Sunday, November 11, 2012

Of Great Worth

I'm a newspaper comic strip reader.  The day is not quite complete without the daily dose of vitamin "Comic."I'm usually reading for the light-hearted humor. Sometimes there are precious little nuggets of truth tucked within the newsprint pixels on the comics page. I found a wonderful one today. I'm not a regular reader of the Doonesbury comic strip but every once in a while I read it. I'm glad I didn't miss today's submission.
Two disabled military veterans, B. D. and Toggle, are talking together.  Toggle is a newlywed who's awed by married life and the way his wife has been able to adapt to his disability. He's determined to stay worthy of her love.  B. D. is caught off guard as he realizes how much his own wife does to make his day better. It's more eloquently said in the strip than I can relay in a couple of sentences.  A picture really is worth a thousand words.
The strip has me thinking about what it means to be worthy.  Worthy means having merit or value or to be revered. I think of phrases like "worth your salt" or "not worth a tinker's dam." (By the way, I looked that last one up just to know what a" tinker's dam" is. I feel a little more educated about metal working now.)  Being worthy of respect is one thing, but to be worthy of another's compassion and love is another. It's a humbling thought.

Proverbs 31:10-11

10 Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies.
11 The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.
Today is Veteran's Day 2012.  I send my love and appreciation to my family, friends and ancestors who've sacrificed to help defend our freedoms at home and abroad.
In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae, May 1915
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.

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