The fourth of July is a very special time for me, as it is for many others. A time to really celebrate, enjoy each other’s company and be humbled by the sacrifices made in 1776 and the continued sacrifice of men and women today. I remember fondly, my family spending the fourth of July in South Dakota; and while it didn’t work out to do that this year, I am still very blessed. I don’t know if I have posted this before, but I am able to enjoy, and just be happy because their is a God above who loves me, and men and women around me who want to protect me. Happy Fourth of July and God Bless America!
There was this big rock that just sat there when I was young.
From a distance, it seemed like a huge boulder, you couldn’t move it, it just sat there.
This rock was on the property of my grandparents, on a lake, in South Dakota.
Things in life were finer there. I don’t mean we were rich in money but rich in the things that mattered. The company we kept and the simple things we did.
There were wood pillars that faced many thunderstorms and ropes that were ripped and fallen. The grass was brittle but it grew like corn. And there was this big rock.
It served its purpose well, as the mountain climbing experience for our Barbies and GI Joe’s.
The stove in which we cooked our soup.
A mixture of lake water, a few leaves, weeds…for flavor
Some good size pebbles so we could actually stir something and
of course a sprinkle of gravel.
To the left of the rock, depending on where you sat, stood this yellow lanterned man.
His lantern shined dimly from dusk till we noticed it off.
And though the cowbells and leaves continue to cling to him, he was still ours.
I pause, remembering the past, I could continue with stories: hearing the fish splash, and disrupting the perfectly still lake. You would chuckle at our determined attempts to pick every single rock from the gravel road. We would stuff them in our pocket, carry them in our shirts; walking carefully but quickly to the dock. And after all that work, throwing them in with all our might!
I could talk for hours of the many blissful 4th of Julys. Black Cat. Fruit Pizza. Face Paint. The time I tired to light the shell, and it almost fired in my ear, or the memorable later laughable time my cousin fell into the lake. I could sing you a few songs from the campfires we had. The time we used cumin instead of cinnamon for the biscuits. My list will go on, and on and continue down the well walked gravel road.
Because being here with all the memories, good and bad allows me to thank the Lord for how blessed I am. And as long as this big rock sits, year after year, I will hold on tho the memories. So thank you, Jesus, I am grateful and I am blessed.
Life is a poem 