Happy Fourth!

“Here in America today people will gather in sidewalks to see parades or in backyards to eat hot dogs or in parks to hear music…whatever you’re doing I hope it’s with family, a structure the Lord ordained as a foundational building block of the nation. And I hope it affords you means to behave in Gospel ways and to speak of the Savior to others. Because we live in America, we can still do that. We can assemble freely and practice our religion freely.”

(Elizabeth Prata – The End Time)  The Fourth of July is so fun for a kid. It’s a day when the grownups stay home and we all get to play. For some, that means swimming in the lake or at the beach. For others it means parades and cookouts. For just about everybody it means fireworks.

Our family did lots of different things on the holiday. We spent summers at the Cape. We went to the Park and listened to the Boston Pops. We had pool parties with BBQs. But mainly what I remember is our grandparents’ beach house on the Bay, cousins, and all the uncles leaving to go buy fireworks and returning laughing carrying a huge box. Cherry Bombs and rockets and roman candles, and most delightfully, sparklers.

I loved the sparklers. I’d run up and down the beach waving them as I passed all my other cousins who were doing the same thing.

Is there anything more fun or beautiful than colorful fireworks streaking overhead? Jimmy Buffett has a song called,  “The night I painted the sky”.

Independence Day

And all I remember

Was a midnight rainbow

That fell from the sky

As I stand on the beach

I slowly surrender

To the child in me

That can’t say goodbye

The rockets in the air

And the people everywhere

Put away their differences for a while

Oh I am still a child

When it comes to something wild

Oh that was the night

I painted the sky

The prominent memory is the family- nuclear and extended, gathered together on the 4th. Fun, family, eating, family, laughter, family.

There’s some negative reactions these days from Christian conservatives when a person even tiptoes over to the rah-rah America side of things. I unashamedly love my country. Though I love America, I know my ultimate citizenship is in heaven. But the Lord birthed me in 1960 in America and kept me alive throughout these 50 odd years and I can’t complain about His ordination of his time and place for my life. It wasn’t China in 645 BC or Iceland in 1828 or Germany in 1944. It was America, 1960.   View article →