An involuntary Semper Fi at Walmart

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It's a dreary day here in southwestern Idaho. The temperature is a peculiar 62 degrees (F) for December 1st, and rain graces my current abode in areas that normally would occupy fresh and lively snowfall, or least flurries, by this time of year. Birds sing and squirrels rejoice with chipper tail flicks at a few extra days with which to gather nuts into their homes for the winter. They scamper about causing my Canon Rebel to act in far less rebellion than normal in early December days. My camera is out often, as no one is hibernating yet. We're supposed to get a fierce winter this time around, but you wouldn't know it. Some are still wearing shorts in public.

It's hard to tell the oddity of it all, of course. I find the general public in sweatpants and catch-phrases unfit for European hostels. Braless wonders frolic about in Walmart and glare at me like I'm the strange one. I dare not dart my eyes to my left or to my right anymore unless necessary. At least not in this area. I enjoy my peripheral vision for safety's sake alone. This land isn't as it used to be. Why with so much more "freedom" do I with my "archaic" morals feel so enslaved in this climate? Why, if there is so much Lady Liberty "freedom" about, am I allotted a begrudgingly sour expression by most if I praise heterosexuality and salvation in Christ alone? I live in a "Christian" area. Salvation Army bell ringers wish me a Merry Christmas with a kind of begging tone and I want to toss rocks into their red buckets with notes that read "We need jobs. Not freelance quarters."

I walk stoically into the den of thieves, gluttons, murders, idolaters, and HIV positive "good citizens" who shop in the name of peace, love, and happiness, trying to force my mind on what I need and nothing eles. No distractions. I am thankful for what sins I do not encompass, burdened greatly by the sins of the world but primarily my own. I don't see the worst in people always. I don't see the best in people always. I ask God to show me what He wills for me to see. I go from there.

I see a Reservist Marine in dress blues and force myself to the side. He's standing at attention but he doesn't see me, which is great, because I don't want to be seen... by anyone. Memories flood me like an electric current. My mind is forced back almost five and a half years to the first day I saw my husband in his dress uniform, and I almost lose it right there among cold metal carts full of grimy germs from grimy boxed-potato people. Immediately I feel like I'm back on base about to shuffle around the Commissary to look for what would be apples at half the cost I'm about to pay in civilian land. I remember what respect I have for servicemen and women who live within the confines of their four-year [or more] long contracts and give every ounce of loyalty, love, and devotion to their cause, I remember again how surreal and handsome my husband was in his blues, and for a few moments all I want is to hug my handsome Marine, smell his freshly starched blouse, and link arms with him while walking in sync down a long corridor, my kitten heels purring along side his shoes as we walk in perfect harmony.

By this point, I've gone into autopilot mode and picked up my three-year old, placing him gently into the shopping cart seat. Walking becomes stiff and purposeful, brisk but graceful. I do not slouch. I do not stick my nose in the air. I do not carry any facial expression on me that is easy for the general public to identify. I had planned to walk by without a word, but instead...

I look him dead on and blurt out a clear, respectful, and crisp "Semper Fi." He nods, responding with a "Semper Fi," clearly not expecting my greeting. I can see in his eyes that he realizes I am not as uninformed and careless as many who also pass by him within that same moment.

Then, by the time I am leaving, there is yet another Marine standing alongside him. As if the first mentioned me to the second while I was shopping, they follow my son, my friend, and I out the door with their eyes. They look like they wish they can escort us instead of guarding Toys for Tots for hours. There isn't anything flirtatious about it at all. In a split second there's an appreciation on their faces, like they are relieved and thankful I am not being a complete dumb ass, honestly. My husband has taught me well. Years ago I would have made a fool out of myself in such a seemingly insignificant instance. Nothing is insignificant, though. Seize the day and seize the moment. Every single one of them.

To my husband, you don't need to wear dress blues in order for your body language to carry such weight and demand respect. This is [one reason] why I love being around you in public. I know now why in the last year you had me pay so much more attention to how I carried myself out in public. Uniform or not, I know why it matters. I see the difference. I see how differently people treat me. I know why other women are jealous. I know why men would rather be around me than a chick all dolled up with skimpy clothing, hooker heels, and fake lashes. It's not because I provoke them or because I enjoy jealousy. Lord knows I hate such selfish sin, but, I understand. Thank you for being my leader, and thank you Marine Corps for producing a few men of honor.