Quit Your Whining

I want to whine. Today reached the mid-90s - with a heat index over 100. Very hot. Stifling. Wearing shorts, sandals, and a t-shirt is almost unbearable. I normally go outside with a hat, but it is almost too hot to keep it on my head. I seem to almost always be drinking from the faucet - glass after glass. Yet, the sweat seems to pour out as fast as I drink it in.

I want to whine. I hate the heat. I drive my Jeep with the top on because the sun is too cruel to take the top off. I can't ride my scooter because the idea of helmet, gloves, long pants, boots, and jacket discourage me before I can enjoy the idea of the ride. I know I can ride without the gear, but I don't believe the lack of safety gear is worth the risk. So I don't ride. Besides, the wind that hits me provides no comfort - I feel I'm in an air oven. And red lights are excruciating.

I want to whine. But I can't. Why? Because the above two paragraphs hold options: I can stay inside with air conditioning. I can choose to ride the scooter or not. I can reach into the freezer and add ice to my glass of water if I so desire. And there are those who can't.

Across the ocean from me are men and women in full battle gear - boots, helmet, flack jacket, camouflage from head to toe. And they don't have the option to take off their gear - the lack of safety is not worth the risk. They carry water on them - no ice. Warm. All they can drink is on them. They can't step over to the sink like me.

Unlike the air conditioned roof over my head, they have no shade. The shade of a Humvee is nothing in comparison. Outside is dust and bitter wind. Inside is an Easy-Bake Oven on steroids.

And they don't whine.

They do what they do because it is the right thing to do - and they know it. They do it for you, and they do it for me.

So I can't whine. I can only pray. Not for MY comfort, but for THEIRS. Their safety. Their health. And a quick return home.

Join me.

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