The Scent of Home: Peace in the Battle part 2

Valentine Marino was a young man on his way to a successful life in the eyes of society. Not coming from a family of wealth, but Valentine did not what it was like to go without food either. Growing up in a mid-sized farm community on the border of Pennsylvania and New York. He worked on the farm with his family and was enjoying his life.
"Pop, I've been hearing rumors of conflict coming down overseas and how we might be getting involved soon?" Valentine asked quite curiously.
"Son, I wouldn't worry yourself with such matters. We got plenty to take care of here, you know how this last hail storm nearly destroyed the whole county's crops. We got to salvage what we can and repair the section of fence that was destroyed from Jim's stampeding cattle, not to mention......" was his dad's response. The rest of what he spoke disappeared into the background as Valentine thought on doing his duty to protect what freedom that had in the States. That day him and Jimmy talked with the recruiter at the cafe came quickly rushing back to him.
It was just three months ago, a nice hot Sunday and the boys had a couple extra quarters so they thought that they would get some cokes to cool them down.
"Val, so Misty and I talked in the hall after Math class. She has been having trouble with her English homework and was looking for some help. By God, I am not that stinkin' great either, but if it ain't over my Granny's tombstone I won't give 'er a shot. You just see that way she walks in that purple dress of hers. Damn, if she ain't gonna be the end of me someday." Came Jimmy's nasally voice just after his first sip. He must have been thinking about this since Friday, came to Val's mind, Jimmy just ain't this jumpy with information.
"Yo Jimmy, sounds like she might be working you over. Getting you to jump through her hoops, take care with them girls, they can be real tricky and getting to do things you wouldn't normally do like skipping out on them cards Saturday nights to have tea with her friends."
Jimmy's retort came quickly and almost a little irritated, just the effect Val wanted, "That ain't gonna happen Val. No girl is going to control me like that."
"Yeah. what...." Val started to speak, but was quickly interrupted by a rough voice into their conversation.
"Hey you boys, you hear about what's been happening?"
"Nah, we haven't. What's it to you anyway old man?" Jimmy's irritation growing quickly to anger now. He never was one that was kind to eavesdroppers. This old man ended up sharing about the war happening overseas and how because of it food and metal was in high demand over there. He shared about the glory that came to those that proved themselves good citizens as soldiers and how the Army would help provide for family of good soldiers. Val was paying more attention than Jimmy. He recently proposed to Candace, his girlfriend, since they both were graduating high school soon and knew they wanted to be together forever.
"Scat old man, you ain't getting us to sign no papers so you can get enough money to buy yourself a nice new shiny Chevy. We ain't interested," Jimmy and his rough answers when he was ready to go off and get into another scruff.
"Hey man, it might be better for ya to leave now. I don't mean any offense, I just don't want to see my friend do something stupid and get himself hurt," came Val as the voice of peace and reason.
The recruiter's only response, "Here's my card boys. If you ever change your mind give me a call."
To Valentine this still seemed like yesterday. Since then he graduated, married Candace, and they were living with his mom and dad on the farm. That thought never left him though. At the end of this day, Val made an excuse to go into town and called the Recruiter. That was a year ago. These thoughts came back to him as he got another letter from Candace. The letter smelled of her perfume and it contained a picture of his now almost two year old daughter. These articles of life and home Valentine tucked into his helmet, never wanting them to leave his mind. This little piece of home is all the sanity he has left in the craziness of the field. The bullets and bombs never seem to cease to end. The blood and the smell of burnt and rotting flesh seem to be the cologne on his clothes and the sound of the screams of his friends dying haunt his dreams sometimes. It is getting easier and easier to just not learn the names of the new recruits, less attachment when they die too. Too bad too, they all seem like pretty good boys. Until then though, Candace and Meredith are on his mind and the main driving force for him to be the best.
"The sooner this shit is over, the sooner we can go home," is the most common phrase out of Valentine Marino's mouth in between puffs on his cigarette.

I write this little short story to hopefully show a point. We all have a home, this home is were we belong, the place our life is made complete. For those that feel the longing for this home, when we get scents and pieces of the home, stories of what's happening there, what's going on with the family, that becomes our treasure. At that point the bullets, bombs, guts, blood, alcohol, and cigarette smoke fade into the background of: Home. There is peace in that.

