Memorial Day is the advertised weekend before the kick off of the summer. Its ads in the newspaper includes anything from pork ribs to mattress sales and include trips by families to the beaches of this great country, its lakes, grandmother's house, or the neighboring watering hole.
It has nothing to do with any of these things.
It is the day of the dead.
It is day we have chosen to stop and remember those who swore an oath to protect and defend the United States, its constitution, and the people within the borders and our interest outside our own borders.
This week, in Phoenix, we lost a fireman and a police officer within twelve hours of each other and unrelated events. I could easily make fit the idea that Memorial Day was for those two as well.
They swore the same oath.
I think I've said this before, but the ones who have written the ultimate check on our behalf want us to go to the lake, the beach, and grandmother's house. They want us to celebrate what they bought. Kinda like that present under the tree/menorah we bought and can't actually wait until the person we bought it for, opens it. We want their approval. We want them to look at us and beam with joy at the gift. It cost us three extra shifts at the saw mill, we sold our stamp collection, we downsized our living expenses-
we turned to the night sky and raised our open hands and simply said 'Send Me Lord.'
So, we each got a package to open this weekend. It is a swell present. We each will love it because it is what we want to make of it. The price? Fugitaboutit! You can't take it back or exchange it. Its priceless. The greatest gift, in the greatest country, by its humble servants who just want to see us smile when we open it, and maybe, between the burnt hot dogs, the zinc oxide on our noses, and the dog Frisbees, we can find a minute to look into the night sky and simply say-
'Thanks.'
They loved us like Jesus does. Beautifully stated!
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