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My Cherokee friend Sherrie Adkins told me a Cherokee legend that will always come to mind when I see a cardinal: Once upon a time,
the sun had no heart and so it didn't Once the sun felt compassion, he backed off enough that Earth-dwellers did not burn to death. The Cherokee honored the young girl for sacrificing her life for all of us. The sun felt remorse that his actions had caused her to make that sacrifice, so he took her body and created the redbird from it, so that when we saw a cardinal, we would remember the beautiful young maiden who had given her life for ours. Most of us give our lives for others. My friend, Grady Brewer, comes to mind. He grew up in a coal-mining town. He saw the old men dropping like flies with black lung. Still, he entered the mines at an early age and worked until he was an old man. He died of black lung disease. Nightclub musicians give their lives to give us music to enjoy and dance to. They expose themselves to second-hand smoke, the constant temptations of alcohol and drugs and irregular hours that place a constant strain on their bodies. An old sax player in my band who had lost his larynx once told me, “There are enough occupational hazards here to kill any man. I’m lucky to just lose a larynx.” I once saw a study about the shorter life spans of professional athletes. Most boxers have brain damage. Basketball players suffer damage to tendons, ankles and knees. Football players live with a battered body the rest of their lives. I also saw a study on the incidence of heart attacks, strokes, mental illness and suicides among doctors. The pressures of serving an internship are horrendous. Doctors who are constantly available to their patients seldom get relief from the stress. Welders damage their eyes, electricians live in constant danger and people who do a lot of heavy lifting wipe out a vertebra or two at some point in their lives. When I was working my way through college I worked in a sheet metal shop and briefly had to swing long pieces of metal with an employee we called “Big Swede.” I apologized because I was so slow and he said, “Take your time, man. If you don’t do this correctly and slowly, you will not be here long. I can tell you some stories.” Think of a half dozen jobs that come to mind and you will see the dangers in them and will develop a deeper appreciation for all the people all around you who quietly do their work every day. Even stay-at-home mothers can die prematurely. My paternal grandmother only lived to be 56. She had eleven babies, ten of which lived to be adults. Daddy held her head in his lap when she was dying and I will never forget the night she died when he came home and embraced mother and sobbed so hard it shook both of their bodies. He said, “It was childbirth and a hard life that killed her.” My paternal grandfather was one of my heroes but it was thoughtless to get her pregnant eleven times. Women are not designed to be baby-making machines. It reminds me of the words of Lord Byron, “The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes and do what their duty bids them do.” When you see a cardinal remember the Cherokee legend. Pause and thank all those who are dying for you every day.
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