The Veterans in My Life
Today is Veteran's Day, a day to honor those who have served in the military, those who continue to serve and those who have died in service to our country.
I decided to post on Facebook all the Veterans in my family. It surprised me when I started listing them. First, my grandfather Harry A. Finney, who served in the Army in both WWI and WWII. Next, my father, Robert R. Finney, who served in the Air Force in WWII, then my brother Jules A. Ganoza, who served in the Marine Corps and was at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, during the Cuban Missile Crisis. I also included my husband's grandfather, Clyde Cassidy, who served in the Army in WWI, my father-in-law, John R. Cassidy, who served in the Navy in WWII, and a great uncle, Ross, who served in the Army in WWI but never saw action because he died of some illness during training. Last but certainly not least on the list, was my husband, Ray R. Cassidy, who served in the Army in Vietnam.
As I thought about the personal sacrifices all these family members made, I suddenly thought about my other family members--their wives and children, their brothers and sisters, their parents--all the other people touched by having a loved one in a faraway land, knowing that their veteran may not return. My family was fortunate. We lost no one, save my one great uncle, but the war left scars, silent ones, I'm sure, on everyone involved.
What does this have to do with my journey in search of God? A lot, I think. For one thing, I would probably not be married to my husband had it not been for Vietnam. We were friends before he left--well, actually, I was his best friend's girlfriend throughout high school, so I knew him from the time I was 15 and he was 17. I followed Ray's entire Vietnam tour through letters he sent my boyfriend that were shared with me.
When Ray returned from the war, I had broken up with his friend (who is still his best friend to this day and one of my closest friends as well), and Ray was dating my roommate. She broke up with him soon after his return from Vietnam. So, there we were, two friends, both young, both kind of lonely at the time. And there was some sort of other connection between us, a sort of knowing that what he had experienced was enormous, life-altering, and most assuredly deeply troubling and confusing.
I'll never forget the night he came over to visit me just to talk. He was a clean cut kind of guy in the time of long hair and hippie clothes, definitely not my type. I was, in many ways, a hippie wannabe, but there was always something in me that had a tendency to look at all sides of a situation. It's a blessing and a curse. It makes it hard for me to "take a stand" on many issues in life. But it has made me a good listener.
There was also a sweet sincerity about this guy, that I cherish to this day. He came to visit me and we ended up at a McDonald's for dinner and a bowling alley after that where we just sat and talked for hours and hours. He needed someone to listen to his experiences in Vietnam. I needed to listen, so that I could know what it was like to be there. In fact, we spent a few days talking after that, if I remember right--me, asking questions about his experiences, he, just opening up and letting the pain of it go.
It wasn't long after that, that we realized there was something deeper to the friendship. It's 38 years later and we are still together. I will always be grateful that he trusted me enough to open his heart and share his experiences with me. It was at a time when Vietnam Vets were being ridiculed rather than respected for their service. He felt confused and alienated from people his own age. And why shouldn't he? He had seen things and experienced things that few of us could even fathom. Many young people at that time considered GI's murderers, and told them so to their faces. Serving in Vietnam was not something you brought up to a group of your peers at a party back then.
Today, I thought about how my husband's mother must have felt knowing her son was thousands of miles away fighting in a jungle in an unpopular war. I thought about my mother during the Cuban Missile Crisis, knowing that the US was on the brink of a nuclear war, and her son was somewhere in the middle of it all. I thought about my grandmother who had a husband and a son fighting in WWII, both gone at the same time. I thought about all the young men and women who didn't return from all these wars, and I thought about those fighting today.
I know God abhors violence. I know that God's ultimate goal is an end to suffering and a world of peace. I also know that as long as there are tyrants and fanatics out there, we're going to be sending soldiers to war. We also will have to look at our own behavior in these wars and ask ourselves what our motives for our involvement. We must look at the bigger picture; we must find ways to overcome the violence that fills the world. Perhaps the best place to start is our own lives, in our own communities, and in our own prayer lives.
I don't think any of the Veterans in my family felt like heroes or macho men because they served. They did what they felt they had to do. Some were religious, some weren't. All did what they felt was morally right to protect those they loved. As I thought about all of them today, I realized that I need to take a realistic view of the world. I need to look at the conflicts that are flaring everywhere and I must dedicate my prayers to the end of war in this world. I do believe that the end of war is part of God's plan. And I will continue to pray and work toward that end in any small way I can.
In the meantime, I say a thankful prayer to all those were willing to put their lives on the line for a greater good. Thank you Grandpa Harry, Daddy, Brother Jules, Grandpa-in-law, Clyde, Father-in-Law, John, Great Uncle Ross, and most of all for you, Ray, my beloved husband. May God's grace and love surround all of you today and forever.
