Thank You America

I attended my daughter’s kindergarten class recently and filled up with tears as the chorus of young voices boldly recited the Pledge of Allegiance, “And to the Republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

Liberty and justice for all. What awesome ideals.

I’ve been a unabashed patriot for a long time. I can’t sing any patriotic ballads without choking up. In high school, my basketball team blasted Lee Greenwood’s “Proud to be an American” as pre-game locker room pep music. This was 15 years before 9-11 made the song famous and popular.

So I’ve really struggled to accept news in recent years about Americans being “hated” by the world for being arrogant, greedy, spoiled and any number of offensive qualities. This theme is so prevalent in news I believe it has noticeably dampened the collective American spirit.

Recently, however, the flame of American pride that is smoldering in even the most diehard patriots has received a burst of needed oxygen from a most unlikely source: a Frenchman! That’s hard to imagine considering just three years ago all references to “French” were removed from the menu at our nation’s capital. But, it’s true, America has an expressive and eloquent admirer in the new French President Nicolas Sarkozy.

His recent historic speech to a joint session of Congress was a valuable reminder of what the United States represents to the rest of world.

“America did not teach men the idea of freedom; she taught them how to practice it,” he said. “And she fought for this freedom whenever she felt it to be threatened somewhere in the world. It was by watching America grow that men and women understood that freedom was possible.”

President Sarkozy reminded Americans how we saved France in World War I and II and how thousands of young American soldiers marched to their death on the beaches of France “not to defend their own freedom but the freedom of all others, not to defend their own families, their own homeland, but to defend humanity as a whole.”

He sited the Marshall Plan, the Cold War, and the Berlin Crisis as ways in which America, at countless key moments in history, has led the world in the fight for freedom.

“From the very beginning, the American dream meant proving to all mankind that freedom, justice, human rights and democracy were no utopia but were rather the most realistic policy there is and the most likely to improve the fate of each and every person.

“America did not tell the millions of men and women who came from every country in the world and who—with their hands, their intelligence and their heart -- built the greatest nation in the world: ‘Come, and everything will be given to you.’ She said: ‘Come, and the only limits to what you'll be able to achieve will be your own courage and your own talent.’ America embodies this extraordinary ability to grant each and every person a second chance,” Sarkozy declared.

I’ve been struck of late by a realization that virtually all the blessings for which I am most grateful, save God himself, are made possible by the freedom I enjoy as an American. Without this, my family and I could not live, work or worship where we chose. Our economic stability would be threatened. Our access to health care choices jeopardized, even our decision to freely bear children could be taken from us.

So, while I’m humbled by countless blessings this Thanksgiving, I am most grateful for the gift of America.

Timeless Wisdom from Mr. Rogers

More often than I care to admit, Sunday mornings find me fuming in our car, steaming mad at my family. In the process of getting ready for church, I usually blow my gasket at least once at an uncooperative child (or husband). We squeal down the street to worship, five minutes later than we should be leaving with very unholy thoughts about each other on our minds.

Scenes like this gave birth to the phrase, “Do as I say, not as I do.”

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. Perhaps it’s the way my daughter can emulate with perfect pitch my most unpleasant voice as she scolds her brothers for this or that minor infraction. Or maybe it’s the fact that my five year old stood at the door last week putting on his coat and declared with utter frustration, “This d#%* zipper.”

Fred Rogers said it best, “We speak with more than our mouths. We listen with more than our ears.”

Parenting probably offers the most brutal lessons in this truism, but Mr. Roger’s wisdom applies to everyone, in all settings -- the cheerful waiter serving coffee, the brusque doctor making rounds, the friendly teenager teaching little kids to skate.

Even perfect strangers on the street can communicate without talking, like the woman I see running around my neighborhood every morning. Some days I pass her as a fellow jogger. Most often, regrettably, I watch her through the windows of my car.

She’s notable for several reasons. She’s incredibly consistent. She’s very fit -- thin and muscular. And, she’s probably pushing 70 years old.

