A Son Reflects on the Price of Liberty

Hello, this is Dick Footh, and I'd like to welcome you to a known stories to make sense of it all. And these stories are found in walking books that is real life people in different places, of different ages, in different cultures. We want to have these kind of conversations across disciplines and generations and cultures in order to encourage a kind of knowing that gives us fresh lenses through which to see the world. One of these lenses will be that of Scripture, and in particular, Jesus of Nazareth, whose life changed the course of human history. We're so glad you're here. Thanks for listening in. I sit in the hills above Sacramento, California, early on the Sunday morning, about 6'10. It's a beautiful day with the sounds of birds running water and honking geese in the background, and I wanted to reflect one more time on the idea of a liberty. Had the interview with my friend John last time on the podcast about the concepts of liberty, but the practicalities of it have a price tag that go along. A few days ago, I called my friend Lynn Warful. Lynn and I had met when Ruth and I moved to Illinois in 1966, a few years later we met, and at that time, he was farming a couple thousand acres, maybe a bit more, south of Champaign or Banna, Illinois, where the University of Illinois is in a town called Tolono, and we became friends. And his friendship in my life has enriched maybe on measure. He's not just a farmer and a community leader and a trustee of college. He's a poet. He writes free verse and is a very reflective person, so I called him to ask a favor. Hello. Hey Lynn, this is your old friend, Folk Holland. Hi there. How are you? I'm really well. Good to hear from you, Jake. Hey, how's the corn and soybeans growing there in Tolono, Illinois? Well, I had an order in for some rain, and we just got that rain. One point, eight inches, which is a little much, but it's okay, under the ground, it's thirsty, and it's empty, and thirsty, so we have a lot of corn plants that are very happy. Well, that's great. Hey Lynn, the reason I'm calling you is that I just got a couple of emails from you, a couple of weeks back about your trip to Normandy, and I read some things that you wrote about your dad, and I just, you know, I'm doing this podcast for on known.fm, and it's called Stories to Make Sense of It All, and I just was wondering whether you would let me read some of the things that you wrote about your trip. Would you be open to that? I'd be happy for you to do that. You know, I'm not writing poetry, make a living. I'm a farmer and I like to eat, so I'm keeping my day tops. But the pay for my writing poetry is sharing it with people that somehow or another touch is there, wherever they are. Well, that would be great for our listeners to be able to hear. You know, I've been reading your stuff for a lot of years now, and I'd be grateful to be able to share it with them. Just as a snapshot, you were two and a half years old when your dad went off to war in 1944 or 45. Well, he actually went off in 1942, January. Wow. He didn't go to Europe until just prior to the invasion when I was two and a half, when he was last home and last on me, I was actually three when he crossed the ocean. So you're three years old, your dad would have been how old? 28. 28. 28. And he landed on Utah Beach on June 10th, was it? 28. Yeah, not on the day, but June 10th. 28. Four days afterwards. 28. Utah Beach, exactly. And his division was charged with trying to capture the peninsula, where Utah Beach is in Normandy. There's a huge seaport and share-tort. Yes. That's a lot. And the goal was to capture that deep sea seaport for our armies, the incredible amounts of financial supplies, battleground troops, and incredible amounts of reinforcements. So just over, just under two months later, August 3rd, about 25 miles inland near the city of San Lo, your dad was killed in a German bombing raid. Do I have that right? It's low. It was a heavy barrage. Barrage. By then, the Germans didn't have much left, as far as airplanes are concerned, but they still had all kinds of... Artillery. Yes, artillery. Yes, artillery was a very heavy barrage, and apparently from one of the troops in New India was underage, wrote my mom, my dad was in the habit of sending two wounded, as well as organizing itself. Wow. Yeah. Well. So 72 years later, or 73 years later, you went back this summer, or went for the first time this summer, and you wrote some things about that. So I'm going to hop off this call, and I'm going to read some of the things you wrote. And hopefully they will be both encouraged and get insight and perspective on life itself. And thank you Lynn for who you are, you're my favorite in the world renaissance farmer. So God bless you, man. Thank you. The farmer poet that he is, Lynn wrote several pieces of free