Forgive me, Lord, for complaining.

Today was supposed to be a good day. You know what I'm talking about. A day of accomplishment, good news, hope for tomorrow. And yet one thing after another smacked me across the face, eating up precious moments and what energy I can muster every day with the back injuries I deal with.

Then the calls started. It was one thing after another. Calls about unfinished projects. Need for information. Starting new projects. Calls about unreturned calls. Calls from family and friends wondering if I had fallen off the face of the earth. Calls about conference calls. Calls about meetings. Calls about calls. Just one darned thing after another.

And meanwhile, I find it harder and harder to swallow as Terri Schiavo is slowly starved to death. But what started off as a potentially hopeful day on all fronts, including even Terri's battle, started to turn south as the hours wore on.

Then, I received an email from a dear, dear friend. It is sometimes odd who the good Lord chooses to deliver His messages to us, but they sure are loud and clear when we get them. As much physical pain as this back may cause me, as much aggravation as my ever-growing "to-do" list is causing me, this simple, beautiful message brought me right back to the priorities and the blessings. Sometimes it all comes down to an ice cream sandwich.

Here is what I received:

Written by a Navy Commander at a port in Kuwait ... No commentaryneeded, the 3-minute read below says more than a 20-page article could about our warriors and the constitution of our men.

Where do we get such men?
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"They are so damn young" I was going to the gym tonight (really just a huge tent with weightsand treadmills), and we had heard that one of the MEUs (Marine ExpUnits) that had come out of service in the "triangle" was redeploying(leaving country).

We saw their convoy roll in to the Kuwait NavalBase as the desert sun was setting. I have never seen anything like this. Trucks and humvees that lookedlike they had just come through a shredder. Their equipment was fullof shrapnel blast holes, and missing entire major pieces that youcould tell had been blasted by IEDs.

These kids looked bad too! I mean, sunken eyes, thin as rails, and that 1000-yd. stare they talkabout after direct combat. Made me pretty damn embarrassed to be a"rear area warrior".

All people could do was stop in their tracks and stare... and feel like me...like I wanted to bow my head in reverence. A Marine Captain stationed with me, was standing next to me, also headed to the gym. He said, "Part of 1st Brigade Combat Team, 8th Marines, sir. Took the heaviest losses of any single unit up north as part of Task ForceDanger, sir."

As the convoy rolled up, all of us watching just slowly crept towardthese kids as they dismounted the Hummers and 5-tons. Of course, we were all shiny and clean compared to these warriors. These kids looked like they had just crawled from Iraq. I had my security badge and idaround my neck, and started to help them unload some of their dufflebags.

A crusty Gunny came up to me and said "sir, you don't have to do that..." I said, "Gunny... yes I do..." They all looked like they werein high school, or younger!! All held themselves sharply andconfident, despite the extreme fatigue you could tell they hadendured.

"You guys out of the triangle?" I asked.

"Yes, sir. 14 months, and twice into the grinder, sir" (both fights for Fallujah).

All I could do was throw my arm around their shoulders and say "thanks Marine, for taking the fight to the bad guys...we love you man." I looked at these young kids, not one of them complaining or showing signs of anything but focus, and good humor.

'Sir, they got ice cream at the DFAC, sir?"

"I haven't had real ice cream since we got here..."

They continued to unload... and after I had done my handshakes andshoulder hugs, the Captain and I looked at each other ... They want ice cream, we'll get them ice cream. You see, a squid O-5and a focused Marine O-3 can get just about anything, even if the messis closed.

Needless to say, we raided the closed DFAC (mess tent),much to the chagrin of one very pissed off Mess Sergeant and grabbed boxes of ice cream sandwiches (as many as we could carry), and hustledback to the convoy. I felt like Santa Claus.

"Thank you, sir.." again and again from each trooper, as we tossed up the bars to the guys in the trucks.

I'm thinkin', "Son, what the hell are you thanking me for?I can't thank you enough."

And they are so damned young ... I will sleep well, knowing they are watching my back tonight."