I am so sorry, but this is the wrong board. Please repost this over on the Religion discussion board.

I'm a musician playing keyboards mouth harps this is our you tube channel to watch for your pleasure sabbath worship service jay and Jina

(Semper Fi for Independence Day)

A Higher Calling
by Tony Hall


CHAPTER 1 There is no greater love than this – that a man lays down his life for his friends. —- John 15:13

Sergeant Shawn O'Malley opened his eyes and squinted at the bright sunlight. He was on his back, sore and disoriented, with ears ringing. The corpsman was kneeling over him, shouting. Although he couldn’t hear, he managed to read the corpsman's lips:

"Shawn! Shawn, are you alright?"

Struggling to a sitting position, O'Malley nodded his head and gave the thumbs-up sign. The corpsman returned the sign and crawled quickly to the next casualty. O'Malley shook his head to help clear it. His hearing gradually returned so that he could make out the crack of gunfire all around. The air was thick with the smell of smoke, gasoline, and gunpowder in what was supposed to be a secure and friendly Iraqi village.

The thirty vehicles of his convoy were staggered and immobile on the paved road. Fire and smoke from the front of the convoy indicated the lead vehicles had been hit by an improvised explosive device (IED) or mortar shells.

Two-story apartment complexes lined either side of the convoy, boxing them in. At least eight enemy machine guns sprayed their firepower from the rooftop overlooking the front of the convoy, four from each side.

Nearby, O'Malley spied three of his fellow Marines huddled behind an upside-down jeep. Bullets were ricocheting off the underside of the vehicle and surrounding street, pinning them down.

From behind the cover of a 5-ton truck, O'Malley yelled, "Scott! Ricky! Mike! If you can cover me, I can get close enough to toss these grenades up their butt!"

"Those are machine guns, Shawn!" Mike shouted. "There's no way to get close to them without being torn to shreds. It's suicide!"

"There's no time to argue! What– you wanna live forever? Cover me!"

Shawn pulled out the hand grenade pins. He sprinted forward as fast as he could, just as the three Marines rose above the jeep and opened fire on the two machine gun nests.

Time seemed to slow. O'Malley was only aware of his shallow breath and his heartbeat racing inside his ears. He felt the bullets whizzing dangerously close past his face, but he kept running, knowing he was his friend's only chance for survival.

It doesn't matter if I die now, Shaun thought, as long as those terrorists are stopped! He hoped his family would understand.

O'Malley hurled a grenade onto each rooftop of the machine-gun nests and heard the twin explosions that abruptly ended the gunfire.

Shawn jumped for joy, yelling, “Woo-hoo! Screw you ISIS - and the camels you rode in on!” thankful for being alive and surviving that crazy suicide run.

Then he inadvertently stepped on and triggered a buried IED.

CHAPTER 2: You don't drown by falling in the water; you drown by staying there. ― Edwin Louis Cole

O'Malley awoke from a coma a month later in Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany.

He was trying to adjust to the fact that he was now a quadruple-amputee - no arms or legs.

In Shawn's mind, however, he was nothing more than a freak—and a useless freak, at that. He couldn’t do anything on his own. He couldn’t eat or drink, walk, scratch an itch, tie his own shoelace (and had no feet to put into the shoes, anyway), brush his teeth, or comb his hair.

He couldn’t pick up his child, hug his wife, or even use the bathroom by himself. Someone had to be there to hold him steady, otherwise he might fall into the toilet.

I'm now only half a man. Just a torso with a mouth. I tried to do the right thing, and this is what I get? What a bum deal! To heck with it! To heck with the Marines! To heck with EVERYONE! I don’t want to live, anymore. But I’m so helpless, I can’t even kill myself. Freaking pathetic.

Shawn’s wife, Irene, and 10-year-old son, Liam, came to visit. It didn’t go well. Shawn was so bitter and distraught, he couldn’t even fake a smile. In tears, his family was ushered out of the room while Shawn berated them all to “Just leave me the freak alone!”

A few days later, Irene returned and convinced Shawn to join her for a walk. She helped him into the wheelchair and rolled him into the hallway.

