The term “Glimmer” is the opposite of “Trigger.”
“Triggers” refers to stimuli (person, place, sound, memory) that unexpectedly brings on intense negative emotions or physical reactions. They are often linked to past trauma or distress, activating the body’s fight-or-flight response and making someone feel like they’re reliving the original painful event.
“Glimmers“, on the other hand, are those moments in your day that make you feel joy, happiness, peace, or gratitude. Once you train your brain to be on the lookout for glimmers, these tiny moments will appear more and more.” – anon. Substack.com
One of many of Heavenly Father‘s blessings is his gift to every one of His children the ability to choose between Triggers and Glimmers.
Attitude
“The longer I live the more I realize the impact of attitude on Life. Attitude, to me, is more important than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures, than successes, that what other people think, say, or do.
It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company; a church, a home.
The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day.
We cannot change our past…we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable.
The only thing we can do is play on the one thing we have – and that is our attitude.
I am convinced that Life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it.
And so it is with you.
We are all in charge of our own attitudes.” – Charles Swindell
(See also: Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl, 1946)
Glimmers:
Best TV Commercial Ever (YES! A TV COMMERCIAL!):
Offscreen interviewer asking individual Olympian contestants what their goals are. Each said to “Win.” Then, the Olympians watched -tears running down their cheeks – videos of their parents asking what their goals were for their Olympian children. Each parent said they wanted to see their children smile and be happy at the conclusion of the games – because their children were the gold for them.
A mom sneaks up behind her Olympian son and places a “gold medal” around his neck – which he proceeds to unwrap and devour with a wide smile. Good job, Hersheys!
Our Mogadishu Mother:
We arrived from Ft. Bragg in Mogadishu on the C-5 cargo plane carrying the two replacement Blackhawk helicopters for the ones shot down during the Ranger raid October 3-4 1993.
The intel we had was that Aideed was planning on attacking the airport to capture more Americans as bargaining chips – and they were trying to obtain an SA-7 antiaircraft missile launcher.
As we descended on final aboard the largest military aircraft in the world, I had just finished reading A Bright Shining Lie: John Paul Vann and America in Vietnam by Neil Sheehan, 1988
We ended up at Sword Base, the top corner of the Digfer Triangle on 21 October Road. Sword Base had been the largest Russian tank factory outside the Soviet Union but had been abandoned long ago. In the field outside the wall, there remained the rusted, ruined hulks of tanks used for target practice and weapons testing. The Quartermaster battalion commander occupying Sword Base reminded me of Humphrey Bogart in the movie The Caine Mutiny except, instead of rolling steel balls nervously in his hands, LtCol. Rupert was possessed with the idea of completing a full-service, air conditioned PX on the dilapidated grounds of Sword Base. This even after Clinton had announced we were pulling out of Somalia in three months.
To facilitate this and hoping to show off his grandiose improvements to some general or politician, Rupert decided to move the rusted hulks of the tanks from the field onto flatbed trailers through Sword Base and out the main gate onto 21 October Road.
One hot, humid day (the equator runs right through Somalia) I was walking near the main gate just after a flatbed trailer had gone out carrying the turret and barrel of an old T-62 tank.
No sooner had the gate closed when I heard a crash. The guards atop the gate shouted down that the turret and barrel had slid off the flatbed and sliced off the top of a VW bus carrying a bunch of Somalis. A guard ran inside the aid station abutting the wall by the main gate where Major (P) Hansen (?), the battalion surgeon, was working. Major Hansen was picking up LtCol. in a month or two and scheduled to rotate back home in a week or two. He was going to work at the VA hospital in Salt Lake City.
Major Hansen had direct orders from the UNOSOM commanding general to NOT go outside the perimeter walls of Sword Base. Upon hearing of the injured, without hesitation, Major Hansen grabbed a medic’s kit bag and ran out the gate – right into a howling mob of over a hundred furious Somalis. He was wearing a blue, United Nations baseball cap. As he disappeared into the crowd I saw his blue UN cap being tossed into the air.
I was stunned. I knew there were armed Somalis in that crowd – some Habir Gedir (Aideed’s) and others Abghal (the other guy’s gang).
So did Major Hansen. And yet he went.
My weapons guy arrived by then and, shouting for the gate guards to get the QRF, I and my medic and weapons guys ran into the melee to back up Major Hansen. The crowd immediately encircled us as we made our way through. Halfway into the crowd I stopped and asked myself “WTF are we (the United States) doing in this God-forsaken place?” For a moment the din of the crowd disappeared and I heard the still, small voice of the Lord tell me “Because you are an American.” I turned to face the gate to see if the QRF was coming (LtCol. Rupert refused to let them out the gate) and I saw the American flag waving from a pole near the top of the main gate.
I felt the kind of peace one gets when facing possible death while knowing – however it turns out – it’s OK.*
Of all the places I’ve been in the world – including (especially) Vietnam – I never felt more proud to be an American – or more proud of my men, Doc Hansen and his medics.
I knew the only reason we were in Somalia instead of Ethiopia (which had an exponentially worse famine) was because the UN Secretary-General Boutros-Boutros Gali had half interest in the Somali National Bank with deposed Somali President Siad Barre and they wanted “their” money back.
