FAMILY
We gather. The grandparents, the cousins, the aunts and uncles and perhaps a pet or two arrive. Some have walked over, and a few have driven a few miles. Others have driven hours with kids bursting at the seams to be free of their car seats or slowly emerge from cars, stiff from the ride. There are hugs and hellos and squeals of delight and the chaos of family coming together again.
There’s plenty of food, each having made his or her signature dish. There’s the potato salad, an old family recipe. And the pies with whipped meringue crusts and creamy filling. There are hamburgers on the grill and a few bratwurst for the heartiest appetites. An aunt brings the fruit salad she whipped up between diaper changes and boo-boos. A teenage cousin is balancing a cheesecake that took hours to make and will be eaten in minutes. Grandma thought of not only her signature dishes but also sends the boys in with armloads of plates, cups and the pop. Moms concerned with nutrition have to look the other way on a feast day like today.
We enjoy each other. Some venture out to run off the excess with a hearty game of volleyball, basketball or ping pong. The ladies who stay behind to clean up, grab a cup of coffee and chat at the table. Kids run through sprinklers and beg for someone to walk them to the nearby playground. And always, there’s a gathering in the corner indulging a deep discussion on the topics taboo anywhere else: religion and politics. Another corner is quiet with two heads bent over a chess board. Someone rushes to bandage a scraped knee, and somewhere else loud laughter rings out.
We remember. For all our joy, there is the sense that some who used to share this gathering are no longer here. We keep the joy as we remember Grandpa’s antics. Sometimes the joy leaks down our faces as we are overwhelmed with missing Mom or the child that couldn’t make it home this time.
We are a blessed family.
CHURCH
We gather. The family begins to filter in while music plays up front. We’re an old-fashioned group, so the music is a piano and organ and a few guitars or brass instruments. The pastor greets each one at the door. Members greet each other with handshakes and the occasional hug. Worship begins right out loud. We sing and pray corporately, then listen to the offertory and the sermon, punctuating them with “Amens” and “Praise the Lords”. In between, someone stands to give a word of testimony. After the sermon, we may gather around the altar to pray with someone who needs salvation or courage to go deeper with God.
We enjoy each other. There are always picnics and Christmas gatherings, camp meetings and revival services. We laugh, cry, pray and chat together. We stand around after worship for the “dessert” of fellowship. In between, text messages and phone calls float around because we care.
We remember. There are some who once sat among us who are no longer here. Some are attempting to take another path to God, and we grieve their empty spots. Some have already joined Jesus in Heaven, and we grieve only for ourselves while rejoicing for them. We remember the saints and the heritage we’ve been left.
We are a blessed church family.
COUNTRY
We gather. It’s right there in our Bill of Rights. We assemble in homes, in churches, synagogues and mosques. We meet in back yards and downtown for a parade or fireworks display. We gather in grocery stores filled with abundance, in entertainment venues and restaurants of which many around the world can only dream.
We enjoy each other. Neighbors come out on the porch to grill and wave to each other. We look different, because America is a country of varied ethnicities, races, economic statuses and ages. The young help the elderly with their lawns. The older ones slip words of wisdom and peppermints into conversations. Kids play, not paying attention to the different colors, cultures, economics or abilities among them, intent only on having fun together.
We remember. We stand at the graves of soldiers who gave all so we can have all. We must not forget those who forged our country with their own sweat, tears, blood and lives. It wasn’t easy. It was often complicated. It still isn’t and is. But a memory is to hold close, tucking away the bad while learning from it, and clutching the good with all we have within us.
We are a blessed country.
In every family, every church and every country; not all are whole. Outside every group, there are those looking in who hunger for what we have. We share. We make room. Sometimes it’s an extra place or two set. Once in awhile, we sit and listen to their heartaches and invite them to share our circle a bit more often. When we can, we graft them in, then erase the tell-tale marking.
There are sadly those who want to tear apart what we have, to criticize and malign and perhaps invade instead of enter with invitation. This doesn’t mean we apologize for who we are or what we have. It’s all a gift. Gifts are meant to be given, to be shared, but never wrested from us.
Whether it is an imperfect but loving family, or an imperfect but Jesus-loving church family or even an imperfect but freedom-loving country; you needn’t apologize for it. In large part, you’re only a very small part of it’s reason for existence. It’s a gift not all have. Share, when sharing adds to the whole, rather than fragmenting it. Treasure it, protect it, keep it alive. Because the heroes of our heritage have given up treasure, safety and life itself so you can have these things.
Gather. Enjoy. And above all, remember.