Your Country: Day 93; 100 Days to Brave

Let me tell you a secret. When I was a freshman in high school I tried out for our flag squad and I made it/didn't make it. It was like this: the really good flag twirlers got their own flag posts and went out to Joann Fabrics to purchase their favorite cloth for their practice pole. I made the team, but as second-tier, which means I was part of the band front color guard. When our team came out on the field, or competed in competitions, I was there, holding the heavy, awkward, American Flag. 
And I was embarrassed. 
Not of what the flag itself represented, but that carrying it told the entire stadium that I wasn't good enough to be a cute first-tier: twirling my flag as the marching band played our school's fighting song.

Still, I did my duty, probably gained some arm strength, and waited patiently until my sophomore year when I would automatically be promoted to a legit flag twirler.

One Friday evening however, while at an away game, me, holding the American flag like a rag doll, a gentleman approached me with tears in his eyes. "You must never let this flag touch the ground", he told me, as he helped me raise it high. In that moment I felt mostly indifferent. I likely wanted to bemoan to him about how I really wanted to be carrying a crimson and silver band front flag instead and this was just my temporary position: don't waste your sentimentality on me, mister. 

A decade later, Big Strong Man and I were dating and in line for the train ride at Knoebels. It was his first time meeting my extended family because it was our annual family reunion. He decided to wear his full military uniform, including boots. It was hot as Hades. 

circa 2008

The train ride is the very last ride of the night. It is family tradition and always has been. So we waited, my father and step-mother, my siblings and their girl/boys friends. And then it happened. A woman a few people ahead of us turned around and went out of her way to shake Big Strong Man's hand. She thanked him for his service and then she turned to the group of preteens she was governing and explained to them that "this man is a soldier and we should thank him". Without further ado, they burst into song: she led and they echoed.
The entire line was awestruck and, when it was all said and done, Big Strong Man felt like a million dollars. All eyes on him, in gratitude. (To be fair, I was his girlfriend, so there was a LOT of attention and pride on my end as well!)

Somewhere between the color guard and the train ride, it clicked. I had never stopped to truly consider the sacrifice and the bravery it took to enlist into the military. But all of a sudden, I understood why that man would get teary-eyed over his beloved American flag touching the ground, or why an entire youth group would sing to a stranger at random.   

It was pride in a country they love.
And this is not exclusive to those of us who live in the United States of America.

Regardless of where you live, regardless of who leads, and the positive and the negative you may see going on in your country, it is where you are. Where you were. Where you are going.
And you have a responsibility to pray for and even love it.

Be Brave: 

Pray for the leadership of your country. 

Here we were, Senior year.
I am the total babe the fifth one in from the right, top row.