Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
For many people, Memorial Day signals the changing of the seasons.
Those of us who can’t wait any longer for summer declare that it’s time to bring out the lawn chairs and barbecue. Who wants to wait another four weeks? We’d rather start thinking about vacations, the end of school, and what to grill. Here in Colorado, we’re lucky if the backyard bash isn’t cancelled due to snow.
Of course Memorial Day is about much more than the barbecue and what the weather will be like.
Once known as Decoration Day, it was set aside to honor and remember the fallen from our nation’s Civil War by decorating their graves with flowers and flags.
After World War I, honors were extended to include those who were casualties in any of America’s wars.
Battlefield casualties were obviously on the founders’ minds, but the fallen have given their lives in various venues.
During World War II, many civilian women went to work outside their homes for the first time, picking up the slack left in the wake of their deploying husbands and fathers, gladly joining the war effort.
Some took to the shipyards in southern California and other coastal states, and many of them contracted tuberculosis. Those who served overseas often came home to funerals and motherless children.
Every year on Memorial Day, I think of those whose names I will never hear who gave all of what they had to give.
The giving goes on. May we who remain live our lives in ways that continue the example of hope and selflessness. And may we pause in our reveling and remember with gratitude the fallen upon whose sacrifices we stand.
There is no greater love than to
lay down one’s life for one’s friends.
Of course Mama’s and Papa’s loving spirits were not entombed in the cold earth, yet Mary felt a closeness with them as she whispered her goodbyes. Kissing the palms of her hands, she laid one on each stone. A familiar tune hummed through her—Mama’s favorite hymn—and she sang in hushed tones.
“On Christ, the Solid Rock, I stand … All other ground is sinking sand.”
Atop the hill she felt as if she were on that solid rock, the foundation of her parents’ faith.
“I love you both so much, and I’m grateful for what you’ve given me.” Her throat tightened, thick with tears. “Not only in land and livestock, but in faith and honor.” She closed her eyes against the sting of sadness and drew a stuttered breath. “I’m on my way to Aunt Bertie’s farm. Wish me well.”
A silly thing to say, but she knew they would do so if they were there. ~Hope Is Built Finalist for 2023 Colorado Book AwardThe giving goes on. Click To Tweet
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(c) 2023 Davalynn Spencer, all rights reserved.