Memorable

It was a memorable Memorial Day weekend. Our oldest daughter and her husband were in one canoe and Dee and I were in another. It was an opportunity to get in touch with nature and enjoy a time with family. The trees were finally in full leaf, the small river was flowing clear, and the weather was beautiful. What could be more pleasant than to listen to the gentle tap of the paddle in the water, the joyous songs of birds in spring, and the occasional sharing of thoughts with spouses and adult children?

It became quickly apparent that several hundred other people felt the same way we did. They joined us on the river that day. Some were in canoes, often falling out of the canoes expressing festive laughter and/or questionable terminology. Others were in kayaks or on large inner tubes. The more ingenious travelers joined multiple inner tubes together with platforms that held their beverages and food. The traffic on the river was as bad as the rush hour traffic on Green Tree Hill in Pittsburgh.

There was no turning back and downstream was the only direction we could go so we decided to make the best of it, even facing what could happen downstream. And it happened! At each of the many campgrounds along the river the multitudes were gathered. Some pretended to fish. No upstanding fish would have been within 100 miles of that confusion. Others with overused smiles sat on lawn chairs in shallow water, dangling their feet in the stream. The more daring had attached artificial snakes to fishing lines, hanging them over tree branches, hoping to terrify the passers-by. By this time, the four of us were humming “Dueling Banjos.”

And then we saw them. There were only two of them and they couldn’t have been any older than twelve or thirteen, but they were heavily armed. These two miscreants were packing the two largest super-soaker squirt guns I have ever seen and they were unleashing a torrent of water on all who braved this perilous journey. Our daughter and son-in-law were drenched. And then Dee and I came into range and braced ourselves for the worst. It was at that point that we heard those wonderful words of mercy that one boy spoke to the other, “Don’t shoot them. They’re old.”

Those words brought me back to reality. I had been viewing myself as superior, both in demeanor and intent, to my fellow travelers and those along the shore. These two boys saw me as old. Their rightful perception brought me to a humble truth. “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.” (James 4:6)

But on a different level should not Memorial Day be more than a time of picnics and canoe trips? Should we not spend at least part of this time to remember those who gave their all so that we might live in freedom? Even more so, should not every day be a memorial to the One who gave His all that we may truly be free now and forever?