Peace in the Battle: Meaning and Thoughts

Peace: that which the world strives for, but never seems to have for too long at all. Is this due to our definition of peace, our nature as humans, or something else entirely? We seems to think of peace as the lack of conflict. I would challenge any person to show me life without this conflict though. We have conflict or struggle in our lives, it might look different for different people, but we all have that in common. Since we tend to dislike pain, discomfort, and change, there is this perception that peace is the lack of conflict, I would disagree. It must have to do with something else, something within people, it seems to be a select few, but this is open to all; a thing that gives people peace in the midst of this struggle.

This peace that exists in the midst of the storms of life must come from something like hope or trust. Hope in a day on the other side of the storm and trust knowing that there is a Son of Man that is there to hold on to through it all. That the achievement of being peaceful even in the most of messed up situations is a position that is sought. Now, I'm not saying that being at peace means a lack of emotion. Emotions will vary in this peace, grieving, confused, and seeking can all be co-existent with this peace that is based in trust. Trust in what though?

Trust, we are all humans with trust issues. We are all on this path of continually learning to trust more and more. Who to trust though, when so many people let us down, hurt us, use us? There is an eye to the storm, the place of rest and peace even though the storm is raging around you. This Man that can be turned did walk the earth at a point in the past. This Man is the peace that calmed a storm on an open sea, this Man is the one that saw a tax collector for who he was, and this Man is the one that saw the woman that needed a loving touch not another condemner when she was caught.

I talk of my Papa's Son.

This is the reason of the name and term Peace in the Battle. The seeking and sharing of how to have and be at peace in the battles of this life.

Recommended Reading

On Wind Rumors the 2 part blog entitled, "Do you think they brought all that they have?"

Seriously, read it.

If I know you and you don't I might just punch you in the face, ;-)

(like I would actually ever be able to do that)

Silence Treatment

Calling out, stand up, come up, My graceful present yet just silence and denial in reply Answer Me, talk to Me, I AM here still just the quietness of an empty room Talk, yell, scream, some sort of response, let Me know you still care now that hollowness of an empty open road at midnight settles in


It is quite amazing to note this, a taste of how Jesus might feel, when we don't talk to Him. How He longs to hear from us, waiting for that phone call, that spontaneous drop-in, the lunch in the park, something; we only respond with silence, or the famous 'maybe later'. How at times when people seek for conversation, to use a new/old buzzword, community, the ones that we want to be involved are the last ones that ever respond??? How upside down we are, how upside down this world is........ The ones we want to spend time with reject us, the ones that want to spend time with us we reject, but yet scripture states that God has given us a spirit of adoption into the kingdom of light. Yet in order to work things out all parties involved have no communication, refuse to talk for one reason or another; Lord how do we change this?? How gracious of a God we serve. To constantly forgive those that misrepresent His kingdom for just a simple thing as wanting to truly change.

Mirror of Reflection

I sat, looking in a mirror of glass, staring at my imperfections; Using the coals of my past to burn them away leaving only scars that remain in the mirror.

You were there watching

I sat, looking in a broken mirror on the desk, staring at the many reflections of my blemishes. The mirror that was broken by the stone of betrayal; Using the pieces of shattered dreams, to cut away the blemishes. This time not just the spots on the outside, but everything around them, for now in this broken mirror all was defiled; this time only the underlying blood remained.

You were there watching

I sat, looking in the mirror, broken pieces put together oh so slightly, some not quite matching up, but closer to the first;staring at the shattered image of my blemishes; wondering what happened, why me; then I cover the reflection with a black shroud, never to look again; Using anguish to cover my exposed life, hiding from You.No blemishes now, just brokenness.

You were there watching

I lay, staring at the walls around me, forgotten about the mirror only circling, spiraling, chasing the bottom of the drain; longing for an end. Cursing all, mostly the false world in the mirror and the reflection. Using, nothing, not moving, just weeping.

You were there watching and waiting

I sit, on the bed, in the grave shroud, looking at were the mirror lays, forgotten.A light is shining from underneath, pulsing, humming, calling. Using my eyes, staring, forgetting weakness, just staring.

