The Fourth

We girls set out the food for the family picnic that evening.

We had taken in the volunteer fire department's pancake breakfast that morning. We had perused through a few local sales in town. We had braved the heat to wait in line for the world's best pork-chop-on-a-stick.

{the other pork chop is mine}

We had waved, smiled, cheered and collected candy through the parade.

We had sat outside in a circle of lawn chairs in the shade catching up with visiting relatives, sharing rhubarb slush, and trying to get hot and sticky tots to "please take another sip of water."

We had played catch, rode four-wheelers, and climbed rocks.

 

And as I made another batch of rhubarb slush, sliced tomatoes and onions, and set out bean dip, I could hear the strains of an "old" song over the stereo speakers in my mother-in-law's kitchen.

The chorus sent me back to the past, to those Marine Corps years filled with potent memories and feelings.  My current life is so full, so blessed, and so beautifully exhausting that the memories didn't submerge me as they used to. I was able to stay afloat in the memories to both feel and appreciate them while staying mentally and emotionally involved in the happiness around me.

I remembered our first 4th together, me 16, him 17, shaking with the intensity of the moment as we decided to embark on this relationship. A year later found him, a young Marine, spending an insane amount on a plane ticket just to get home for 2 1/2 days after over 3 months of being at Pendleton and us only talking on the phone once a week. The following 4th of July placed me in an airport in Thailand touring with the Continentals and him on the road to Baghdad. And the next year we made a few final preparations for our quick little wedding the day after the 4th. He was deploying again and replacing a unit with a mortality rating of 50%. If he didn't come home, I wanted to be his widow.

In my mind's eye, I see the shoebox at home filled with letters from him and the huge tote filled with letters from me, some of my letters stained with spritzes of perfume that he could still smell after the envelope traveled half way around the world.

Somehow we landed here, years later, twins later, a few more pounds around the waist later.....standing on the same wooden floor where we said so many good-byes, where I shed so many tears, where we shared so many dreams.....now living this little life, about to embark on another adventure, me....looking back......not regretting any of it. I would do it all again.

I fill two plates with the best of summer food for our tots and re-join the lawn chair circle outside. I take a sip of my rhubarb slush. My bare feet are dirty. My pony tail rests on my neck.

We're happy to be here.....in this country, in this time, in this life....together.  I think patriotism is not just about loving your country but also about enjoying the life you're in, about being thankful for how and why you got here.

Patriotism doesn't ignore the bad....the faulty legislation, the shut-downs, the enormous deficit...but it sees the span of a country....how it started, why it started, what it has done, what it can do....and commits to live through, pray through, vote through all of it.

And it never takes life and freedom for granted.

Thanking God for:
#306. tying me together in this life with a Marine
#307. the experience of military life
#308. all of our men and women defending our country
#309. communicating almost solely through letters with the husband for a collective total of almost a year
#310. America
#311. our founding fathers
#312. traditions
#313. the process of learning to be a civilian again
#314. having learned it
#315. the promise of eternal life
#316. being a citizen of the Kingdom of God
#317. playing volleyball 'til dark
#318. how we never get too old to like fireworks....even if we pretend we do
#319. sharing our latest traditions with the latest brother to re-enter civilian-hood
#320. running into old friends