Shawn closed his eyes. He didn’t want to watch the people’s reactions when they saw the freak approaching. He was wheeled through a long corridor, catching intermittent conversations from people as they passed by. Shawn imagined the vile things they were saying amongst themselves, once his back was turned. He heard automatic doors slide open, felt his chair wheeled through, and then the doors whooshing closed from behind. In this new space, Shawn heard muffled sounds of metal clanking rhythmically against metal. And heavy grunts and snarls. He smelled the pungent odor of sweat and... dirty socks? He opened his eyes.

Irene said, "Shawn, this is the hospital gym for the in-patients, where the soldiers receive rehab for their various disabilities. I’ve spent the past few days here, getting to know them well.

"Near the back is Cpl. Jeff Thompson, he's a newbie from Iraq. His jeep hit an IED last month. It left him wracked with hemiplegia, meaning one side of his body is paralyzed. He's doing leg lifts with his physical therapist.

"The driver of that jeep, PFC Elsa Lundgren, lost both her legs from above the knees. She's at the weight machine bench-pressing more weight than you ever could.

"To your right, is Lt. Jim Diamond, a Desert Storm Vet. He's like you, a quadruple-amputee. The lieutenant's doing a version of CrossFit exercises, a strength and conditioning workout that was developed especially for patients like him. I also hear he's the biggest flirt in this medical wing.

"None of them are freaks or monsters. They’re heroes and patriots– every last one of them."
Behind her husband, Irene placed her hands gently on his shoulders and bent forward to kiss his cheek. "Just like you."

Tears came unbidden to Shawn’s eyes. His body shrank into his wheelchair in shame and self-loathing as he whispered. “I don’t care anymore. To heck with wverything."

“I’ve spoken on the phone to your friend, Mike,” Irene continued, undaunted. “Your unit went to Afghanistan. But before they left, they threw a party in your honor. For saving all their lives. Mike said what you did was - and I quote - The most extreme kick-butt exploit I’ve ever seen! You put Arnold Schwarzenegger to shame! -unquote. Every newspaper in the world has picked up your story, Shawn. Whether you like it or not, mister, you’re already a hope and inspiration -not just to us, your own family - but to millions of others.”

Liam entered the gym and ran straight into Shawn, wrapping his arms tightly around his father’s neck.

“Daddy! When you coming home?”

So strange, thought Shawn. It looks like my family and friends don’t mind too much about my grotesque appearance. And if they’re all depending on me… well then, I guess I can stick around a bit longer to help them out.

Shawn, smiling for the first time in months, said, “Daddy will be home soon, Liam.”

Shawn gradually came to accept his disability as fair payment in exchange for his platoon's safety. After six more months of grueling rehabilitation, O'Malley was returned to the United States as a war hero, with enthusiastic fanfare. He’d banter with reporters, saying, "If you think I look bad, you should see the fellas who did this to me!" and "You can't keep down the fightin' Irish!"

He was scheduled to receive his prosthetics shortly, but in the meantime, he was a popular ambassador for patriotism. Most importantly, the president himself was going to acknowledge him with the military’s highest award: the Congressional Medal of Honor.

CHAPTER 3 Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth. -- Buddha

Fifteen minutes before the Medal of Honor Award Ceremony began, O'Malley was backstage with his family.

"Shawn, I'm so happy for you. And just look at me, having had tea with the First Lady herself! Melania is so gracious and beautiful in person. Liam, honey, how did you and little Baron get along?"

"He's funny, you should hear him impersonate his dad!"

They laughed together, and then Liam presented Shawn with a present: a vintage 1964 G.I. Joe action figure in mint condition and still in its original unopened packaging.

“This is from both Baron and me. It’s the first G.I. Joe, ‘a real American hero.’ Baron said it’s worth a gazillion dollars, but he wanted you to have it. You’ve earned it, Daddy.”

Shawn got choked-up as he thanked his son.

O'Malley's cell phone abruptly rang. He excused himself, manipulating his wheelchair a short distance away for privacy, then enabled his phone transmission.

"Hello, Shawn here."

"Shawn, you brickhead! This is Mike."

“Hey, Mike! Long time, no hear. Wish I could join you guys in Afghanistan– NOT!"

