Standing in the Indiana State capitol I heard a sandpaper-scraping sound, and turned only to see a lobbyist dragging his chin on the floor. An otherwise successful bloke, his kindly countenance couldn’t hide the fact that on this day his special interest was the big loser as a bi-partisan answer to a property tax crisis was about to pass. On this busiest of days, the last of the session, there was an amazing revelry, a joyful bi-partisan exchange in the majestic cloisters. From the restroom to the balcony, no sharp words were heard in this historic home of all three branches of government. Bitterness took recess.

I stood behind the rostrum with the respected Representative Harris for the standard House chamber picture—sensing the majesty of the place and the history in those hallowed halls. Laptops everywhere, scattered papers, stacks of folders. This was indeed a relaxed but busy place.

Across the hall in the Senate chamber I was reminded of the entrance to Charlemagne’s capitol at Aachen. The marble walls flanked by pillars and three stories of lighted offices were missing only the balcony and a king. The 50 pristine blank desks presented a stately presence, perhaps helping to define the term.

I positioned myself on a substantial wood carved bench and served the muse. There were the fast-paced staffers getting last minute signatures, and their mannerisms were in sharp contrast to the senior citizens guarding the chamber doors—more gregarious than Wall Mart greeters. There was Stellamae, seemingly the glue for the whole operation, ensuring the logistics from behind the scenes, and Mike Cline the quintessential wordsmith, running up a staircase with armfuls of briefcases and writing materials.

There were a few veteran politicians whose entrance to any hall or chamber turned heads and a cloud of respect hovered above them in an almost mythical fashion. Representative Bauer’s movements marked the House’s agenda as Senator Long’s did across the hall. One’s position bespeaks a presence, such as the entourages that surround Senators Young and Lawson, and media that track Lt. Governor Skillman’ well-calculated words. And those with the birthright giftedness, stature and otherworldly voice of a Representative Turner seem to set the standard for a state leader’s profile. True character stands the test of time, and career politicians live their lives in open scrutiny. To survive is a testimony of consistency.

On this particular day, March 14, 2008, I could not help but reminisce about faces no longer in the crowd but with legacies vested in making a difference for all of us, such as the indefatigable Julia Carson and the endearing David Ford. Their faces may be missing, but their voices remain. And that’s the beauty of it all, that what we strive for today is not ephemeral in the human story, but has staying power that enhances lives for generations.

We all know what they were willing to bet their lives on, and Carson and Ford did just that—giving their lives to politics. While two radically different leaders in many aspects they both gave without limits. While the Republican caucus strives to replace the beloved Senator within its thirty days it’s clear that his persona is irreplaceable. Oh, we will miss his face but let it be the face of politics, the kind, patient, beacon of integrity, and coupled with Senator Carson’s tenacity, let it be a face with eyes toward action. May it be a face that succumbs not to the modern relativistic democratization of truth, but insists on the truth of democracy’s potency for structures guaranteeing our freedoms. And, to our grandchildren’s chance for the same.

This afternoon I join many in the city of Marion welcoming home Bryan Crossman, our heralded West Point graduate surviving two tours of duty in Iraq, narrowly escaping the ultimate sacrifice exacted of many of his beloved troops. But my heart weighs heavy as I also tip my thoughts toward Arlington Cemetery where another Marion native is about to be saluted. While politicians were fighting for our rights in the state capitol on Friday, Staff Sgt. Collin Bowen passed from this world fighting for our rights on a foreign soil. Battling tyranny and oppression that rapaciously belittles women, kills children, he died in response to similar screams from families throughout the civilized world at the sights, sounds and ramifications of twin towers crashing on the helpless. While property taxes were taking unfair tolls on our pockets, human rights and ideals taxed Collin’s personhood. Just as the faces of Carson and Ford emblaze images of a high calling, the picture of the young handsome Bowen pierces my soul with an unforgettable image of sacrifice.

Clipped to my screen as I write on this hallowed morning is more than the picture of Collin Bowen, what I see before me is the cost of freedom. The diplomacy that begins in our local precincts and plays out in our state capitols and the national venue can never be severed from the realities of clashing ideals that throughout history have discarded the best of diplomacy. While President Bush’s awkward swagger and disjointed expressions pale in the wake of Obama’s call for hope, Staff Sgt. Collin Bowen’s sacrifice testifies that bombs don’t shatter one’s soul, but define one’s ideals. Our president’s lack of charisma should not discount his content. While we strive to protect the innocent from bombs, others bomb the innocent. From the Assyrians and Athenians to the Mayans and the Taliban, clashing ideals have been settled by the sword.

We should put forth our best diplomacy to advance solutions based on our ideals while simultaneously committing to defend them. The rejection of incivility does not ensure civility. A golden-tongued defense of freedom, as Pericles discovered in the shadow of the Spartans, does not itself sustain freedom. While we all need Churchills to clarify our ideals and to instill passionately to defend them, such protection against invading forces that defy them moves beyond words.

What I witnessed in Indianapolis on Friday are the logistical underpinnings of ideals that play out on foreign fields. A drive around Monument Circle and the War Memorial en route home vividly reminds me of lives lost for lives lived today in freedom.