The noise returned and I found Major Hansen kneeling beside a rather rotund Somali woman lying on the hot asphalt. There was a large gash on her forehead exposing her brain and one of her eyes was hanging out onto her cheek. Major Hansen’s medics quit waiting for the QRF and ran out the gate bringing a stretcher. They put her on the stretcher and, amazingly, the mob opened up for us to bring her inside to the aid station.
LtCol. Rupert refused to call in a Medivac helicopter from UNOSOM headquarters just two miles away. Major Hansen got on the phone and spoke with someone and the helicopter showed up minutes later. She was treated by a Swedish UN medical team and released.
A few days later a gate guard approached and said my presence was requested at the gate by a delegation of Abghal and Habir Gedir representatives. Sword Base was located on “The Green Line” separating the two factions into northern and southern parts of the city. Sword Base received the most fire of any UN locations in the city from both clans.
They were gaggled together at the gate and wanted to talk “peace.” I asked them to line themselves up into two columns, informed them only five from each group were being allowed in and they were going to be searched; then led them inside to LtCol. Rupert’s staff conference room.
Most of my career I operated on the premise it was easier to ask forgiveness than to get permission. That’s one reason I retired as a “mere” captain.
They told me through a Somali interpreter (assigned to USMC WO “Gator” Harvey’s CI detachment) that, as a result of Major Hansen’s treatment of the Somali woman, they decided to end their hostilities against each other around Sword Base.
She was the mother of one of the clan leaders.
While they were sitting across from each other, a sergeant entered the room in full battle rattle and said he needed to speak with me outside right now. As I exited the room I saw the QRF lined up in a seven man stack against the wall. The sergeant said “Sir, I’m sorry but LtCol. Rupert ordered us to make a tactical entry and “clear the room” of Somalis.
Knowing he was putting his stripes on the line, he agreed to wait ten minutes to allow me time to try changing Rupert’s mind. Rupert was lying on his cot in his dark bedroom with a fan blowing on him. It was one o’clock in the afternoon. I entered, explained the purpose of the meeting, and asked if he would call off the QRF. Rupert proceeded to chew my ass off. I couldn’t get another word in.
He concluded by telling me to have them “scrub their shit-stained handprints off my furniture” before they left. I said, “Sir, I can do that but, if I do, two things are going to happen: we’re going to receive more in-coming fire that we have up to now and soldiers are going to be killed.” Rupert fumed saying “I don’t give a shit. Get them outta my conference room.”
I walked into the Ops Room and called a buddy I had known in 5th Special Forces Group when we were both enlisted. Major Brand was now the G-2 for General Montgomery, UNOSOM commander. I gave him a quick SitRep and he told me to stand by one.
Moments later, he returned to the phone and told me to take all the time I wanted.
I did. And they didn’t scrub any furniture.
Somali culture has an expression: “Me and Somalia against the world. Me and my clan against Somalia. Me and my brother against the clan.” I didn’t have any false hopes these people would really stop fighting each other – or us. But while they were talking I was identifying them and getting some good intel on them and their agendas under the pretext of “public relations.”
Sometimes it’s hard being an American – but it’s always worth it whether the mission succeeds or not.**
Even when the enemy is “us.”
*glimmer: small moments that make us feel a sense of calm, connection, peace, and safety.
**that’s a good soundbite but I don’t really believe it – especially when politicians put us in winless wars and waste lives they so easily use for their purposes.
Last Cattle Drive:
One of the happiest times of my life was a cattle drive taking the herd up into the mountains for summer grazing.
By the time we got back down the mountain I was so tired I more fell than dismounted – and stepped smack dab in the middle of a fresh pile of cow shit.
…..But I got to sit in the middle going home!
I sure miss it.
Stranger Friend:
A fellow “Okie,” Will Rogers once said “A Stranger is a Friend you haven’t met yet” and, in my home town (and really, just about everywhere I go), I find that to be true almost every day. (see: 1941 Frank Capra movie Meet John Doe starring Gary Cooper and Barbara Stanwyck)
Watching a young girl pass in front of my truck as she pushes her first brand new bicycle out the door of Walmart. The joy on her face.. . . priceless.
Watching a father carry his sleeping child out the front door of a restaurant. The totally passed out child has too quickly grown almost to0 big to carry. Bringing back memories of carrying my children; sadly knowing they soon would be too big to carry. Now seeing them carrying their sleeping children to their cars. Knowing they will be putting them to bed like I did them when they were that age. Contented with the Cycle of Life.
Watching a gray haired couple eating at a restaurant – looking at and talking to each other. Seeing a younger couple in the booth next to them – both glued to their IPhones. Cherishing memories of long-gone loved ones celebrating disappearing Golden anniversaries.
As an immigration inspector at the Douglas, AZ Port of Entry greeting a bus load of gray-haired, American tourists (affectionately known as “Q-tips”) re-entering the United States from Mexico with “Welcome back to the United States of America!” – always responding with a chorus of enthusiastic loud cheers – and once with tears by a 92-year old Holocaust survivor with a number tattooed on her arm.
Returning home so many nights from working on the Mexican border thanking Almighty God my children were safe and warm in their beds.
Watching and listening to my young grandchildren working together to assemble a tree fort in a bushy, backyard pecan tree out of odds and ends from the shed.
Discovering my 3-year old granddaughter making sand “pies” with one of my tambourines!
Feeling my grandchildren lean their heads against grandpa’s arm during church. Seeing – sitting with – my grown children at church.
