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Welcome to today's issue of the Inspired Buffalo
Visit our site at http://www.buffalosjokes.com/inspired.htm
If you are looking to join any of our other fine e-zines visit
www.buffalosjokes.com We look forward to seeing you there!

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Just wanted to get in touch with everyone for a moment..
Have been making great progress on the house building and have not
had any time for the internet... Do miss everyone terribly and
thank all who have written or stopped by to check up on me. Things
will be back to normal soon..

Nancy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
©These Things I've Learned About God...

He's never early and He's never late... But always right on time!

He loves cliffhangers, they are faith builders!

He's FAITHFUL, even when we're not!

He will make a way where there seems to be no way...!

He has a great sense of humor... (Look at you and me)

He will bless us when we have faith to let go, and let Him...!

He loves us even when we're not very lovable!

He always meets all our needs, and many of our wants too!

He sends His love through family, friends and the most unlikely
places!

He loves bringing souls together; I just love to see His handiwork!

His desire is that we know perfect peace, not as the world gives,
but as He gives!

He loves a heart of THANKSGIVING... I am so grateful for his never-
ending mercy and love!

He is with us to the end, our one and only, faithful, trusted friend!

In your life, what have you learned about God?

©Copyright, Barbara J. Ervin-Weymouth, June 2, 2005, All Rights
Reserved

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Today's Story

From BJ

Detested Speech

Voltaire once said, "I may disagree with what you have to say, but I
shall defend, to the death, your right to say it." Patrick Henry was
a little harsher- "I detest what you say, but I defend to the death
your right to say it." These are admirable statements with which I
wholeheartedly agree. Nevertheless, my views on the subject of free
speech were sorely tested a couple of weeks ago.

I had just taken my seat, situating my 6'3" frame as comfortably as
I could between a total stranger and an old friend, Eric Zinkann, on
a flight bound for Philadelphia out of Atlanta. Eric and I met in
junior high and have remained close ever since. A few times a year
our wives are fortunate enough to find themselves rid of the two of
us for a weekend. We meet in Atlanta – he now lives in Florida - and
fly out to a variety of cities to indulge our collecting fever for
vintage comics and, along the way, buy original art and other like
items to sell on eBay to pay for the trip.

No sooner had we gotten comfortable and started to discuss what we
each were hoping to find than the passenger seated in the row
directly in front of us began to mouth off about his luggage.
Apparently, one of the flight attendants took his carry-on out of
the overhead compart-ment and sent it to the cargo hold. It was a
crowded flight and there was not enough room for several passengers'
smaller items.

"Why did the bald guy get to carry on two items," he loudly and
repeatedly asked with slight variations over the next few minutes as
the flight attendants finalized pre-paration of the cabin for
departure. Why he seized upon a single individual I do not know-
several others, myself included, had two carry on items.

After forcing the attention of one of the flight attendants he
repeated his complaint, yet again. She politely responded in a
reasonable tone but the passenger would not accept her explanation.
His traveling companions, one of whom I took to be his wife, tried
to silence him, which seemed only to make him worse. One began to
completely ignore him and didn't speak to him - that I noticed- for
the rest of the flight.

Up until that point I was simply annoyed with the guy. No, I would
not like my luggage taken out of the overhead compartment and put in
cargo either. Yes, I know it would slow me down when I got to my
final destination. But I would not have gone on and on about it.
What happened next utterly shocked me and everybody else, judging
from the collective gasp heard from the passengers around him.

A soldier, a staff sergeant if memory serves, in desert fatigues sat
across the aisles from the uncouth passenger, and asked if there was
anything the guy needed from his bag. Cutting the soldier off mid
sentence, the complainer said that was not the point. He then said
to the soldier, in the same tone of voice you might hear someone
tell you to go to the devil, "go to Iraq."

After the gasp that followed this statement there was a stunned
silence on the plane. I sat in my seat so shocked that I could not
even speak. I looked at Eric, whose face was fixed in a wide-eyed
and appalled expression that no doubt mirrored my own expression,
and I mouthed "What?!".

Iraq is where Americans are struggling against terror. Iraq is where
Americans are fighting to establish a democracy for those who have
never known such a blessing. Iraq is also where Americans have died
for these goals. Such a callous statement demeans not only the
honorable men and women who serve in Iraq but the ideals that led
them there.

