention the food to fuel both of us, substantial clothing, and gloves.

My husband so cherishes every moment spent at Soldier’s Heart Ranch, which we quickly dubbed our little paradise in the making.  Soon, his mind began to realize what release he found in being home, working on the house and barn, working with the horses, or just loafing on the 1100 square feet of wrap-around porch I added.  Much of the success of my husband’s life is found in his ability to completely focus on everything he puts his hand to, and today the ranch is a reflection of that.

The human mind can do that.  It can also rehearse the horrors of war, even when a man or woman struggles to prevent that from happening.  My husband has always had a heart for his Soldiers who encounter problems with PTSD, the name for the biological condition that develops for some serving in war zones.  As he enjoyed using all the new tools he bought at Wal-Mart, and worked to make our property our home, he began to realize what release from the thoughts of work and soldiering he found, and what complete peace he experienced.  That was when the idea for our 501-C began.  The idea of sharing with members of the military a place to stand down, rest, and refresh from the work required from those serving and their families took shape along with the rose bushes from Wal-Mart.  

Planting and growing things was for me the best of all the good things at Soldiers Heart, because I love all forms of self-expression.  Gardening is something that renews me.  I was soon going to need things that renewed me. 

My husband deployed for Afghanistan, and the original year he was to be gone turned into eighteen months, then two years.  Life got a little harder, and as time went on harder still.  Every week I made trips to Wal-Mart, and Texas Wal-Mart people being who they are, soon I was sharing with them that my husband was “gone to war.”  They responded the way Wal-Mart people do, with words of encouragement, and by asking me each time they saw me how I was doing.  Each responce was a genuine expression of care. 

Deployments, especially extended deployments, can become lonely and depressing for those holding down the fort.  That happened to me, and one day as the deployment stretching seemingly endlessly before me, I complained to God, asking why so much was required of me.  I moaned and groaned, cried, and wondered to Him how I would ever survive.  A series of events happened that afternoon which reminded how little I really was sacrificing, compared to the suffering that goes on in this world, but that is a whole other blog…  I repented for my weakness, asked the Lord to forgive me, and then God being my Loving Father sent me flowers to remind me just how much He loves me.

Of course, you are thinking I am speaking metaphorically, I am not.  From the time we moved to Sealy, I frequented the garden center at the local Wal-Mart.  The people who worked there had come to know me quite well.  They knew when my husband was home on leave, because he came in with me, and as my special Wal-Mart friend said… “my face was different, smiling as I used to.”  I had left my business card for the work we do with the military with the garden center.  After my session with the Lord I had gone outside to work in the yard, where I always went when I needed solace.  The fact that our fledgling efforts as a 501-C had many more of those we were serving, than support from any who were giving, so I was a little short on money to spend on anything to plant during that late summer.  I took the phone from the house and laid it on the porch in case my husband called from Afghanistan, where at that time he was serving.  Need I say it was the phone I had bought at Wal-mart?  It rang and I answered, it was the manager of the garden center, asking if I would like some plants that were no longer fresh enough to sell.  She said that she thought that with some tender loving care they could be revived, and she knew of our 501-C status, and the work we were doing.  She went on to say if I could pick them up, they were mine.  When I went to pick them up they completely filled the back of my truck, and my heart.  I lovingly planted my flowers from God, and several times since I have received a similar call from her, each time on a day when my heart was faint, and I have been petitioning heaven for strength to do what is mine to do.  To remind me  once again he loves me and will see me through this, God just calls Wal-Mart.

Again, I Love that Facebook Blessing

Happy Birthday Fairy Daughter

I have a dear friend on facebook, who brings to my life delight.

Though I’ve never seen her face or from her eyes their light.

When I asked her, she said her favorite color is blue.

I knew when I asked it would be some such soothing hue.

The messages that she sends in intervals to me.

Tell of her youth, her true heart, and the woman of honor she will be.

In my mind, from her words, a delicate beauty I see.

From images of the women of her land, I can imagine her face to some degree.

Kindness lives within her and on her face it must leave its’ distinctive mark.

Women without kindness, even though great beauties, have faces that are stark.

From her mouth only genuineness and truth does she speak.

This tells of the strength and courage she possesses, something others seek.

Her heart, though she lives in a war zone, reaches to live in joy,

There are enemies in her country who endeavor always to destroy.

From a picture she saw of me, in her sweetness she named me “Fairy Mother.”

I ponder what thing so quickly could make me smile, and I can think of no other.

Every morning as I pray for each of my children, and all those my loved ones,

Though her face I do not know, among my children's names, hers comes.

