For years during my childhood my birthday was celebrated by the entire community, which is to say a small, rural county in southeast Georgia. Mysteriously, flags popped up all over the place two weeks before my birthday and stayed up for two weeks after. Clearly, the central, common factor was me. As I grew older, I asked about the flags and learned that they were actually put up to honor Memorial Day and Flag Day, respectively. While I may have been initially disappointed, it was immediately accepted also.
We'd been raised with an understanding of military service. We were that particular sort of Christian that had a "God and Country" Sunday and always had an American flag on the opposite side of the pulpit as the Christian flag. (As an adult in America, I don't especially approve of that now, but we can discuss that later.) Untold generations of my family - on both sides no less - have served in the military. I grew up on a family homestead (the original settlers were turpentine farmers) just down the road from a centuries-old family graveyard with Civil War veterans. My grandfathers served in WWII and the Korean War. My brother and cousins have served and are serving in Kuwait, Afghanistan, Germany, and literally places we can't know about.
That means that I've lived with the sacrifice one human makes to serve his or her country. I've been the family member at home, praying in all earnest that my baby brother please comes home safe. Then we he did, I prayed that he'd be okay, acclimate to civilian life, and seek out help he needs when he does. We were so blessed to have those prayers answered. Many of my brothers friends did not come home. They sacrificed all to protect us.
Memorial Day is for them. It's for the ones who never made it home. It's for us. We are reminded of the sacrifice of the fallen and filled with gratitude for everyone who has come back home.
Sincere thanks to all who gave.
image via Carl Wycoff on flickr.
We'd been raised with an understanding of military service. We were that particular sort of Christian that had a "God and Country" Sunday and always had an American flag on the opposite side of the pulpit as the Christian flag. (As an adult in America, I don't especially approve of that now, but we can discuss that later.) Untold generations of my family - on both sides no less - have served in the military. I grew up on a family homestead (the original settlers were turpentine farmers) just down the road from a centuries-old family graveyard with Civil War veterans. My grandfathers served in WWII and the Korean War. My brother and cousins have served and are serving in Kuwait, Afghanistan, Germany, and literally places we can't know about.
That means that I've lived with the sacrifice one human makes to serve his or her country. I've been the family member at home, praying in all earnest that my baby brother please comes home safe. Then we he did, I prayed that he'd be okay, acclimate to civilian life, and seek out help he needs when he does. We were so blessed to have those prayers answered. Many of my brothers friends did not come home. They sacrificed all to protect us.
Memorial Day is for them. It's for the ones who never made it home. It's for us. We are reminded of the sacrifice of the fallen and filled with gratitude for everyone who has come back home.
Sincere thanks to all who gave.
image via Carl Wycoff on flickr.
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