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Wings Over The Mountains of Life
The Sound of Freedom
Last night I walked outside to watch the city fireworks show that takes place every year right across the street from my complex. It was a nice night; the breeze gently blowing just enough to keep the Texas heat from causing the usual summer discomfort.
I sat quietly alone, choosing to remain well back from the street filled with people, lawn chairs, cold drinks, happy chatter. I was alone because my friends had left early due to an overindulgence on the part of a three-year old. I chose to remain alone because my daughter was spending this 4th of July with her father - for a parent the pain of divorce never ceases.
It's hard to fully enjoy the beauty of any event when your child is not there to share it with you.
But I was determined not to miss it; anticipating her questions the next day, "How was it Mommy? Was it big? Was it loud?
Was it pretty?" How could I answer her honestly without actually witnessing it? So, I closed the front door and walked to the end of the sidewalk in my courtyard, finding a spot where I could view the show but perhaps avoid the onslaught of summer insect bites.
Yes, it was loud and big and very beautiful. The constant booming at times so loud that car alarms would briefly twitter in angry response to the vibrations of the explosions. I sat and watched and listened to the nearby crowd "ooh and ahh" at the loudest and largest outbursts. They were beautiful and sparkling and a few produced the elusion that they were coming right at you.
In the midst of all the thundering noise, I closed my eyes and the thought struck me that these sounds that were being applauded and were the stuff of celebration, were also the sounds of war. As many in the United States sit in relative comfort, having come in full expectation to be entertained; these same sounds are heard in cities all over the world. But these are not the sounds hearkening shimmering beauty as each well-packed charge explodes into an awesome flowering ball; but rather, these are the sounds of impending doom. These sounds are not heard one night a year; but every night and often every day as well.
The sounds heard by others long ago in our own country and now almost constantly in other countries in their cities, towns and villages are the noises that must keep people in constant retched fear. The loud popping that brings so much pleasure to so many on this night, brings pain and loss to so many others.
In my head and in my heart, I could easily replace the sounds of clapping hands with the thought of breaking hearts. With each last gasping breath, how many dreams go unfulfilled? When we read about carnage due to war in the newspapers, we see the numbers of loss. But numbers make no mention of plans, promises, desires. All is ripped away in an instant with pain the only remnant as smoke is the remnant of one's breath upon a candle flame.
In America, we plan picnics and concerts and become involved in so much preparation for this one big night of celebration.
Everything is designed for that one moment when the resounding blasts of pyrotechnic delights begin. The bombs bursting in air. In other countries, these are the sounds that are heard in the night as they lay in their beds (if they have them) wondering if they will live to see another morning. They are long past trying to imagine what kind of destruction will greet them with the rising sun. They are no longer shocked by the sight of obliteration.
As I sat cross-legged on that sidewalk and listened to the thundering noise, I could easily replace the squeals of delight from little children with the screams of those children whose nightmares can never be ended merely by waking up. I thought of the kids whose Barbie dolls and Tonka trucks and VHS and DVDs have been replaced by the toys of machinery parts and bits of brick and cast off weapons. I thought of all those children that have never known what it feels like to play. I thought of all those people who have forgotten what it feels like to smile.
These are the sounds that harken loss - loss of loved ones, loss of a way of life, loss of peace in any form. It occurred to me that most Americans work hard to teach our children all of the lessons we can to try to keep them safe: don't talk to strangers, wash your hands, look both ways before you cross the street, eat your veggies. What lessons these parents in war-torn countries must teach their children?! I would imagine things such as: don't play in the rubble, how to avoid land mines, how to dodge stray bullets, how to forage for food to survive.
Were all these thoughts signs of depression on my part? Was I wallowing ankle-deep in a fit of morbidity? No, these are the thoughts that preceded the notion that these sounds reverberating in my hears and these sights that shimmer in my eyes have come at an unbearable price. The price that is paid every time a loved one goes off to war. The price that is paid for every unforgiving bomb that rips through the lumber and cement of the buildings that were once called home. The price that is paid when loved ones breath no more. The price that is paid in every part of the world where the struggle for growth is carried forth with destruction. These sounds that cause happy applause on this 4th of July are truly the sounds of freedom.
Abraham Lincoln once said: "Those who deny freedom to others deserve it not for themselves, and, under a just God cannot long retain it." This beauteous show should be and is met with delight; however, let us not forget the price that has been and will continue to be paid for what we have. Let us pray to God for all those who have fought and suffered through earth's continual struggle for independence. Independence that for so many has meant invasion.
Let us thank God that we can sit on our picnic blankets, our boats, our bumpers, our theater seats and enjoy this spectacle every year. Let us also thank Him for the highest price ever paid. How sad to have paid with His only begotten son for the forgiveness of our sins, and then to watch as his children of all nations are slaughtered in senseless violence.
"And hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth."
Acts, xvii, 26
I pray to God that the sound of freedom will someday be the sound of silence. Let us all lay down the weapons of war and pick up the cross of peace.
~A MountainWings Original by Paula Fleming, Plano, TX~ This was submitted to MountainWings in 2004
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