Not long ago, a friend and I were talking about the international space station and in the course of the conversation, we worked our way around to the fact that it's been almost forty years since man first set foot on the moon.
Forty years.
I have two grown sons with kids of their own and neither one of those sons has ever been alive in a time when we hadn't already been to the moon.
And as my friend and I kept chatting it through, he offered that it was a waste of time and money to explore space with so many problems here on the big blue (well, dirty blue) ball.
Yeah, yeah. I've heard that argument before. It's crap, if you ask me.
But that comment did remind me of something that I wrote a few years ago when we lost the shuttle Discovery on re-entry. When people were stunned at the loss of the astronauts and were talking about how dangerous space travel was and asking the inevitable knee jerk question. Is it all worth it?
I went to my file and pulled out what I wrote that day.
The day Discovery came apart.
The inevitable voices could be heard almost before the last charred and broken pieces of debris had found their way back to earth.
These voyages must stop. The danger is too great. Lives have been lost. We must re-evaluate.
A thousand voices of protest…concern…anger…anguish…sounds as natural and honest and instinctive as the cry of pain leaping from our lips as the unforeseen stumble sends knee to pavement and the skin tears away from our bodies, wounding us, hurting us, bleeding us, sending an instant and unmistakable message to our brains that we must stop, sit down, stop walking, do whatever we must to insure that this does not happen again.
Honest and real voices. Inspired by honest and real expressions of pain and anger.
Voices that deserve to be heard with respect.
And then ignored.
For just as we cannot live out our individual lives sitting on the pavement, nursing our scrapes, whimpering at the pain, letting life pass by and all around us as we let our tears blind us to the promise of what lies around the next corner, neither can we sit on the pavement looking up at the abandoned launch pad, nursing our scrapes, whimpering at the pain, letting our tears blind us to the promise of what lies around the next corner… or around the next star.
Explorers and those who love them don’t dwell on the cost of the exploration. But they are always aware of the price that may be required. And they are always willing and ready to pay it.
These voyages must stop. The danger is too great. Lives have been lost. We must re-evaluate.
A thousand voices of protest…concern…anger…anguish…sounds as natural and honest and instinctive as the cry of pain leaping from our lips as the unforeseen stumble sends knee to pavement and the skin tears away from our bodies, wounding us, hurting us, bleeding us, sending an instant and unmistakable message to our brains that we must stop, sit down, stop walking, do whatever we must to insure that this does not happen again.
Honest and real voices. Inspired by honest and real expressions of pain and anger.
Voices that deserve to be heard with respect.
And then ignored.
For just as we cannot live out our individual lives sitting on the pavement, nursing our scrapes, whimpering at the pain, letting life pass by and all around us as we let our tears blind us to the promise of what lies around the next corner, neither can we sit on the pavement looking up at the abandoned launch pad, nursing our scrapes, whimpering at the pain, letting our tears blind us to the promise of what lies around the next corner… or around the next star.
Explorers and those who love them don’t dwell on the cost of the exploration. But they are always aware of the price that may be required. And they are always willing and ready to pay it.
That, I would offer, is the ultimate indication of the courage these kinds of people possess. Not the bravery that venturing into dark and unknown spaces requires, but the bravery of venturing in without any assurance that they will find their way back again.
A ship is safe in harbor, the saying goes, but that’s not what ships are for…
These seven people, these sons and daughters and mothers and fathers and wives and husbands had a clearer and more exquisite understanding of that simple but essential truth than any ten thousand people passing through this life and nothing can honor them more or more profoundly than for us to get up off the pavement, bandage the wound to begin the healing process and get on with the journey. No statue or plaque or ceremony or five page essay can do more justice to the courage these seven have offered us than for us to offer back to them our willingness to show courage. The courage to keep trying. The courage to keep searching. The courage to keep risking failure. The courage of their convictions…
Imagine Columbus having been lost at sea and the Queen ordering the fleet to stop sailing. Imagine Lewis and Clark having disappeared somewhere in Oregon and the President ordering a halt to all future expedition. Imagine Lindbergh having never arrived that amazing night in Paris and funding being refused to the next voyager willing to roll down the runway and take off into the darkness..
Those of us who do not cross oceans or continents or space can never really know the kind of courage it takes to be a discoverer.
But we have it within our power to honor that courage.
And not with words or marble or bronze…
But with voices.Voices that say…godspeed and good luck…
A ship is safe in harbor, the saying goes, but that’s not what ships are for…
These seven people, these sons and daughters and mothers and fathers and wives and husbands had a clearer and more exquisite understanding of that simple but essential truth than any ten thousand people passing through this life and nothing can honor them more or more profoundly than for us to get up off the pavement, bandage the wound to begin the healing process and get on with the journey. No statue or plaque or ceremony or five page essay can do more justice to the courage these seven have offered us than for us to offer back to them our willingness to show courage. The courage to keep trying. The courage to keep searching. The courage to keep risking failure. The courage of their convictions…
Imagine Columbus having been lost at sea and the Queen ordering the fleet to stop sailing. Imagine Lewis and Clark having disappeared somewhere in Oregon and the President ordering a halt to all future expedition. Imagine Lindbergh having never arrived that amazing night in Paris and funding being refused to the next voyager willing to roll down the runway and take off into the darkness..
Those of us who do not cross oceans or continents or space can never really know the kind of courage it takes to be a discoverer.
But we have it within our power to honor that courage.
And not with words or marble or bronze…
But with voices.Voices that say…godspeed and good luck…
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