She passed one day when I was talking to a friend. “That woman makes me feel guilty,” my friend confessed. I’ve felt the same way a time or two when I’ve glimpsed her gliding by as I peered over the rim of my grande brew with extra cream.

But generally, her affect on me has been positive. The only word we’ve ever exchanged is “hello” and yet I’ve caught myself thinking about this dedicated jogger when I’m trying to justify going back to sleep instead of exercising.

I’m sure she has no idea the example she is setting for people she has never met just by getting up every morning to jog. I don’t even know her name, yet she has prompted me out of bed at dawn to workout.

Everyday, our actions send powerful messages to people around us. They describe our values and priorities, what we believe and cherish. I scan my current “to-do” list.

Hang Christmas lights. Pay bills. Respond to email. Fix drawers. Write news release.

My actions are talking and some important people in my life are listening closely with their eyes. What are they hearing?

I ponder the list. The things I hold most dear are poorly represented, yet it’s my list. I wrote it. What’s missing? What should be first? What can come off?

I add a few new things to the top, scratch off the tasks that can wait, and end with some final thoughts: Get up earlier for church. Quit saying “d#%*.”

60 Minutes of Solitude

This fall, I did something I will remember all winter. Two of my kids were playing with friends and my youngest child had fallen asleep in the car on our after school dash. The weather was beautiful, so I left him sleeping in the car with the windows down and perched myself nearby on our porch with my laptop.

I was ready to use these unexpected free moments for productive purposes. But after about 10 minutes, I was so relaxed and drowsy I could hardly stay awake. “Maybe I’ll just rest for a minute,” I thought. Then I leaned over, curled up and fell asleep in the sun.

As I laid there soaking in what could have been the last warm rays of the season, I remember thinking I had never been so perfectly comfortable. The sky was royal blue and cloudless. The neighborhood was quiet. A soft breeze was just enough to keep the sun from becoming hot.

I’ve always thought if I could be any animal, I’d be an eagle. Perhaps I’ve overlooked the benefits of life as a cat.

Sadly, this was an indulgent act for me, as it would be for most American adults. Yet I am so glad I allowed myself to enjoy it. I can’t recall anything about the computer work I neglected in exchange for that catnap. But I vividly remember the peace, solitude and warmth of those 60 quiet minutes in the sun.

I felt a bit like Frederick the field mouse from the children’s book. His family works day and night to gather corn and nuts and straw for the winter. But not Frederick. He stares into the pretty meadow.

“Why don’t you work Frederick,” his family says reproachfully.

“I do work,” he insists, and then relates how he’s soaking in sun rays for cold dark winter days, gathering colors from the meadow because winter is gray, and gathering words to share on long winter days when all of them have run out of things to say.

When the snow begins to fall, the field mice are content at first. They have plenty of food to eat and stories to share. But as winter drags on, their supplies dwindle. They become cold and quiet. Then they remember Frederick.

“What about your supplies Frederick?” they ask. Frederick, true to his promise, is eager to share his plentiful stores. He tells them to shut their eyes and relates in vivid detail the feeling of the warm sun and the look of the colorful meadow. His words and poetry carry them through the remaining hard days of winter.

We ought to take a cue from Frederick. Work is important, of course. But rather than always running busily through our days, rushing through work and errands and home life, we ought to allow ourselves to pause and appreciate the gifts of the present more often. To enjoy the smell or feel of the air, the beauty of a pink striped sunrise, the taste of our food or maybe the feeling of our child’s cheek or spouse’s hand.

I asked my kids last night to tell me something fun that happened to them that day. My three-year-old thought about this for a few seconds. As his dark brown eyes looked at me intently I wondered if he would just copy the response of one of his older siblings.

But his eyes twinkled when he settled on his decision. “Eating TWO pieces of candy,” he declared, the smile on his face clearly reflecting his delight with this simple, fun memory.

I hope you pause today and everyday to feel the sun on your face, to savor some candy or to recognize whatever simple gifts comes your way.