You were there watching and waiting

I stand, on my own two feet, first time in eons; moving towards the now remembered mirror; my clothes, still there, life still exposed, waiting for that end to come; now curiosity. Using my hands, I raise them up to remove the covering on the long forgotten mirror

You were there watching and waiting

I remove the cover, to see a mirror of polished gold; standing there, looking inside the reflection for the very first time (truly), wondering in amazement, what lays before my eyes. Beauty, a thing I have never known; Love, a thing always twisted; Joy, a thing forgotten; Hope, a thing never found. I look even deeper, I see me, remade, no blemish, no scar, no exposed life, all I see is You in that mirror of my soul.

and You were watching






..............and weeping.

Treatsie on Companion

A man is walking down a hallway, pictures lining both sides of the walls. This hallway has been paced many times before, always alone, the pictures never change. Sorrow fills the hallway with sound as pain paints the floor like a carpet.

But You were always there

The pictures showing things of the past, things that once were, things that could have been, things that should have been, things that never will be. Do you believe? a voice echoes out of seemingly nowhere, but everywhere. The man continues to pace, not noticing.

But You were always there

The man has some new pictures on the walls now, but still nothing. His steps slow now as the man has not rested, ever. His feet drag over to the closet to grab a hammer, that he can barely move. Taking it to some of the pictures, he swings, nothing breaks. Over and over again for hours, trying to smash the pictures to no avail. Wearily he drops the hammer and slumps against the wall to the floor, sobbing.

But You were always there

Barely rising, the man walks again up and down the hall, dragging, crawling on his belly, like the worm he feels. Sometimes stopping to look at a picture, then continuing, still weeping. Barely able to move anymore the man pulls up and down the hallway on the carpet of anguish, surrounded by sorrow. Do you believe?

But You were always there

Noticing the question this time, the man tries to squeak an answer, but no moisture is left. He is less than a skeleton; moving onward, the man tries to talk, but nothing comes out. Now frustration sets in. With a new vigor, this ghoul of what was pulls through the hallway.

But You were there

Do you believe? The man tries to scream, Yes! But it is still not working. Finally he gives up, waiting for it to all come crashing down and to have it over. He breaks all his bones and grinds them to dust.DO YOU BELIEVE?! Now thunders through the hallway. The man, broken, just nods his head and cries, but no tears remain.

But You were there

Light floods the hallway, shaking, shattering all the pictures. The walls cave in, the roof falls down, and the floor splits apart. All the man can now see is light, then finally darkness.

But You were there

Asleep at the end of a hallway in which a door stands at one end, a baby lies at the other sleeping, peacefully.

but You were there,

beside me,

Always.

Darkness into Light

The ache in my heart, burning to the soul, melting the ice that surrounds the holes, of wounds, cuts, and scars that had been there a many year, gently drawing bitterness and self-loathing down into the shear, core of my being, trying to corrupt my mind, turning it sour and full of perversion, until I could find, the One Man that saves all through blood and love, cleaning those that are dirty, healing the cove of a soul in despair, travailing over things that should have been, leaving a fire in the place where of the bin, of the heart of one in love and burning, with passion for the One that is always turning
Darkness into Light

Tension of Loneliness

A man walks to his car from his house, feeling out of place in that house.
He gets into his car, driving down the road thinking that something else has to be wondering where he is going.
He pulls into a parking lot, gazing out his wondering; feeling alone and that not many understand.
Walking through the park, passing through the crowds of people, the many families, couples, and individuals, yet not being connected to any of them.
This man, cries out for them all from his inner most being, praying and hoping that they would know the One that fills that loneliness, the One that shows everlasting love, the One that is relentlessly pursuing us as we pursue vapor.
How do we find fellowship with the blind when we see, how do you relate the color red to someone that has never seen; how do we share love to people that don't know what it truly is and when confronted with it, RUN?

In a place where sorrow and joy meet, where peace and war, love and hate, order and chaos, balanced and unbalanced, devoted and lethargic, somewhere in there, this tension, do we find what is being sought after, that which completes who we are; only one answer remains, the answer that has been and will be rejected right up until the sky is split.