Every year, i drag my children and usually my husband to the Remembrance Day ceremony.  In Evansburg, it was outside in the howling cold around a tiny cenotaph, with muddy ditches all around and warning tape - in Hinton, it's inside in the beautiful Hinton Centre.

This year, i took my five oldest, and T took the two babies out for cookies and a new crockpot for mama (yup, i am spoiled :)...)..

Sitting there, i wondered how many other people who had dressed up their babies and brought strollers, or got on their orthotic shoes and velour leisure suit and checked their blue hair, were feeling as conflicted as i was.  As conflicted as the service was.

We got there early, a little row of six at the very front.  I wanted the children to be able to see this year, and it was a good strategy as they really did pay attention.  The hymn was one they knew, O God Our Help In Ages Past (we'd been singing it during our Bible time this fall) and a special friend from church (Lillian Lawrence) had brought along a bag of peanut brittle to share with whatever children she saw (that is so Lillian) - and she saw us in the front row and deposited a big bag of treats...  So they had a good view, peanut brittle to munch during the quiet moments, and then the soldiers came in.

Eight of them, with their so -dark -green -it's -almost -black uniforms on, their sloped berets, the PPCLI insignia on their shoulders.  They looked like healthy, strong, good natured boys a few years older than my own biggie, Wyatt.  They knew when to salute, and when the second cadet was going to faint, one stepped up to the front and helped him out to a back room to recover (the first fainting cadet was caught by an RCMP who frogmarched him off while the other RCMP took over flag duty...  It's awesome to see people trained for leadership actually exhibiting it).

Anaia had brought a watercolor painting she had done with her friend Abigail the day before, to give to the soldiers, and at the end, we shared two of the little bags of peanut brittle with the soldiers, and got to say thank you.

I always wonder what i should feel - the great great granddaughter of pacifists who fled Russia, Germany, China, and the United States to avoid military service, married to the grandson of men who fought on the Axis side during WWII.  Almost like i don't belong.  Like maybe i should be pacifist.  Or just stay away.  And when i look to God's Word, i hear Jesus' voice, telling his disciples

"When you are persecuted in one place, flee to another. I tell you the truth, you will not finish going through the cities of Israel before the Son of Man comes.(Matthew 10:23)

I think of the fight i watched last night with T, which he had carefully taped so he could rewind the "good bits" - all the while wondering about the centuries of censure that prize fighting was under.  All Christians agreed that to fight another man for money was a sin - and yet, at the end, my heart broke for the bloodied victor, Emilianenko, who had fought with skill, and speed, despite being shorter, lighter, with a smaller reach, and being older than his opponent.

At the end, he spoke through an interpreter, as his long bearded, long haired Russian orthodox priests rejoiced around him, and even though i didn't understand what he said, my heart was paying attention to his heart so evident in  his face...  Instead of posturing, and bragging, and glorying in his accomplishment, he mentioned the religious persecution of the Orthodox in Russia, thanked those who pray for the Church there, and said that his victory was not his alone, but shared by all of his brothers and sisters in Christ.

In those moments, i saw beauty and the grace of God in something that i still see as barbaric and cruel.  Something useful, perhaps, for warriors, but beyond the ken of "civilized" man.  And i see my own hypocrisy.  Because as i'm sitting in the Remembrance Day ceremony, i am so.  So.  Thankful, for those other women who send their sons to fight for our freedom, even now, in countries where "the heathen rage" and plot to destroy my country.  And yet, the thought of any of my four sons being in that uniform (as i saw two of my son's homeschooling friends in their cadet uniforms) fill me with panic.

I want someone to fight for me.  And at times, fighting is what is necessary.  The Jews in WWII did try to flee, some too late - and they could not always flee.  The borders were closed, and the time for fleeing was over.  The extermination had begun.  In this case, they needed a champion.

Praise  God for my Champion, the One who laid down His life for me, and set a pattern of self sacrifice and dedication to the new reality He was creating by taking up a cross He could easily have splintered, exploded, and flow away from, borne up by twelve legions of angels...

And i will pray, too, for these young men, in the prime of life, that God will bring them safely home to their mothers to one day sit as old men, covered with medals, and knowing the satisfaction of being honored by their country.