What the World Really Needs is More Vikings

Yet again this morning, I find that another young Danish Marine has fallen in Afghanistan. His name I cannot yet find, but I will know it when it is made public, and I will record it in order that I might remember it always. I have made friends with two young Danish Warriors, who are twins, on Facebook. They were born just ten days before my own twin boys. So immediately they drew my notice as they posted on military sites. Educated at the Naval Academy in the States, they are really quiet remarkable men. Daily they inspire me; the phrase “uncommon valor” comes to mind. Never do they fear or mince words for the sake of political correctness or at the cost of truth. The deeds of their daily lives are frankly recorded on Facebook in words and pictures which clinch my heart and soul, and with the two attributes that most readily identify extraordinary men, confidence in following the harder right at all cost, and humility before the Living God. Our world needs such men desperately.

I have always enjoyed history, the explorations of other countries, and coming to know the people who inhabit them. As I have followed the Sorensen men, I have learned much of their homeland, Denmark, and its’ people. My curiosity has been stirred not only by their lives, but by the words they quote of their political leaders and their royalty. It is in my own life rare to encounter young people of my country with such obvious loyalty and trust toward our government and leadership. When the citizens of a country, of any age, quote boldly their current leadership, with obvious assurance, it is indeed to be envied.

Because of my initial note of Denmark’s commitment to the War on Terror and its’ forthright recognition of the true extent of threat to the world, I first found current statistics concerning the fighting and support services which Denmark has committed. Thirty-eight Danish troops have been killed in Afghanistan since Denmark joined the Coalition in 2002, another suffered a heart attack and died, and sadly another committed suicide. War is such a painful endeavor, and extracts its’ price in many ways. Currently approximately 700 troops are serving in the NATO-led forces, most of them in Helmand Province. Of course at the end of any given day, those numbers can change due to another “ultimate sacrifice” for liberty.

As I have begun to research Denmark, the country, and its’ ancient culture and people, my fascination has grown. I’m not going to make it easy for the reader to glimpse this beautiful country and know of it history and virtues, other than producing magnificent sons and daughters, but hope to inspire in the reader their own curiosity for all things Denmark. I will say of Queen Margrethe II, what a stunning and wise woman at age 70, no wonder the Sorensens admire and respect her so. Instead, I will offer to you a link to Denmark’s official web site: http://www.denmark.dk/en/Denmark.htmu

The news reported that the Soldier who was mortally wounded, was on patrol Sunday, four miles northeast of the town of Gereshk, in Helmand Province, when he fell to the “cowards weapon,” to quote Buzzy, an IED. Evacuated by helicopter he was declared dead upon arrival at the field hospital in Camp Bastion. I can assure the reader, valiant efforts were made to save the man. This morning as I read the notice posted by Buzzy, my heart clinched once again in my own pain at the loss of this young man, and the knowledge that in reality, he had stood between me and mine and a vicious and soulless enemy until the end. What a debt we owe these men and women, how diligently we must attempt restitution, and so I offered to Buzzy and Rolfe, their countrymen, and the Fallen Warrior’s family, words from the Father, and the prayers of my heart before the Lord. I have copied and pasted below those words to share with a larger audience in order to do what I can to pay tribute to the Viking Warriors whose Nation Anthem title translates into English, “There is a Lovely Land.” Those words follow:

A friend recently posted a verse I am very familiar with, but had not read in a while. It reminded me that even in my deepest despair, God is extending "lovingkindness and compassion." I have but to embrace it. May this family and all the families around the world who have given their sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, and national patriots embrace this word of comfort from the Lord. "This I recall to my mind, Therefore I have hope. The LORD'S lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, For His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness." Lam. 3:21-23. As always my tears join those of your countrymen, the world, and his family.

To the Coalition Forces, and the Viking Warriors in particular, I can never fully understand the bond you share, but always David's cry to the heavens at the loss of Jonathan and King Saul, whom he fought beside in so many battles, and loved "like a brother," "iron sharpening iron," comes to my mind. David cried out in II Samuel the first chapter in grief and sorrow. Some of his words so directly apply to this Warrior Viking. "From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the mighty, the bow of Jonathan turned not back, and the sword of Saul returned not empty. Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided: they were swifter than eagles, they were stronger than lions." In verse 25, David cries out in anguish, "How the mighty are fallen in the midst of the battle."

Father God, let us never forget this man's valor and sacrifice. I will remember his name, record it, as I do each name, tell my children and their children. Lord, it seems to me I read so often here of the loss of another Danish Warrior. ... I fear for the hearts of those who fight on Lord God. Empower them Father, lest they grow weary in war, and their hearts falter. Protect them, shield them, from the weapons of this world, and from the weapons of the unseen world, where Father God the forces of good and evil do battle for the souls of mankind. Without the freedom these men and women are dying for, spreading Your message of love and peace becomes so much more difficult. This man has died with honor not just for this day and age, but for the days, ages, and people to come.

Bear him home Father God to his just reward, from this world his light fades, may it shine brightly in Your presence.