verse, and I read three of them to you now. First is called Facing Home. Facing home times require a way, sometimes far, far, far, and mankind being fallen, we call the extreme war. The young farmer, from Illinois, wife, daughter, son, received the call, report for duty, away he went, Arkansas, Texas, South Carolina, England, France. The world at war, a million and a half men gathered ready for an invasion, equipment, armaments piled everywhere, June 6, 1944, Operation Overlord, they hit the beaches. Bit by bit, they gained ground, the enemy stubborn, a new strategy, Cobra, strike hard with awesome power, the enemy was on the run. Victory in Europe came, roads strewn with war machines, towns and shambles, civilians and soldiers injured, killed. Behind the line cemeteries became, crosses marked the places, Omaha, the American cemetery, thousands fallen, varied, next to the beach they gained. Now at peace, order, quiet, crosses with names, facing America, far, far, far away. As waited hopefully, the arms would remain empty, would the chair remain at the table, would the family remember, a thousand, ten thousand times, yes, gone but not forgotten, ever. In Normandy, June 6, 2017, Normandy, Omaha beach on one side, American cemetery on the other, facing a sea of grave markers. Walk with me to the far end, I asked our daughter Jen, I took her hand and we walked. After row, we passed, noting states called home, last rows, known only to God, five percent unknown, parenthesis the German cemetery, thirty-five percent unknown. Reaching the end we turned, rain-laced wind wet our faces, cold, mixing with warm tears. Each marker of face, quarrel-less, looking towards home, America, America, God shed his grace. The quality here, citizenship played to the full, a pen-na-ply of ancestry, now simply profoundly, American, gifted to us, paying the price of freedom. To what should we resolve, how can we pay our debt? A thousand-year-old lessons remain. Love God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength, and your neighbor as yourself. In due time, Lin Warful is not only a farmer and a great one, he's a scientist, he's a community leader, and that science is reflected in this next piece called in due time. In due time, creation has inherent triggers, a tripwire that causes an enigma. Those who are given to wonder, pause, reflect, what just happened? Why? Was that there all the time? Things of various elements, complex sometimes, are discovered in recent history. Jeans, chromosomes, microbes, the world revealed, layer after layer, smaller. Concomitantly, further into space, we discover, uncover, wasn't that there all the time? In our time, we are born, grow, become mature, each arrow with its nature is finally we arrive at old. Every quarter of a century, those who are given to wonder, pause more often, reflect more often, wise living having been discerned along the long life's highway. Is it like putting on a different pair of glasses? Things come into focus, wisdom, seeing life writ large. The seasons passing, past, lay out their stories, sometimes young ones listen, fascinated, what wondrous things have happened, love, war, reconciliation in due time. Fields of battles are created, men on both sides die, nearby, cemeteries are born, where soldiers are slipped beneath the earth. Crosses mark the graves, facts of life, born, died, service, rank. The lines grow long, standing in the manicured grass, enemies once, now lying under crosses, united, in due time, in his time, into another world. This, Lynn Normandy, Samarini Cemetery, June 2017. Because we live in a world of fathers sometimes being taken from us, sometimes just absent, sometimes wonderful stepfather step in, or not so good. The idea of a son reflecting on a father is powerful. After one of Lynn and K. Warful's sons, David, read that piece in due time, David sent his dad an email, and I thought it would be appropriate to close this podcast with what he said to his father. And by extension, I suppose, to a grandfather, as well, in some very deep way. I found hope in this poem of new beginnings in time. Data didn't get a chance to put these sentiments into your card, but I wanted to reiterate my gratitude for your gift to me as a father. You taught me so many things through your deeds and actions, and I'm thankful especially for the values you passed on. I appreciate your practical help by way of advice, tools, money, and physical labor, but the values last even longer. You taught me to love my children, to honor my wife, to be faithful and committed, to love learning, to be generous and lend a helping hand whenever I can, to be both strong and gentle, to sing with gusto, and to roll up my sleeves and get dirty in the service of others. I wouldn't be who I am without you, thanks, with love, David. And that's our reflection for this time, thanks for being with us.