Special Days

 

These children are so blessed to have this man for a father.

Bonus: I love him too.

God. The father who is always THERE. On that Bible passover day, it was the father who was THERE to sprinkle the blood over the doorposts, and if America is to ...be saved from the death angel in our midst today, it will again take the fathers being THERE. (Paraphrase from hubby's message this morning).

 

Dear America,

Today is your 239th birthday. I wasn't there when you made your debut, but every mother loves a good birth story. I'm told that the labor was long and that those who gave you birth were the bravest of souls. You arrived with a lusty cry and were a sight to look upon. You toddled on unstable legs, but were so proud of those first faltering steps. Then you were off and running--nothing could stop you--not even adolescents, which surely did its best to tear you in two. You fought many wars in your teens and you struggled to find your place and to fit in in this world. During your adult years, you were a strong and fearless leader, reaching out time and time again to those less fortunate. I was privileged to know you in what may have been the best of your years, but now you are showing your age. They say that with age comes wisdom, but it doesn't seem to be the case with you. I don't know if you even realize it, but you aren't what you used to be. I sit at what I pray is not your deathbed and listen to you gasp for breath. I hope and pray that those of us who love you are doing all we know to help you. I want my children to know you the way I once did--strong, robust, God-fearing, and free. You're too young to die....please don't go....America?America? Can you hear me? I love you ever so much.

Happy Birthday.