July 5

Today is the Fourth of July, the birthday of America. I consider myself patriotic and, as I announced in church yesterday, I am "USA to the core". (Long story, don't ask.) I am celebrating today, along with so many of my fellow Americans, the day that this country, the greatest democracy in the history of the world, was formed. It is worth celebrating, and worth remembering.

But today, I am also thinking of July 5, 1776.

In my innocence, ignorance, and poor mastery of US History, I think I always imagined the 4th of July as the end of the struggle. The end of the War with Britain. It makes sense really, all of the celebrating, and the fire works, one would naturally conclude the celebrating was for the end of the fight. But it didn't happen like that. America declared it's independence from Britain on July 4, 1776, but the war didn't end. Britain didn't read the Declaration of Independence, and say, "Turn all of the boats around boys, they say they are independent now. They even wrote it down". Quite the contrary. They came at the petulant Americans with renewed fight, and vigor. They would show this pompous little "nation" what a real army was like, or so they intended.

The battles raged on, the casualties climbed. In fact, the famous words spoken by Nathan Hale when he was executed (without trial), "I regret that I have but one life to give for my country," were spoken after July 4.

It sits heavy on my chest when I read about life for those first Americans. The times themselves were brutal. Felling trees to clear land and build houses, log by log. Sleeping on hay pallets, and eating what you killed, or grew yourself. No plumbing, no electricity, limited healthcare (people died of diarrhea for Pete's sake) and an utter lack of anything the least bit convenient. But these people, with homes to build, land to cultivate, and families to feed were so convicted in their beliefs that they found the time to fight the fight. They didn't say, "Gee, I would love to help you Thomas, but my seven kids need me to plant the crops, and hunt the bears." They needed to be free from British control, and they needed to follow the call they knew was given to them by God. So, they did it.

I am painfully aware how lucky the pioneers of this great country are that I wasn't among them. If they were counting on me to fight the Brits, we would all still be saying, "bloody hell, and jolly good" because I am a victim of my own busyness- both real, and imaginary. I can't even stop and play CandyLand with Taryn sometimes because "I have to mop the floor". And I have a steam mop that I plug in and mop with! I don't even have to make soap and haul water up from the river. My goodness!

And it's not just the sacrifice that they were so good at, but their bravery too. The brutality of a war with musket balls and bayonets is frightening. A war where you didn't shoot until you saw the whites of their eyes. For the record, I do not ever want to be close enough to see the whites of the eyes of a person with a weapon who has orders to kill me. And on top of that, they had limited medical treatment, antibiotics, and pain relievers. You either died from your wounds, or died of infection. Not good odds! Despite that,they fought. Oh that I could be so convicted! Oh that I would have such a stirring in my heart for what I believe in that I would be selfless, and brave simply because I must.

Sure, I am patriotic. In fairness though, that's easy to say from my couch watching the Olympics, from my picnic blanket under the stars watching the fire works, or even in my seat near the dugout at the major league baseball game with my hand on my heart as I sing every inspirational word of the National Anthem.

I am grateful for true American patriots. Not just nostalgic Americans, like me, but people, throughout history and today who felt conviction for this nation, honored that conviction, and that gave their time, money, loyalty, and lives for this country. One of my former students just started his career at the United States Air Force Academy. He also happens to be the eldest son of my very best friend. I am proud of him. I am proud of him for what he knows that he has signed up for, and for what his seventeen or eighteen year old mind couldn't even conceive. I am proud that he is a patriot in the making. That he is giving the next decades of his life to this country. Giving back. Paying a debt that he knows, only to some extent, that he has. I hope the Air Force Academy, and military academies across our nation, are full of "Jamies" because it makes me feel better about the future of this country. That's the part he doesn't know that he signed up for. The part where his choice gives me hope.

Thank you patriots-young, old, and those alive only in history books and stories told around dining room tables. I am sorry if I have diminished the reality of your sacrifices and your bravery by calling myself a patriot. I guess I should call myself a theoretical patriot; that seems more accurate. Thank you for being actual patriots, and know that I do not go to sleep at night without thinking of my debt to you- without thinking of July 5.