Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

American flag

When I forget to remember

I don’t always know what to do with Memorial Day.

The kids aren’t in school yet and usually my husband has to work, so it’s not all that different than any other day for our family. We don’t have a personal connection to anyone who has died while serving in the military. And though my husband is a veteran, he downplays his active-duty service and cringes a little when someone wishes him a “Happy Memorial Day.” (A bit of contradiction there, maybe. Would we say Happy 9/11 Day? Happy D-Day? Happy Holocaust Remembrance Day? I don’t think so.)

So I’m torn. Do we celebrate? Do we mourn? Do we have a backyard barbecue with friends? Do we go about our business?

Yesterday, the kids and I went to a Memorial Day parade and service, both of which were in our neighborhood and required almost no effort on our part. It was a nice day. We needed something to do outside of the house. So, we went.

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And the kids waved at fire trucks, picked up candy and let American flags flap in the wind. We listened to a high school band and a Highland bagpipe group and retired officers tell us why this day is important.

Later, we did the backyard cookout thing with friends who are missionaries to Spain and returning there soon, but we probably would have done that even if it hadn’t been Memorial Day.

I don’t know if we did right by the day, if we honored the dead or paid homage to the living.

But I know that I’m grateful for a day that reminds me to remember.

Because I am forgetful. In mind and spirit.

As Ann Voskamp writes in One Thousand Gifts, “I am beset by chronic soul amnesia.”

I forget history, who I am and where I’ve been. I forget the works of God in my life and I forget the events that brought our country to where it is today. I forget about people if they aren’t right in front of me. I forget prayer requests and pressing needs.

I forget. I forget.

So I need to be reminded to remember.

The other day I read these words in Deuteronomy, fitting words for a weekend to remember:

Only give heed to yourself and keep your soul diligently, so that you do not forget the things which your eyes have seen and they do not depart from your heart all the days of your life, but make them known to your sons and your grandsons. (4:9)

The things which my eyes have seen …

On Memorial Day, I remember that freedom is costly, no matter what “side” you’re on. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers have given themselves in service to the cause of freedom over the years. And sometimes others pay the price. In innocent lives. In infrastructure destroyed. In chaotic reign afterwards. Freedom isn’t free for anyone.

And not everyone is free. We need people who have seen bondage and slavery and tyranny firsthand to remind us that freedom is not universal yet. That our way of life is not the way for everyone. That even those living in a “free country” can be enslaved to addictions, attitudes, behaviors, other people. That slavery did not end when the Civil War ended.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAAnd ultimately freedom comes, not from the flag of a country, however “great” or “blessed” it might be, but through Jesus, who said he came to “proclaim release to the captives … to set free those who are oppressed.” (Luke 4:18)

I need to be reminded to remember.

I need a spiritual memorial day. A personal memorial day. To remember the workings of God in my life and the life of those who have invested in my life. To remember who I am and where I’ve been and how God has seen me through impossible challenges.

It is good to remember.

It is good to tell the story.

Not just on Memorial Day.

But every day.

What’s your sign?

As the Fourth of July holiday nears, I’ve noticed the number of American flags increases. Actually, I started noticing it around Memorial Day. Most of our neighbors seem to have small ones lining their flower beds in their front yards. The flags are so prevalent I asked my husband, “Did we miss the free flag giveaway?” Last night on our walk around the block, we noticed a neighbor had put up a flag on a very short flagpole. The flag was just barely touching the ground while hanging limp from this too-short pole. We shared a look that indicated our appreciation for the effort at patriotism but disappointment for the execution. My husband, a veteran, is passionate about properly and respectfully displaying the flag.

Is it ironic, then, that we don’t have an American flag on display? I wonder if our neighbors, whose lawns are covered with small American flags, would consider us unpatriotic or un-American? I don’t much care if they do think that because flag or no flag, my love for my country is what it is.

So it is with symbols of my faith. I went through a couple of cross necklace phases (and a WWJD bracelet phase) but over time I abandoned those outward declarations, preferring to let my life speak for itself. (Disclaimer: I have no problem with anyone who chooses to wear a cross necklace, earrings or bracelets of any kind that proclaim a message about the Christian faith.) Granted, my life hasn’t always spoken well of the faith I profess, but I think sometimes the symbols immediately closed doors of conversation where without them, they could have been opened. Sure, the cross is offensive to those who don’t believe, but do we want people to be offended by us before we even have a chance to get to know them?

The Bible says people will know we are Christians by our love for one another, not by our jewelry, T-shirts, bumper stickers or fish magnets. (Or for my PA Dutch readers, by the black bumpers on our minivans.) If we aren’t loving each other in the church, and loving people outside the church, then the symbols of our faith that we wear will mean nothing to anyone.

I’m becoming more aware of how loudly my actions speak. What good does it do me to call myself a Christian if I don’t help those in need, pray for the hurting, visit the lonely and comfort the broken-hearted?

I’m reading this book, “Amish Grace,” about the shooting that happened at an Amish school near here several years ago, and how the families affected by this tragedy demonstrated forgiveness to the killer and his family. The authors describe how forgiveness is woven into the lives of the Amish for generations and is taught by example even to young children. It’s an essential attribute of their faith and lives, so when tragedy struck, they didn’t have to think hard about exhibiting forgiveness. That’s not to say it was easy, but they knew it was the right thing to do.

What is it about my life people will see? And will it move them closer to Christ? Most days I feel broken, unworthy and unable to carry the living water the Lord so freely offers. I mess up. I ignore. I judge. I dismiss. I see an opportunity and I pass it right on by. At least I’m honest, right?

Really, I guess what I’m saying is I don’t need to display a flag once a year or from Memorial Day to Labor Day to prove I’m patriotic, and I don’t need a cross necklace or a fish magnet on my car to prove I’m a Christian. Neither of those acts go very far in my mind to prove anybody’s commitment to anything.

In short, let your life speak, even if you think it doesn’t have much to say.