If you could go back and witness any historical event, which one would you pick?
OK, since the question asks if I could witness any historical event – not any historical day. I feel it is safe to assume I can choose an epic event over a period of time.
That event would be the book of Genesis, especially through the “days“ of creation. I. e.
The process of creating/restoring the Earth.
Who God was talking to when he said, “Let US make man in OUR image.”
What the serpent appeared as when he wholly seduced Eve and possibly Adam 🤔
How Noah built the ark and what everyone else was doing while he built.
 etc., etc. etc. 
Of course, I would want to share that experience with the world today, but there would be doubters. People would call me crazy. I would have a few, if any friends. I’d be banned from social media for spreading misinformation. I’d possibly— if not, probably be assassinated. 
Although it would be frustrating, it would also be satisfying because I would know.
There’s so many other historical events I would like to witness.
The plotting and killing of Christ, the Kennedys, Martin Luther King Jr.,..
But the prompt was posed as a question — to witness, not a directive — to intervene.
I was not designed to interfere with destiny nor instructed to prophecy. 
The thought of losing a child cripples me [emotionally]. Although I have thankfully not lost a child to war my mama heart hurts so deeply for those who have that is how this poem was born so many years ago.
That is why I share it here today.
But let me not forget – let none of us forget.
Memorial Day is more than a long weekend, a parade, or a flag waving in the warm breeze. For many families, it is a chair left empty. A voice that no longer answers. A folded flag resting where a son, daughter, husband, wife, father, or mother once stood.
Today, we remember those who took an oath beneath a flag of pride and came home draped beneath it.
This poem was written years ago, but like grief itself, its meaning never ages. It is for the mothers who still whisper lullabies into silence, for the families who carry pride and heartbreak in the same breath — the same trembling hands. And for every fallen service member who gave all they had —whose absence still echoes through the lives they left behind.
Little Man By Janna Hill
IT’S TIME TO GO TO bed little man Cover up your head little man I’ll see you when the sun breaks in the morn Say your prayers and close your eyes I’ve locked the monsters all outside She’d sang those words to him since he was born
He grew to be a brave young lad And followed after his ole dad Beneath a flag of pride his oath was sworn They brought him home in silk lined wood And all around him soldiers stood While Butterfield’s Lullaby played upon the horn
It’s time to go ahead little man I know that you weren’t scared little man My heart breaks I can’t see you and I mourn I’ve said my prayers for your closed eyes I’ve tucked my feelings deep inside She sang into a folded flag of thorns.
I love this photo for so many reasons. I wonder what those little boys are thinking? What one said that created such an expression in the others.
My 5th grandson started playing baseball this year. He, like my other grandsons, is a rascal on the field and off.
The photo made me think of my other grandsons (their ages range from 10 months to 22 years) and some of the things they discuss/discussed.
I imagine right about now I have a grin like the little guy in the picture as I remember how I busied myself, pretending to be unaware while they talked.
Their conversations ranged from bugs to books and dinosaurs and bikes. Rocks and clouds and robots. …
When the older boys discussions evolved to automobiles and girls I busied myself out of hearing range.
And just for clarification, I don’t consider it eavesdropping if I’m in your presence.
