My family, like so many others, has a great history of getting together on the 4th of July. One of my favorite places to gather is on land where our family first settled in Texas in 1851.
My brothers and I are stewards of the remaining acreage. One brother built a solar powered home on one portion, and the other brother lives in the home my parents built nearly 50 years ago.
Having a place to call home is a deep American value. I feel so privileged to have a place to rest my feet where my ancestors have walked and farmed and harvested and shared meals and prayed and laughed and argued and lived and died for nearly 200 years.
My brothers and sister in law are marching in the local (McKinney) parade. I declined to join them, sadly, because of the heat. However, their church, First Methodist McKinney, has a huge welcome ministry each year for the parade with hot dogs and snow cones and an air conditioned prime viewing area, and I’m in my comfy chair waiting for the parade to begin.
As I watch the pre-parade gather of red, white, and blue, and brown and black and pink and tan, mostly hatted, pulling carts with children, and carrying tarps and flags and blankets and water bottles, for me, this is America.
Everyone who is here has come from somewhere else. Whether their people walked across the Bering Land Bridge 15,000 years ago or came across the southern border five years ago, all of us are from away.
Seeing this parade of color and joy is the best reminder of the America I love. Oh. And the hot dogs and snow cones, too.
House of Grace 