"my brother he was born, on the Fourth of July, and that's all."
With Lady Liberty's birthday just on the horizon, I figure it is time for a little bit of patriotic jargon.
(And I know at least 2 people with their birthdays on the same as Her Lady, Miss United States of America. Happy Birthdays tomorrow to you both, Katja and Anderson! (And I know one just the day prior, birthday shout out to you today, Ms. Megan Hatch.))
It is amazing what a large impact those three colors grouped together have. I'm not talking about the dollar section at Target, where everything from really cheapo foam patriotic hats and junk to semi-acceptable picnic plates are sold (though I know the section well, and usually am a few dollars less when I leave that section). I'm talking about the REAL deal.
Seeing the United States flag thrashing majestically through a hot summer wind. Having those delicious berry/jello/cream dessert things at a 4th picnic along with your hamburger and cold cherry 7UP. Seeing anyone in an Army, Naval, Marine, or AirForce uniform. Seeing old ladies with their Kohl's t-shirts that say "God Bless America" walk around the grocery store. Somehow, through a mysterious force, any of those things manage to make me choke a little and pause to realize how lucky I am to live in the United States of America.
Sure, this nation has made lots of mistakes, and I don't downplay those in the least, and I am sorrowful for the millions affected by war, whether the families of recently downed soldiers or the retired army veterans that are gently shuffled from retirement center to retirement center.
My own grandfather (most recently turned 94) fought in World War II, on the islands of Lady and Okinawa, among others. His stories were great ones, now getting clouded over with time and age, and I regret to say I have not kept track of his stories as well as I should. There is an infinite wisdom shared, as well as gained, while listening to a veteran discuss things of horror, things of bravery, things of sacrifice, and things of love for one's family and country.
But I couldn't believe what a huge relief it was to cross back onto the beautiful land of this country. My subconscious suddenly released a hidden worry I had carried with me all the while in Canada. There's nothing wrong with Canada, it's a great place. But my roots are my nation, and I didn't realize just how much I loved it until I saw the US flag flower garden upon approaching the Canada/US border.
I think we forget just how HUGE the United States actually is. The farthest I travel in my circle of life here at home is about 45 minutes away. Everything I need is within 30 miles of my house. I regularly see the same 100-200 people, who themselves are wrapped up in their own cycles, and that's life. But there are 309 million people who call themselves US citizens, spanned over 3.79 million square miles. And however much some people love and some people hate it, we ARE the real deal. You and I and the old man up the street and that ruddy group of teens smoking around the corner and the kindly woman at the grocery store make up the Red, White, and Blue. We represent the American Flag.
What a responsibility! What a charge! And I believe most of the time, we do quite nicely. But that's my own opinion.
Francis Scott Key's 1814 birth of our national anthem is probably being sung at every public gathering this weekend. But how many times with the 4th verse be sung?
Oh! Thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!
I hope we will not be foolish enough to ignore a Divine hand in our freedoms, or even try to knock it out of the way as we're blindly flailing about. I get tired of the church vs. state business, because it was the freedom of religion that drove the patriots from England's shores.
Edward Fuller left England on the Mayflower with his small family, and died the first winter at Plymouth rock. Not much of a life, eh? He was probably very poor in England, fed up with whatever persecutions were going on, made large sacrifices to get his family on that ship, and then died, before he could truly enjoy the blessings of freedom.
8 generations later, I am fully enjoying (and usually taking for granted) those freedoms that my great-grandfather valiantly sacrificed and eventually died for. I didn't know him. But I am grateful for Edward Fuller, and I am grateful for his grit. And I will be doing what I can to honor his sacrifice, as well as thank my Lord that he arrived safely on these blessed shores.
God Bless America.
Word of the Day: Antaean \an-TEE-un\, adjective; 1. Mammoth. 2. To have superhuman strength.
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