"Very funny. I just called to say congrats on your Medal of Honor today. That was some serious crud back then, huh? Sounds like you've gotten over it a heckuva lot quicker than any of us."

"You guys need to grow a fair. We came, we saw, we kicked butt! Those terrorists got exactly what they deserved: a one-way ticket to meet their seventy-two virgins. Ha-ha! Good riddance!"

Silence on the phone line.

"Mike? You still there, Mikey?"

"No one told you?” Mike asked, amazed. “Holy crow, no one ever told you!"

"Told me what? Mikey, what are you babbling--"

"They were just children, Shawn! In the machine gun nests on the roof– those weapons were manned by freakin' Muslim kids no older than your own son!"

A White House official shouted, "Two minutes until showtime!"

"Mike, I gotta run." He manipulated his wheelchair to disable the phone call.

Irene and Liam gathered close around him for a group hug.

"I'm so proud of you, Shawn."

"I love you, Daddy. You're my real hero."

Former California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger walked up to the group. He had the privilege of pushing O'Malley's wheelchair onstage. He clapped Shawn on his shoulder and said:

“Hey, kill-ah. You ready to blow dem all a-vay?"




CHAPTER 4 This above all: to thine own self be true. -- William Shakespeare

TV cameras from all the major TV and cable networks filled the East Room of the White House to record this award ceremony live.

When all personnel and VIPs were seated, President Donald Trump approached the podium. He told of the extraordinary exploits of Marine Sgt. Shawn O'Malley, who single-handedly saved his platoon in Iraq at great cost and sacrifice to himself.

On cue, Schwarzenegger wheeled O'Malley slowly to the podium.

Shawn felt nauseated and disoriented, as on that fateful day in Iraq. Time seemed to slow; he heard his own heartbeat echoing in his ears and felt the urgency of desperation.

This doesn’t feel right. How can I possibly justify to my family - especially my son, Liam - about getting rewarded for killing children?

When Trump completed his remarks, a military aid marched forward and passed him the award.

As Trump leaned down to hang the Medal of Honor around O'Malley's neck, Shawn vigorously shook his own head, saying loud enough to be heard across the room, “No! STOP!! I'm sorry, Mr. President, but, with all due respect, I can’t accept this award!"

Everyone in the room was stunned. This was unprecedented. In the history of the United States, no one had ever refused its highest military citation. Worse still, this event was being broadcast live to the nation.

The crowd, along with the entire country, seemed to hold its collective breath and fell still.

"I don't know," the President's voice echoed in the silent chamber, "what possible reason you would have for declining this medal."

Trump glanced at the decoration, which proudly proclaimed, “VALOR.” He handed the award back to the military aid and turned to face the Marine.

"But if you're okay with that decision… then, so am I."

The crown breathed a shared sigh of relief.

"I respect your integrity, Sgt. O'Malley. May God bless you and your fantastic family, and for your service and sacrifices."

A tear-stricken O'Malley nodded in return to President Trump's salute. Irene and Liam ran up to embrace Shawn. Behind them, the guests and press corps erupted with cheers in a loud and spontaneous standing ovation.

You don't need to wear a medal around your neck to have honor. - A few Good Men

Carnival of Souls
By Tony Hall
(349 words)

If I had only one wish for my dream vacation, it wouldn’t be a place but rather to relive the memory of a very special moment in time.

21 years ago, my best friend and I spent our July 4th holiday vacation at Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, located 75 miles south of San Francisco.

When we arrived, it was a warm Friday morning. The park was already crowded, with festivity brimming in the air! We rushed past the carnival games, arcade galleries, and snack booths, laughing like two giddy kids in a toy store. We didn’t care - because this was BETTER than a toy store– there was also an amusement park on this 24-acre boardwalk! To ride the Giant Dipper roller coaster was our very first intro to the park.

Fun was the name of the game. We’d already experienced the horrors of 9/11 less than two years prior. In fact, we were in Manhattan when the terrorist attacks occurred. We desperately needed a break from the barrage of war. This was our celebration of life.

