When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war.
He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier.
The father was notified and grievedeeply forhis only son.
bout a month later, just before Christmas,
There was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door
with a large package in his hands..
He said, ‘Sir, you don’t know me, but I am the soldier for whom
your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was
carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and
he died instantly… He often talked about you, and your love for art.’
The young man held out this package. ‘I know this isn’t much.
I’m not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.’
Opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man.
He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son
in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled
up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture..
‘Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It’s a gift.’
The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home
he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other
great works he had collected.
The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings.
Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and
having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.
On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel.
‘We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?’
There was silence…
Then a voice in the back of the room shouted,
‘We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one.’
But the auctioneer persisted. ‘Will somebody bid for this painting?
Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?’
Another voice angrily. ‘We didn’t come to see thispainting.
We came to see the Van Gogh’s, the Rembrandts. Get on with the Real bids!’
But still the auctioneer continued. ‘The son! The son! Who’ll take the son?’
Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room.
It was the long-time gardener of the man and his son.
‘I’ll give $10 for the painting…’ Being a poor man, it was all he could afford.
‘We have $10, who will bid $20?’
‘Give it to him for $10. Let’s see the masters.’The crowd was becoming angry. They didn’t want the picture of the son.
They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.
The auctioneer pounded the gavel.. ‘Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!’
A man sitting on the second row shouted, ‘Now let’s get on with the collection!’
The auctioneer laid down his gavel. ‘I’m sorry, the auction is over.’
‘What about the paintings?’
‘I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction,
I was told of a secret stipulation in the will… I was not allowed to reveal
that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned.
Whoever bought paintingthat would inherit the entire estate,including the paintings.
The man who took the son gets everything!’
Godgave His son over 2,000 years ago to die on the Cross.
Much like the auctioneer, His message today is:
‘The Son, the Son, who’ll take the Son?‘
Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything
My fingers nudged the door open; it was the last one standing. The battered room creaked in agony and groaned beneath my heavy footing. Despite the noise outside I felt alone. The silence of the room obliterated my senses. I could only see what was before me. Only a withered piano stood. Unable to resist I lunged towards it. My fingertips hesitated a centimeter above the keys. The image of my wife burned my mind, her delicate hands, her musical talent. I wasn’t sure if the piano would wheeze out the melodies within my mind or collapse beneath my hands. I couldn’t risk it collapsing, I needed to hold on to her. The sweet, melancholic tune flooded the barren room, my scorched mind. It was her playing, I could hear it. I closed my eyes for a moment – the door was suddenly kicked. “Soldier, let’s keep moving.”
- Ermisenda Alvarez
I was so reluctant
a soldier to become
For I truly wasn’t
as gung-ho as some
I guess it’s because
I loved my life
And unlike many others
I loved my wife
So when time came
and they drafted me
I then went along
but as one reluctantly
There are many times
that are like this
all I ache for
the thing I miss
Is my wife’s arms
and her gentle way
she would hold me
as she did say
“God is so good
giving you to me
and this is how
we will always be”
“Darling I promise too
that I will pray
you return to me
each and every day”
In my mind’s eye
I see her as I go
as softly do her words
in my ears echo!
Teresa Marie 11/20/11
This week’s submission for picture it & write at: http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining,
Just as brightly as his brass.‘
How shall I deal with you ?
Have you always turned the other cheek ?
To My Church have you been true?’
‘No, Lord, I guess I ain’t.
Because those of us who carry guns,
Can’t always be a saint.
I’ve had to work most Sundays,
And at times my talk was tough.
And sometimes I’ve been violent,
Because the world is awfully rough.
But, I never took a penny,
That wasn’t mine to keep…
Though I worked a lot of overtime,
When the bills got just too steep.
And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God, forgive me,
I’ve wept unmanly tears.
I know I don’t deserve a place,
Among the people here.
They never wanted me around,
Except to calm their fears.
If you’ve a place for me here, Lord,
It needn’t be so grand.
I never expected or had too much,
But if you don’t, I’ll understand.
There was a silence all around the throne,
Where the saints had often trod.
As the soldier waited quietly,
For the judgment of his God.
Thinking of all the
Have you ever seen
a soldier shed a tear?
Ever needed to react
with courage in fear?
Have you ever put
your life on the line?
Was there a circumstance
that your character define?
Over your fallen buddy
did you ever pray?
Do you wonder if
you’ll live another day?
I think that war
is a crying shame
But for the cause
who is to blame?
The weak and poor
we are to defend
Which is no game
that seems to end
And I do believe
what God would expect
Is for us all to
give the soldiers respect
When in these days
others act in terror
To do nothing at all
would seem the greatest error
And so it’s hoo-rah
that I now say
To the fighting forces
of the U.S.A.
Teresa Marie 10/16/11
Dedicated to my nephew Nathan,
I’m so proud of you!