On this 237th birthday of the United States of America, I am sitting beside a fire pit on the front lawn of my parents’ house, listening to the dull bumps and sharper pops of China-sourced black powder concoctions as they report from every direction. The wild sparrows, crows and robins chatter with confusion from their perches in trees and other growth. My nephews are wrestling in the yard. Pop is grilling meat outside while mom prepares the rest of dinner from the kitchen within. I’ve just been assigned a task: find four more dinner chairs.
Having eight family members together at one table for dinner brings on a sense of great wealth. Nate needs the corn shorn because his two front teeth are loose. Luke is using a steak knife for the first time. Kate refuses to eat. Noah sits quiet and contemplatively. Even without children of my own, when my sister’s kids are around me, I take great encouragement about the future, our future. After dinner we lit some back yard caliber fireworks of our own.
Having children around is good for the spirit and the soul, I find. The honesty of how they perceive life’s joys and disappointments is extraordinary. In the driveway of my family home in Edgewood, Washington, four young people danced around light flickering on the ground. Huddled around the person who’s turn it was to strike the match that would ignite the next fused wonder; four children tasted fresh excitement, and God coordinated things so that I could be there.
albaniacalling 