This year, as brilliant lights brighten the sky, I’ll be thinking of the fiery light show other side of the world. This year, as loud booms shake the walls & rattle the windows & people cheer because of the beauty, I’ll be thinking of the earplugs worn on the other side of the world. And this year, as we rest our heads on soft pillows & listen to our tummies full of barbequed hamburgers grumble, I’ll be thinking of the MRE’s torn open & hard cots warmed on the other side of the world.
Because this year,
it’s not just about the fireworks.
They marched. With soaked boots, cold feet, torn BDU’s, they marched.
And they missed home. And their children grew & their wives slept in colder beds. And they wrote letters, only when they could. And they celebrated birthdays & Christmas & sang hymns. And they fought. And many, many died.
Today we remember them with “
Happy Independence Day!” & colorful flying lights. Today we remember them with patriotic shirts from Old Navy & little American Flags from the dollar store. Today we remember them with parades & horses painted like flags & candy tossed to children. Today we remember them with BBQ’s & potato salad &
"hey, thanks for serving."But tomorrow we will forget.If not for the monuments, the erected towers in bronze & shined marble.
If not for the statues cast in iron for the generations to see.
If not for the museums that hold evidence of our nation pulling together for a good cause, a better cause.
If not for the lives once etched in tear stained pillows & hearts of remembrance—now names etched in bronze, quartz, & shined marble.
Lest we forget.
Lest we forget that marching legs once belonged to little boys, loved by their mother’s & father’s. Lest we forget that those soaked boots were once warm & dry, roasting by Christmas fireplaces & rubbing against wives with blooming bellies. Lest we forget that those torn BDU’s were once blue denim overalls & polyester work uniform’s & canvas pants splattered with paint. Lest we forget that those guns they carried were once stethoscopes & paintbrushes, steering wheels, & leather bridles.
And lest we forget that those warm bodies, snuggled by wives, hugged by mothers turned cold & expelled red. Lest we forget that the letter’s came & the black car did visit; that lives changed & fatherless children grew up.
Lest we forget that they still pack their bags.
They still march.
They still die.
They die
for us,
lest we forget.
Happy Indepedence Day...
may your hearts be filled with gratitude for those who have loved, lost, & fought to make our July 4th Independent.
