remember the armistice for the veterans

In Flanders Field
Captain John D. McCrae

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Generally, this is the poem associated with this day, Veteran’s Day. It brings to mind the red poppies people wear in rememberance of those who laid down their lives for their families, their friends, their countries, and their beliefs. It reminds us of the rows and rows of crosses in Arlington, France, and around the world, and all those unmarked graves for all those thousands upon thousands lost. As some churches used to say, it is meet and right so to do.
However, this Veterans’ Day, I would ask that you take a slightly different perspective on the holiday. Instead of those who have fallen for those various causes, focus your rememberances on those who came home. Those who survived the wars, those who never went to war but served their country regardless, those who were retired or were discharged with or without firing a single shot in their careers, those who lost limbs, those who cared for them, those who gave up years upon years of their lives to help their country, and all it stood for. Too often, we focus too much on those who were lost in the services, and never entirely remember the thousands upon thousands upon thousands who served and came home.
So, today, of all days, find a veteran and thank him or her.
It is not hard, I promise. Anyone who served in the military qualifies, not necessarily those who served on front lines, or in wars, or actually shot anything. Anyone. But take a moment, just a moment, and express to them how thankful you are for their service and sacrifice.
It might mean more than you think.

The Things That Make a Soldier Great
Edgar Guest

The things that make a soldier great and send him out to die,
To face the flaming cannon’s mouth nor ever question why,
Are lilacs by a little porch, the row of tulips red,
The peonies and pansies, too, the old petunia bed,
The grass plot where his children play, the roses on the wall:
‘Tis these that make a soldier great. He’s fighting for them all.

‘Tis not the pomp and pride of kings that make a soldier brave;
‘Tis not allegiance to the flag that over him may wave;
For soldiers never fight so well on land or on the foam
As when behind the cause they see the little place called home.
Endanger but that humble street whereon his children run,
You make a soldier of the man who never bore a gun.

What is it through the battle smoke the valiant solider sees?
The little garden far away, the budding apple trees,
The little patch of ground back there, the children at their play,
Perhaps a tiny mound behind the simple church of gray.
The golden thread of courage isn’t linked to castle dome
But to the spot, where’er it be –the humblest spot called home.

And now the lilacs bud again and all is lovely there
And homesick soldiers far away know spring is in the air;
The tulips come to bloom again, the grass once more is green,
And every man can see the spot where all his joys have been.
He sees his children smile at him, he hears the bugle call,
And only death can stop him now –he’s fighting for them all.