I feel like I have so much to type about. I feel like so much has happened. The thing is, nothing has actually happened in a physical sense. All the major events of my week have occurred inside my head. It's a strange place in here- it really is!
My thoughts are a bit of a see-saw occasionally- but generally my head does take precedent over my heart.
I wish I could say that I have always been that way, but it's taken me making a few mistakes, and relying too heavily on my heart without listening to my head, to get to the point I'm at now. Now I realise that my feelings should
be treated with caution and kept under wraps. I am quite an emotional person. I don't think I know how to do things half-way! When I love- I put all my effort into it. I need to exercise more caution. My honest 100% effort sometimes confuses people...
This week, I have determined to think more before I speak. Particularly considering how it may effect someone else's feelings. Not all my feelings need to be aired. Some things are better left unsaid.
If I manage to in any way improve it that area, I have to say I will be very proud of myself. In the past my policy has been very much, "If I think it, I'll say it!" The logic was that I was being honest with everyone that way and no one could get confused because I'd be saying just what I was thinking. However, the problem comes when there are no real permanence to thoughts. One day, you might thing strawberry ice-cream is the best creation on the planet. The next day, you might be like, "I was wrong about strawberry ice-cream- it's all about the chocolate!", and just as someone adjusts to that thought- the day after you might be back onto the strawberry again!
Anyway- I have rambled enough about this; and I have much more to talk about.
Such as the wonderful National Memorial Arboretum in Alrewas- about 10 minutes up the road from me. I went there on Saturday for Armed Forces Day. I hadn't seen the Armed Forces Memorial monument they have built there and it absolutely took my breath away. There are four huge walls, covered in the names of servicemen and women killed since 1945- the end of the war. The sheer volume amazed me. I was reminded of Baldrick's poem from Blackadder Goes Forth: "War is a horrid thing"...
I had, as it so happens, been flicking through my old English books this week and found some work I did on War Poetry in there.
I never know what to think about war. I know that it is a not a good thing. I question the motives of those who send their countrymen into war in the name of something that sounds like it has an element of truth to it. But, I do respect the men who genuinely believe they are fighting for their freedom and the liberty and lives of others.
I am stuck somewhere between the feelings expressed in Wilfred Owen's scathing poem "Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori", and the sentiments of Rupert Brooke in "The Soldier"... and then there was the one I found that made me angrier than all:
The Hero
'Jack fell as he'd have wish
ed,' the mother said,
And folded up the letter that she'd read.
'The Colonel writes so nicely.' Something broke
In the tired voice that quivered to a choke.
She half looked up. 'We mothers are so proud
Of our dead soldiers.' Then her face was bowed.
Quietly the Brother Officer went out.
He'd told the poor old dear some gallant lies
That she would nourish all her days, no doubt
For while he coughed and mumbled, her weak eyes
Had shone with gentle triumph, brimmed with joy,
Because he'd been so brave, her glorious boy.
He thought how 'Jack', cold-footed, useless swine,
Had panicked down the trench that night the mine
Went up at Wicked Corner; how he'd tried
To get sent home, and how, at last, he died,
Blown to small bits. And no one seemed to care.
Seigfried Sassoon
Life is such a precious thing. Every person is precious, and for me to think of people killing each other or even the hardness that comes from the thought that one of your fellow-men may
die and, the soldier in the poem didn't care that 'Jack' was a person.
What affected me most when looking at the names was in the knowledge that each name represented not only a person, but a family. A family that had lost something irreplaceable. A brother, a father, a son, a friend. A daughter, perhaps...
It put my own tragedies into perspective. Those of us who live long lives are so fortunate. This life is the time to prepare to meet God. (
I have been thinking about Him a lot lately, too. God. My Heavenly Father. I have thought a lot about His relationship to His son Jesus Christ, and our relationship to Jesus.
I know that Jesus and Heavenly Father are separate individuals, as it would make
sense no other way- we are made in His image- but I often wondered why scriptures such as Isaiah 9:6 (
http://scriptures.lds.org/en/isa/9/6#6) call Him the everlasting Father. He is the creator of the world, but He is not the Father of our spirits- Heavenly Father is. In a recent meeting this simple truth was spoken though: He is the Father of our second birth. Through the atonement.
What a wonderful, simple and remarkable answer.
As I have been travelling recently, I've tried to spend time listening to some conference talks. I only have April 2009 on my ipod, so I need to remedy that, but they are great talks. I am amazed at the way conference speaks to us as we need it to. The main message I got from it is to get to the temple. I am going to
try, sometime soon, to just go. To sit in the grounds and feel the spirit of the work that happens in that place is something I feel will bring me great strength.
Because, I know the work done in that building is sacred. I have been in to take part in vicarious baptisms for those that have gone before us, and I know that it really is the Lord's way. A benevolent God extends His love and blessings to all of His children.
We have such a God.
Families, separated now, can be eternal. All of them, if they so choose.
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