Sunday evening we sat out in a hot parking lot with a friend, at a church car show. We were waiting for the darkness to descend. So we could see the fireworks.
They were beautiful. Stunning.
And as I sat there, watching the beautiful explosions of gunpowder and feeling the repurcussions in my chest, I realized something.
I was sitting in a relatively safe parking lot, watching gunpowder explode into beautiful colours. My biggest enemy was the humidity and the mosquitos.
Elsewhere in the world, those explosions that reverberated deep inside me were not a thing of beauty. It was the sound of death. Of injury. Of blood and gore and an aching sadness.
While I sit here in a safe America, there are people out there fighting a war for me. They are facing enemy guns for me. Taking enemy fire.
Most of them are young, and are spending their youth out there fighting a war. They have family here praying them home again. Wives, mothers, sisters, fathers, brothers . . . all wanting them to come home safely.
While I oodle over the beauty of the explosions, they are facing the grim reality of war.
I have friends and family who are serving — some at home, some will be sent overseas. My grandfather is a veteran, and nearly every single man I attend church with has served our country and can regale us with stories, some entertaining, some a terrible grim reality. I know people in all branches of the military; Air Force, Marines, Navy, Coast Guard, Army.
I know people who have been through training, and from what I’ve been told, it’s not pleasant. It’s not easy. It’s downright hard, and the government breaks a man down only to build them up again and create the kind of men who can stand strong under pressure.
“Thank you” seems so inadequate, but I don’t know how else to say it. Thank you, each one of you. Thank you for all of the things you have heard. For everything that you have seen. For every single deed you have done. For the trauma and injuries you have suffered; the memories you have, the PTSD you deal with.
I know not many people will see this, but there’s a girl in Alabama grateful for each one of you who have fought, are planning to fight, and are currently fighting to protect America and the freedom we have here. As I watch the fireworks again tonight, know I will be reminded of you and all you have sacrificed to serve our country.
Because of you, my family can go and sit and watch the fireworks, and I am grateful.
I am a 23 year old young lady who is redeemed and saved from my sin only by the grace of God. A bibliophile at heart with a love of history who desires to see the Word of God practically applied to all aspects of our daily lives -- in our homes, in the grocery store, in the political realm. I strive to put my jumbled, chaotic thoughts down onto paper -- reducing them into black and white rows, letters, sentences. Into some semblance of sanity. And I share them here with all of you, where I can challenge you, make you think, and cause you to ask questions. I am the oldest of eleven children living the country life in the deep south.