After our fill of amusement rides, we couldn’t resist the lure of snack booth corn dogs, BBQ, and slushies. We were both forty-somethings, savoring our second childhoods. LOL, I can tell you - on this day - we were the happiest kids in the park! We swam in the frigid ocean to cool off, then napped on the beach.

At sunset, just before the fireworks celebration, we walked hand in hand far down the shoreline along the beach until we were alone. The cold waves washed gently over our bare feet. The warm salt breeze brought the faint aroma of popcorn and the distant echoes of the calliope from the loudspeakers.

With the deep red sunlight shimmering upon the water, I got down on one knee and popped the question.

She said YES!

While the crowd oohed and awed at the fireworks reflecting over the Pacific Ocean, me and my new fiance made our own private fireworks celebration.

The end to a perfect day. My perfect dream vacation.

(end)

(at the Martinez VA, they host several classes for healing veterans. One is called, "anger management." the group facilitator asked each veteran to write a true-life account with this prompt: "Who I've punched in the face and what I've learned from the experience." the following is my true-to-life story...)

***

A Stroll Down Memory Lane
By Tony Hall

I’ve had my share of fights throughout my life. I’ll tell you two of them from when I was a kid - one against my oldest brother, the other was with my younger cousin.

Growing up, my family was totally dysfunctional. Most of my family members, I wanted to punch in the face. For many of them, I DID punch in the face!

Some deserved worse. Much, much worse.

Anyway, let’s talk about Eli, my oldest brother. In 1978, he was a high school senior and football varsity letterman when I was just starting as a freshman. Eli stood 6’ tall, with a 6” afro on top, and weighed about 300 lbs. And no neck.

One afternoon, while I was reading in bed, Eli came home from school football practice and grabbed me by my shirt. He dragged me into the garage and started jabbing me with a metal folding chair. Eli was ticked-off because he heard that I had refused to join our high school’s football team. He pinned me to the corner wall and pushed the metal chair against my face for an hour (until our parents got home), warning me that I’d better sign-up to play football… or else. WTH?!

Welcome to my family nightmare. I was already traumatized by my other brother’s assault on me when I was 10-years-old. Now, I had to deal with this moron. I felt very anxious whenever I had to leave the safety of my own bedroom. I even hid a steak knife under my pillow for protection at night. I was resigned to the fact that I had to leave for school on a daily basis– but going to after-school practice or school events was absolutely out of the question.

No, I never joined any freaking football team. Eli bullied me for another week before he finally gave up. What an inspiring big brother to look up to. He definitely deserved a punch in the face (and maybe a few whacks from a metal folding chair, too).

In 1980, my younger cousin, Dwayne Johnson (The Rock!), came to visit. His father, Rocky Johnson, and grandfather, Samoan Chief Peter Mavia, wrestled every month at Daly City’s Cow Palace arena. On those nights, they’d drop Dwayne over at our Daly City home while they wrestled. Apparently, my mother and Dwayne’s grandfather were tight because both had come from the same Samoan village.

Although Dwayne was only 8-years-old, he was already very tall for his age (almost my height!), and skinny with curly hair. He didn’t talk much but he liked to horse around with the rest of us kids. He was strong, quick and wiry like a little monkey, and knew a lot of wrestling moves.

Me and Dwayne were play-wrestling in the garage. From behind, he had me locked in a full-nelson hold: both his arms were wrapped under my upraised arms with his hands clasped behind my head. I tried to free myself by thrusting down my arms as fast and hard as possible, but I accidentally hit his face with my elbow. His nose bled all over his clothes and he started crying. I’d forgotten he was still only a child. I felt so bad for hurting him. I apologized repeatedly, but Dwayne never visited again. That was the last time I saw him… until 17 years later when he began wrestling on TV.

I’m grateful for all of Dwayne’s phenomenal successes. That sort of made it easier for me to tell others that I had beaten-up The Rock when we were kids and made him cry like a baby. Whaaa!

Other than his father, I’m probably the only person on the planet to make Dwayne cry. I doubt he would’ve forgotten what happened between us, even though it occurred decades ago. He’d kick my butt on sight if we were to really meet again, and I wouldn’t blame him if he tried.

Because this time… I was the one who deserved a punch in the face. ;-(

(end)