Peace and all good things...Cristina
Ray in Vietnam
Ray and me today
I decided to post on Facebook all the Veterans in my family. It surprised me when I started listing them. First, my grandfather Harry A. Finney, who served in the Army in both WWI and WWII. Next, my father, Robert R. Finney, who served in the Air Force in WWII, then my brother Jules A. Ganoza, who served in the Marine Corps and was at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, during the Cuban Missile Crisis. I also included my husband's grandfather, Clyde Cassidy, who served in the Army in WWI, my father-in-law, John R. Cassidy, who served in the Navy in WWII, and a great uncle, Ross, who served in the Army in WWI but never saw action because he died of some illness during training. Last but certainly not least on the list, was my husband, Ray R. Cassidy, who served in the Army in Vietnam.
As I thought about the personal sacrifices all these family members made, I suddenly thought about my other family members--their wives and children, their brothers and sisters, their parents--all the other people touched by having a loved one in a faraway land, knowing that their veteran may not return. My family was fortunate. We lost no one, save my one great uncle, but the war left scars, silent ones, I'm sure, on everyone involved.
What does this have to do with my journey in search of God? A lot, I think. For one thing, I would probably not be married to my husband had it not been for Vietnam. We were friends before he left--well, actually, I was his best friend's girlfriend throughout high school, so I knew him from the time I was 15 and he was 17. I followed Ray's entire Vietnam tour through letters he sent my boyfriend that were shared with me.
When Ray returned from the war, I had broken up with his friend (who is still his best friend to this day and one of my closest friends as well), and Ray was dating my roommate. She broke up with him soon after his return from Vietnam. So, there we were, two friends, both young, both kind of lonely at the time. And there was some sort of other connection between us, a sort of knowing that what he had experienced was enormous, life-altering, and most assuredly deeply troubling and confusing.
I'll never forget the night he came over to visit me just to talk. He was a clean cut kind of guy in the time of long hair and hippie clothes, definitely not my type. I was, in many ways, a hippie wannabe, but there was always something in me that had a tendency to look at all sides of a situation. It's a blessing and a curse. It makes it hard for me to "take a stand" on many issues in life. But it has made me a good listener.
There was also a sweet sincerity about this guy, that I cherish to this day. He came to visit me and we ended up at a McDonald's for dinner and a bowling alley after that where we just sat and talked for hours and hours. He needed someone to listen to his experiences in Vietnam. I needed to listen, so that I could know what it was like to be there. In fact, we spent a few days talking after that, if I remember right--me, asking questions about his experiences, he, just opening up and letting the pain of it go.
It wasn't long after that, that we realized there was something deeper to the friendship. It's 38 years later and we are still together. I will always be grateful that he trusted me enough to open his heart and share his experiences with me. It was at a time when Vietnam Vets were being ridiculed rather than respected for their service. He felt confused and alienated from people his own age. And why shouldn't he? He had seen things and experienced things that few of us could even fathom. Many young people at that time considered GI's murderers, and told them so to their faces. Serving in Vietnam was not something you brought up to a group of your peers at a party back then.
Today, I thought about how my husband's mother must have felt knowing her son was thousands of miles away fighting in a jungle in an unpopular war. I thought about my mother during the Cuban Missile Crisis, knowing that the US was on the brink of a nuclear war, and her son was somewhere in the middle of it all. I thought about my grandmother who had a husband and a son fighting in WWII, both gone at the same time. I thought about all the young men and women who didn't return from all these wars, and I thought about those fighting today.
I know God abhors violence. I know that God's ultimate goal is an end to suffering and a world of peace. I also know that as long as there are tyrants and fanatics out there, we're going to be sending soldiers to war. We also will have to look at our own behavior in these wars and ask ourselves what our motives for our involvement. We must look at the bigger picture; we must find ways to overcome the violence that fills the world. Perhaps the best place to start is our own lives, in our own communities, and in our own prayer lives.
I don't think any of the Veterans in my family felt like heroes or macho men because they served. They did what they felt they had to do. Some were religious, some weren't. All did what they felt was morally right to protect those they loved. As I thought about all of them today, I realized that I need to take a realistic view of the world. I need to look at the conflicts that are flaring everywhere and I must dedicate my prayers to the end of war in this world. I do believe that the end of war is part of God's plan. And I will continue to pray and work toward that end in any small way I can.
In the meantime, I say a thankful prayer to all those were willing to put their lives on the line for a greater good. Thank you Grandpa Harry, Daddy, Brother Jules, Grandpa-in-law, Clyde, Father-in-Law, John, Great Uncle Ross, and most of all for you, Ray, my beloved husband. May God's grace and love surround all of you today and forever.
Peace and all good things...Cristina
Ray in Vietnam
Ray and me today
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