A hail of bullets

Some random thoughts before I head into the weekend and off to Ohio for participation in a Warrior Dash.

* This whole Warrior Dash nonsense was my youngest sister’s idea. M called up E (middle sister) and me back in February with this great idea that the three of us jump through fire, cross muddy streams and run a 5K. Won’t that be fun, she says. Sure, we say. We pay our entry fees.

Like two weeks later she calls us back. Hey, remember that part about the three of us, oh, well, oops. I’m preggers. So M and her seven-month pregnant self will be taking pictures and holding our car keys while E and I dash. I think she did it on purpose.

Seriously, jump through fire.

*This morning on the socialist, liberal elite-communist-loving NPR (to which I listen religiously), I had some little 9/11 moments while I woke up. I am not sure I am going to make it through the weekend without going on a crying jag about this. (I don’t think that would be a bad thing).

I have heard lots of stories about Fr. Mychal Judge, the fantastic Franciscan who went to the Towers to aid the dying. He became casualty #1 –the first one identified. The more I hear, the more I am sure I should ask Fr. Mychal to pray for us all, especially this weekend. Memory Eternal, Father.

*Speaking again of 9/11, I can get behind the stair climbs as appropriate memorials to the victims. I saw my first stair climb this spring at a massive firefighter conference in downtown Indianapolis. I stood with the boyfriend next to a football field full of firetrucks while his colleagues from all over the world, some wearing turnout gear, climbed up and down the steps in Lucas Oil Stadium. A pipe and drum corps played Amazing Grace and I wiped tears from my eyes.

I say this a lot when I write about Orthodoxy. We are physical creatures, more than just our minds. We love with our bodies, we (should) worship appropriately with our bodies and we should mourn with our bodies as well. The stair climbs are concrete ways to enter into the grief and horror of that day. It allows us to participate in a concrete way with the loss and work of others. It doesn’t change anything, but what a tribute of respect. Maybe I’ll do a civilian one someday.

*One more thing, on a lighter note. I forgot to tell you that one of the highlights of Crabfest 2011 was when we set up my mom’s Christmas tree in her living room, lit, at 1 a.m. and in complete silence. GOOD TIMES.


Author: Rebecca

Orthodox Christian. Journalist. SAR K9 handler. All three of those are deeply related.

One thought on “A hail of bullets”

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