Mela Kamin – What I Say in between Songs

I took this photo in our backyard yesterday, while my boys were playing catch with their Dad. I just loved looking at it this morning. I couldn’t help but sit in awe of the beauty on the surface and what was still to come.
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I see you there all alone.
You look as if you want to say something.
I wonder if you know what you will become?
Do you realize the beauty you hold?
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Even now, not quite grown, you are sure of yourself.
You tip your head ready to receive the sun and the rain.
The heat gets to you, but you still stand.
Through the storms, you bend, but you do not break.
You hold tightly to your foundation – the roots that
sink deep and keep you steady.
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And, soon we will see your face –
smiling at the Heavens thanking
the One who gave you life.

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I THINK OF ALL THE TIMES
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when I meant to PRAY, but didn’t . . .
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when I could’ve been GRATEFUL, but spent my time griping . . .
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when I didn’t STAND UP for myself, my God or my neighbors . . .
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when I chose being right over being HAPPY . . .
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when I let voices, fear and the past silence my dreams . . .
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when I let others slowly strip away my joy with harsh comments . . .
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when I stumbled and fell in a life-choking cloud of sin, apathy and judgment . . .
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That’s precisely the number of times God took me back, dusted me off and set me on the right path.
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Thank you, God – I am grateful.
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It’s not about how many times you get it right. It’s about knowing that even when you don’t, He takes you back, declares you Holy & invites you to His throne through his amazing sacrifice.
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Take a few minutes to Worship Him with me now:
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Download Take Me Back mp3
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Take Me Back
Words: Mela Kamin
Music: Dan Needham & Carl Herrgesell
Cello: John Catchings
Recorded at Brownstone Studios, Brentwood, TN
copyright Mela Kamin / 4:10 Ministries LLC

When I think of my Grandpa, I’m proud.
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I’m proud because he went off to fight in a war when he was barely an adult. On a furlough after basic training, he went home & got married. Then, he left his new, teenage wife in a small, country town and headed off for the unknowns of battle.
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His travels took him to Africa and then all over Europe. He jumped out of planes as part of the highly-decorated 82nd Airborne division of the Army. He was a Paratrooper, or as Hitler called them – “a devil in baggy pants.” He was in the group of Airborne who crossed the Waal River in small collapsible boats to take ‘the other end of the bridge.’ He was wounded in January of ‘45 and sent back to England. He returned to his unit in Germany, crossed the Elbe River, returned to France and pulled occupation duty in Berlin until November ‘45. He was discharged in Dec. ‘45.
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Through his service, he wrote home – beautiful, poignant, wise-beyond-his-years letters to his young bride, trying to cease the worry he knew she carried every day. He gave her advice from a world away, eased her burden with talk of his return and even held her through words when she lost their first child.
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It’s a sad reality – being separated from your loved ones – but it’s not what the war was like.
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He saw lots of loss and experienced a lot of pain – physical and emotional. His Commanding Officer, Lt. Col. James Megellas, wrote a book about his experience called All the Way to Berlin. In it, Megellas chronicles their part in Anzio Beachhead, Operation Market Garden, the Battle of the Bulge and more. Megellas is the most decorated officer in the history of the 82nd Airborne Division and is in his 90s. He and his wife used to come visit my Grandparents almost every Summer when I was a kid. I remember how honored my Grandpa was that his old pal “Maggie” would come to visit. My Grandpa also amassed a large number of awards, the most notable being the Purple Heart.
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My Grandpa didn’t tell a lot of stories about the war, but if he got started on one, he told it like it was yesterday. That type of experience leaves heavy impressions – ones that can’t be wiped away simply by the passage of time. And those stories left an impression on me too. At a young age, I couldn’t fathom the kind of courage it took to go there, be there, do that, see that, live that.
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I still can’t.
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My Grandpa made it back to his wife, got a job on Machine #9 in the paper mill of the small town I grew up in and lived a long, happy life into his 80s. He was fiercely patriotic and wore his red, white & blue almost every single day. We had a special kinship as our birthdays were just days apart. We celebrated together every year until I was grown and moved away. I named my eldest son after him.
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When I think of my Dad, I’m proud.
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My Dad was in Vietnam from 1966-1970. He was a crew chief on the B52s in the Air Force. He made sure everything was in top, working order at all times. It’s no surprise to me, because my whole life, he’s been able to fix anything, make anything and explain how anything works.
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He didn’t talk about the war too much – still doesn’t. He kept the stories light, I assume to spare us the hard details and maybe to spare himself having to relive them. A “funny” story he told us was about a time he was in Guam and lost his line badge (his ID). He found himself face on the floor of a bus surrounded by armed MPs. Not really ha-ha funny, Dad.
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It makes a good story, but that’s not what the war was like.
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Thankfully, both my Grandpa and my Dad made it home from their respective times at war. My Grandpa was called a hero. He was a highly decorated soldier, having fought in some of the most incredible battles of WWII. My Dad came home and was expected to go back to life as usual … that his time there wasn’t even worth mentioning. No fanfare, no thank you, no write-ups or special services. A Vietnam Vet is sort of the Ugly Stepsister to a WWII Vet’s Cinderella.
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To many, Vietnam shouldn’t be uttered in the same breath as World War II. It was radically opposed and exploited by the media, which fed the opposition – but that’s not what the war was like.
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My Dad had to swallow his pride and any fear he may have had, take orders and view the world through the lens of war – just like my Grandpa. He had to leave the love of his life, my Mom, to go fight, just like my Grandpa.
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I might not know the horrors either my Grandpa or my Dad had to face, but I know they both willingly put themselves in harm’s way to preserve freedom for this great nation. They are both brave, they are both patriots, they are both proud of their service. And, I am proud of both of them.
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This past Memorial weekend, the worship service we attended honored all veterans, all branches of service. It was humbling, throat-choking, nose-stinging emotional. My Dad is a hero to me in so many ways. This just put it all into proper perspective – to not fully understand what he went through to be standing there, singing with all his might “the land of the free and the home of the brave.”
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Young men and women sacrificing their families, dreams and sometimes lives for our freedom … seeing things we hope we never see; doing things we hope we never have to do; learning things we never imagine having to be trained for; risking their lives moment-by-moment while we sit comfortably passing judgment and pretending we understand the real price of freedom.
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That’s what war is like.