He sat in a fox hole, this young soldier who had enlisted in the Army and took the oath to protect and serve his country.  He was a long way from that farm where he grew up and milked cows and plowed fields and wiped the sweat from his brow and helped with the younger siblings.  He could only dream of the bed made from feathers plucked from the chickens that scratched about in the barnyard and eventually became part of the chicken-n-dumplins served at Sunday's table.  He smelled the aroma of death instead of the sweet freshly cut hay in the field just south of the big old house he called home.  He had a Mama and Pa and sisters and brothers waiting at home but now he had brothers dying in his arms here in this foreign land.  He was supposed to be helping save their lives. He was a Medic for Uncle Sam. It was not in his control to save everyone who caught a bullet or grenade fragment or some other piece of war.

He was sitting in a fox hole...praying for the next bomb to land in his lap so he could be out of this hell on Earth. He was tired of seeing people die. He was tired of hearing the last breath as it left a 19 year old body.  He asked God to let him be next.

It was not to be so.  Instead, he promised his God right then and there that if he survived he would never worry again.  He would work, he would sweat, he would do whatever it took to live...but he would not worry.

There, sitting in a fox hole, this young man made a decision that would stay with him for the remainder of his 87 years.  He would teach his children the importance of work and how to avoid worry.  There is a difference between worry and concern.

He often said, "work won't kill you, but worry will."

He instilled in his children the pride of being an American, the ethics of work and the ability to have concern without worry.

Sitting in a fox hole in Germany or in the comfort of the big ole recliner in your brightly lit living room, you can make a decision that will guide you for your remaining years.

I'm glad my Daddy made that decision.

I'm glad that Medic saved lives and sent some men home patched up so they could continue to live in freedom.  He had to let go of the ones he could not save.  He could only place his leathered, tough, big hand over his heart when the flag goes by and not be ashamed of the tear that ran down the furrows of his face as he remembered...

Memorial Day.

Yes, Daddy, your little girl is all grown up now...but she always remembers and will always think of those men whose lives were given so you could come home and give us life.

Logan's Daughter...he just called me "Doll"