Freedom Is
Youd
Make a
joyful noise unto the Lord,
all the
earth: make a loud noise,
and
rejoice, and sing praise.
--
Psalm 98:4
We used to live close to a big park
where there's always a huge Fourth of July fireworks show. We loved strolling
over there as dusk was falling, and getting back home before most others had
even reached their cars.
'Course, the fireworks were so close
and so loud, we'd get home and find the dog cowering in the bathtub, ears
pinned back, all shook up.
It was about the same with our small
children. We tried to explain the connection between Independence Day, the
Revolutionary War, the Star Spangled Banner, celebrating freedom, and fireworks.
But the significance was . . . ahem . . . over their heads.
No wonder. What fireworks represent
-- rockets' red glare and bombs bursting in air -- isn't exactly the stuff of
Sesame Street. Fireworks aren't really for kids, anyway: they're for those old
enough to take fierce pride in the passions of freedom and the struggles that
have preserved this God-given land. Struggles that, yes, have been noisy.
But one year, it got so loud, we had
to leave the fireworks show early. They had introduced those big, big ones. You
know them: you see the white ball flash high in the sky, and one heartbeat
later, the world goes
BOOM!
. . . and boy, it's a thrill. Except
for little kids.
Our NeeNee, about 2, maxed out at
the first big one. She leapt into my arms, burying her little blonde bowl-cut
in my chest, nearly strangling me with her frightened hug.
"Oh, Mommy, Mommy," she moaned. "The
firecracks! The youd ones make my ears cry!"
She started to wail. It spread to
her sisters. We high-tailed it out there, watching the show over our shoulders
as we carried the sobbing children home.
But, you know, freedom isn't quiet.
It's anything but. From the wars fought to win it, to the babble of the
marketplace of ideas in our free society, freedom is a cacophony. Obtaining it
in the first place is hard. Preserving it for ourselves and others can be
chaotic. It's scary. People get hurt. People get killed.
That's the price of it. That's the
reality.
But oh, the fruits of freedom: being
able to say what you think . . . worship as you please . . . elect leaders
whose decisions affect your life . . . to protest and dissent as well as cheer
and applaud.
You can live a quiet life in a
peaceful country, alert but unafraid, thanks to the sweat and sacrifice of the
generations of brave folks who earned it for you, in the noise that gives birth
to liberty.
That's worth more than a sedate
prayer, as at Thanksgiving, or a sweet song, like a birthday party. That's
worth a
BOOM!
. . . or maybe 76 of them, in a row.
I'm sure the muskets were "youd" at Concord
and Lexington and Bunker Hill.
The naval cannonball fire must have
been deafening over Lake Erie in the War of 1812.
Thundering cavalry at Bull Run and
Gettysburg . . . the early machine guns in the Argonne Forest of World War I .
. . the hellish assaults of D-Day and Iowa Jima, not to mention Hiroshima and
Nagasaki . . . those were all "youd," too.
And the bombs that won Inchon in
Korea . . . the choppers and air raids over Vietnam . . . the thundering jets
of Desert Storm . . . the enormous engines of the B-52's and sizzling F-18's
over Afghanistan . . . the laser whoosh of the cruise missiles and explosions
of the minefields of Iraq . . . all these were "youd," indeed.
But thank God for the noise. Thank
God for the joy we have in our blessings, represented by the loud and colorful
fireworks going up all over our country right now.
Yes, fireworks make your ears cry.
And your heart sing.
God bless America . . . say it
"youd." †