I'm not very quick on my feet when it comes to snappy comebacks. I
sat there boiling with rage after the initial dumbfounded freeze in
my mind wore off. I sorely wanted to say something, but the moment
had passed for the little man seated before me had continued his
diatribe without missing a beat. I planned instead to thank the
soldier after the flight for fighting for not only my freedom but
the freedom of insolent Neanderthals to make themselves look as
stupid as they actually are.

The soldier himself, however, had enough class and dignity to sit
back in his seat and let the comment pass. I marvel that he, a
soldier trained to kill with weapons as well as hand-to-hand, was so
cool and self-controlled- so unlike the other passenger. God creates
us equal but during the course of our lives we either rise above the
bar, like the soldier, or sink below it, like the irritating
passenger. After landing in Philly I stood up to retrieve my luggage
from overhead. As I was on the outside, I went ahead and grabbed
Eric's bag to hand to him. It was very heavy. It was also situated
directly above the head of the unruly passenger who now crouched in
the first seat of the aisle. I glanced at Eric, who, I could tell
from the mischievous twinkle in his eye, had already read my mind.
He shook his head in silent affirmation of my intention. A fellow
passenger behind us noticed our unspoken plan and laughed out loud,
good-naturedly punching Eric in the shoulder.

It would have been so easy. But in deference to the soldier's
example and figuring sense could not be knocked into that guy's
thick skull anyway, I simply handed Eric his bag. I have no
misgivings about that decision but I do have a regret. While
imagining Eric's bag smashing "accidentally" into the side of the
unruly passenger's head, the soldier got off the plane before I had
the opportunity to thank him for his service to our country. I made
it as quickly as I could to the baggage claim but he was not there.
He had vanished.

As I did not have the opportunity to thank him face to face, I'll
thank him here - and all of his fellow soldiers as well – for their
service and their sacrifice. I will also remember him. I will
remember his behavior and how he carried himself. It served to
highlight the stark contrast between one man willing to fight for
our right to freedom of speech and another's right to insult the
very protector of that right. I have no doubt Patrick Henry would
have been proud of the former. I further have no doubt he would have
detested the latter.

Submitted by Lance C

Do you have a story to share? Submit it to
InspiredBuffalo@...

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Memories

A lazy breeze blowing through the windows at night, the
curtains
flowing with the breeze. The night is only interrupted by the
fireflys
June and the serenading sound of crickets and frogs. The elixir of
summer is either sun tea or lemonade and the food of the gods is
watermelon, cantaloupe or vegetables that you have pulled from the
ground.

How about a grilled hot dog? Grab a stick and cook it over a
fire
and while you are at it maybe put a marshmallow or two on the stick.
Maybe tomorrow we can grab our bamboo fishing canes and go to
the pond and see what we can catch. If not, we can see what our
imagination will invoke in the clouds. Later, we could fly a kite,
or get
into a water pistol fight. Ever go looking for fossils?
Arrowheads?

Let's go into the local drug store and get a nickle comic book
and
a twenty five cent float. I hear the serial this Saturday is Flash
Gordon
vs the Moon Men. Do you have your decoder ring? I still have my
compass from the cracker jack box. Do you have your magnifying glass
from the cracker jack box?

Yes, the times were simpler, and perhaps more safe than today.
What the past offered we took, we had to use our imagination to
play. Our trash can lids and a stick was all we needed to be a
Knight
of the Realm. The boys of summer would be in the sandlot playing
ball. We did not need batteries, nor did we need television, nor did
we need people to tell us what to do,,,we were too busy having
fun.

BJ Cassady

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Two Writers
Bill Walker
wildbill6807@...

A man called Joe., well I think his name is Joseph, but most says
Joe. Joe is a writer, a thinker, and I would think a person one
would like to set on the porch and talk to. Now let Joe do most of
the talking. He seems to always have something good to read, so I
would think he has things to talk about, worth the hearing time.

