Memoirs written in prose of Sergeant Robertson, Damon M. USMC while in Iraq | ...with frequent appearances of King Hammurabi.
If you are new to this journal, make sure to start reading in chronological order by scrolling down to the bottom of the oldest post in October 2004. Damon's letters from August 20th, 2004 - October 23rd, 2004 were all added to this blog on Oct. 23rd, 2004. All subsequent letters are posted in real time.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
For Monday
Dear Family and Friends: Sometimes I catch myself thinking that the best sort of optimism is the kind that looks towards the future, to an anticipated achievement or time of rest. It means holding on to what you want in a heart sense. Keeping the desire alive even though every day you live before you finish your proverbial race is another one where you'll feel the acute absence of what you want the most. You can forget "light and momentary" troubles, even ones that aren't so light or short in span, knowing that rest is not so far off a promise. This truth has been manipulated in the past by people who preached that we should endure all of life's hardships, every day of our lives in back-breaking work, so that someday, if we'd lived our lives well enough, we'd get paradise. This is one of the reasons I think Karl Marx labled Christianity, and religion as a whole, as an opiate of the masses. The teaching from the pulpit, that behavior and servitude pave the path to heaven, turned from whatever merit he would admit could be found in the story of Christ. "Forget the pain-- forget your selfish desire for happiness. There is only your work to do, and that God has portioned for you." People of all kinds grew sick of this, rejected religion and threw true life-changing faith out with it. Of course, not having their opiate, and still in the regrettable position of being alive, in this world, where hardships *will* come, the people turned to other medications. There are plenty out there, more today than ever, but one popular trend in society is to replace our longing for the divine with the veneration of "that special someone." Even sexuality, long considered a baser instinct best tempered with reason, is now considered an ends in and of itself. "Flock to your bars, your watering holes. Live inside and through the bodies of strangers to whom you hold no responsibility and owe no love. Wake up in the morning and return to the job you hate, so you can keep buying crap you don't need, so you can keep showing up next Saturday night (really sunday morning) and get your fix all over again." ... My alarm goes off twice every night. Once at 11pm, the second time at 11:05. I'm not a heavy sleeper and always stop the alarm after the first few bleats. Why get up five minutes before i need to, right? Sanity, and the life I will experience today, depend on it. It's easy to think, in the midst of mind-blowing fatigue, "Why on *earth* did I volunteer to extend here...?" "You were listening to Me," Jesus answers. "Dear *God* help me I can't do this all over again. God help me..." Five minutes later, the other alarm sounds and I know it's time to get dressed. I'm the first one up every day, the first one ready, the only one to turn on the lights and wake every other Marine up. Yes, if you're thinking there aren't enough redundancies in this wake up plan, you're right. I slept through my alarm one morning and we were all late. I took the butt-chewing with style. My Sgt. actually got angry at me, seeing it as my failure. I calmly informed him that on a long enough timeline, failure of the "system" was bound to occur. I let the whole concept that the other Marines are grown men and can set their own doggone alarms remain in the mists of implication. If he wasn't willing to think through the problem I sure wasn't going to waste minutes of my life explaining it to him. I don't expect perfection from myself, nor my watch for that matter. He didn't calm down or change his stance, but then again he's an abusive and self-hating man, so I didn't expect him to. Calm face, I let it wash away. He can't steal my day, not what little joy I have in this. No way. ... Several things are true. I have bad leaders. They really do stink for all the reasons I've railed about in previous emails. My job is very, very, very boring. Almost as bad as having a writer repeat an adjective three times by way of attempting emphasis, only a few hundred times worse. Some day, this trial, this service, with all it's irritating and soul-wearying aspects, will pass away. Some day. But what about *today.* The promise of sleep in a few months doesn't do anything for *this* morning. Some day I won't have to listen to my Sgt. The minute I'm back in Ft. Lewis and have my orders he can kiss my rhetorical butt crack. He is a small and angry man from which I will learn nothing if not rage, deceit, and vengeful thinking, to name a few. But I have to listen to him today. Argh... Let me get at it another way. We know ourselves better than we know anybody else. On a good day this keeps us humble. On a bad day, we're a spiteful mess, unable to forgive or portion grace to others because we so sharply condemn the faults in ourselves. I spend most of my time in the latter state, to some lesser or greater extent, and I anticipate that I'm not alone there. Not every day is "anger boileth over" day, but they're there every so often. It happens. In my life I've heard a lot of people say that they'll be "finished" when they're dead. This makes a certain amount of sense, as I don't ancitipate ever acheiving satisfaction with my own personal development. I don't deny or disbelieve in the concept of progress, of seeing the fruits of prayer and hardships endured. I'm just not comfortable resting (irony anyone?) in times when there's nothing in my heart to work on. I know I've got improvements to work towards. I'm not satisfied with selfish impulses and inconsistent love for others. I want my heart to work from the self-less throne of God, not the self-serving throne of me. "In a few years, maybe you'll be okay then. Maybe by the time you die you'll actually figure out how to love someone. Of course by then it will be too late." [This is the devil speaking. See his blending of truth, the concept of progress, with falsehood, that no matter what you do you'll be too late to affect any good whatsoever? Whenever the truth seems harmful, not simply revelatory, and if this feeling of conviction is more like shame and only makes you want to hide away, chances are you're listening to him, your accuser, whether you ever thought he was really there or not.] Too late? Unfinished for your whole life, only to squeak into heaven, paradise, or wherever because the Guy in Charge thought "oh might as well let another one in, but man are we scraping the bottom of the barrel..." ? You're useless today because you're not finished, and you'll always be useless and cranky and angry and selfish at heart because you'll never be finished in this life? I DON'T BUY IT. I grit my teeth in my five minutes of sanity searching prayer and refuse the lie. The truth is, the promises of God are meaningless if there isn't victory in this lifetime, today, this minute, this cold and windswept morning on the western plains of Iraq. If "I am with you always" means He's with me now, then maybe I really am supposed to be here, no matter how little faith I have in myself. Maybe screwed up, unfinished, uncoordinated, easily-flustered and always tired *me* is right where he belongs. There's still time today to instill hope in someone else's heart. Don't waste it. Watch your words. They are either of life or of death. A momentary utterance, for good or evil, is forever, either way. ... For Monday. Some of you will get this email early. Some of you will are reading it now, at your desk in your office or your cubicle. You're tired. You feel unprepared for another week of ... *this* ... There are at least ten very important things you'd rather be doing right now, and maybe should have done already. Most of us would worry about that. Don't bother. You are where you are, being held together. Today is not an accident. Do not let the anti-monday pessimism of the modern world precondition you to miss whatever joy may be found. The truth is, *you* are the main character of your life story. You're not the mook in the background, half-off camera and out of focus. You are the one God called to be where you are and His choice to bring you here was not a mistake. [this is true without your consent, and no, no one did ask you, but that's okay, because He's in charge and He loves your heart and has wonderful dreams for you, remember?] It's not up to any of us to understand the enormity of the task set before us. Thankfully. I would spend most of my day trying to figure out my day, and overthink my life to the point where I forgot to live it. We are where we are, whether it's your monday and the latte didn't come through for you or not; whether it's my flightline and I have to sit outside at 1am in the butt-crackling cold and air up the vehicle tires. There is victory today, right now, this very second. Clinging to that belief is one of the hardest sea-saw battles of my life, but it hasn't killed me yet. We may not see our victory now, but that's alright. We're alive. None of us are alone or too far off. We love one another. Happy Monday, :D
# posted by chevas @ 1:57 PM 