Growing up in the countryside dotted with Amish homes, we always saw them: Sunday drivers. Tourists or city locals out for a leisurely drive through rolling hills of farms and fields. They would slow down to a stop, savoring a sight, oblivious to all others around them. We saw these very same sights everyday, and didn't need to slow down to remember them. Ugh, Sunday drivers, we'd comment as we sped past them and the scenery.
Up until last week, I don't think I ever took a Sunday drive. However, when our pastor mentioned another church's display, we decided to take a drive that turned out to be a Sunday afternoon kind of one.
We chatted and giggled as we sped down the highways. Not about the deep choices and profound moments in life. No, I'm pretty sure our conversation steered through candy wrapper jokes and dinner plans. Stopping at the lights, we complained about traffic and minor inconveniences.
After a long length of road, we finally caught the first glimpses of them. It was then that we ceased talking, and pulled over to stop and stare.
We stepped out of the van, and observed it closer.
Spread on a field of grass over 6,000 of them flapped in the gentle breeze.
Red, white, and blue blended together.
Each one represented a soldier who has died since 9-11, fighting for freedom.
It was a memorial to their lives.
May we not forget their sacrifice and the cost of freedom.
When You Can't Help but Remember
Celebrating Independence with Gratitude