Joe reminds me of another fellow I used to read. I believe his name
was Guy Williams. Keith Chambers knew Guy Williams. Guy worked for
the Omaha Newspaper. He reached retirement age, and moved to around
Branson, Missouri neck of the woods. That was in the days of before
it became the place to do so, and big name music people and such
moving in. Guy lived the good life, setting on the porch, watching
what was going on, and writing. You see he always had a story to
tell for the Sunday Omaha paper yet. Oh it wasn't earth shaking
news, just something like what Charlie or Bob was doing. Of course
you would have what Jane, and Mary was doing also. Those would be
the Wrens that Guy knows. You see Guy watched every thing. The
Wrens is in the thickets near by working feeding the little ones.
Whatever is going on, you got it in Sundays paper. Guy always had
the feeders filled for all the free loaders. Birds, and the fur
covered tree people You always had a story you wanted to read. The
way Guy wrote the story, you were there. You could hear the Wrens
fussing about something, just by reading what Guy had to say. You
would read about the Browns are here for a couple days. They have a
store at Silver Dollar City in the summer months, once in a while in
the winter they come down from the city to look about something. The
Browns stopped and talked a while.. Said something about some guy by
the name of Mel wants to buy the drop off next to them. Seems this
Mel wants to put up a building there to make music in. They said
this Mel gets hung up on words a lot, but he makes pretty fair
music. Guy said he also heard some one name of Roy thinking about
putting up a place. He does a lot of picking and grinning on some
TV show. The place is going to pot, might have to find a new place
and get aways from all these up starts moving in. But you got the
news of down around Branson neck of the woods.

Now this fellow Joe, he tells or writes a story, much the same way.
You can just get the picture of what Joe is writing about. You can
just see the kids, the dogs, the cat , what ever Joe is writing, you
get the picture all in color, no black and white, it is color.

His name? Joe Mazzella of course.

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From Dianne

I wonder sometimes, just how hard it must be for someone who served
in Vietnam, to go to the memorial. How many names on there are names
of
buddies, or even friends who had served? I wanted to do something
special for them, for all of them. This poem was an idea I had,
strangely inspired by a Christian music video showing an older man
walking with flowers to the cemetery. I pray that this poem does
justice to those who served; please know you are not forgotten. I am
a child
of a Vietnam Veteran, proud of it, and eternally grateful to those
who
did serve, for without their jobs being done . their sacrifices
made .
my father's name may very well have been on that wall. From my heart,
to the hearts of all of you, who were there . THANK YOU. and WELCOME
HOME!!!!

THE WALK TO THE WALL

I took a walk the other day,
I had to say thanks to the men
Who had given so much for all we have
Who gave their lives for us back then

As I came upon the open clearing
And I saw the wall down there
I had to stop and remember to breathe
As the wind blew thru my hair

Some people walked on by me
Just a few said hello to me
None would have known I knew those men
Whose names would stare back at me

I did not know every single name on there
But I knew there would be a lot
Who had given their all in a war from hell
In a land so many so soon forgot

I gathered myself together
and I tried to stand up real tall
I had to make my way down there,
To the place everyone called The Wall

Slowly I came upon the memorial
The names were too many for me to see
As I tried to move past each part of the wall
Emotions began to take over me

Tears streamed down my face on that day
As I saw my men's names begin to appear
I told them I was sorry for being so late
In saying how much I missed having them here

I walked just a little bit further down
And I saw the name of my dearest friend
And the memories began to over take me
Of when his life had come to a tragic end

I let my fingers glide over the letters
As it slowly began to softly rain
I whispered to him to let him know
That he was not one, who had died in vein

If it had not been for you being right there
When our division came under attack
It would have been my name engraved here
You would have been the one who came back

So I am here today to say thanks son
Thanks for always being there for me
And I promise I will visit you more often
I promise; you just wait and see

I stood back and I studied the names there
And I cried as I walked along my way
I thought of all those men I had lost there
They were too young to be killed on that day

I stood up tall and silently saluted
Thanks men for serving so well by my side
God bless you and the families you have left here
May they know you served well before you died

I started back to my car as it began pouring
And I stood there looking back at the wall
I realized my job being commander wasn't that special.
The honor belonged to those who that day, took the fall

I turned back around and went back down there
I removed my rank and the ribbons I had on my chest
These belong more to you my fellow soldiers
For you are the ones who truly did your very best

I laid them down along side the memorial
Then I stepped back and saluted quietly
I bowed my head and began silently praying
Thank you men for serving so well under me

Mary Greeley
(c) May 17, 2005.

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