Sunny Pathway

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Losing Ourselves for Something Bigger

Watermelons cost less than $3.00 at a local store on Friday, the day before Memorial Day weekend, and I purchased one. As I made my way through the checkout, the gal at the till let me know I could leave it in the cart. Then, Sure will be glad when this weekend is over, she declared. Everyone’s getting pop and watermelon.

For her, Memorial Day means problematic shoppers. I don’t blame her. She didn’t experience my history. But, at the risk of sounding like a tired, old-lady—which I often am—let me share something from my past. And make an observation.

I don’t remember my first parade, but I suspect the most vivid memories are from 1946 or '47. A group carrying rifles led the way in dark blue uniforms. They marched in step but not with precision.

Then four military men in varied uniforms carried flags—the only sound the shuffle of feet on asphalt while people saluted as they passed.

Then the men from World War I, also in dark blue, with Doc Elliot—a congenial fellow—as drill sergeant. But on Memorial Day he didn’t smile. His command was comprised of middle-aged men, out of shape and out of practice. I can see their sober faces.

And then the young men straight from the European and Asian arenas of World War II. Royce Peterson, a huge softie, gave commands to the human machines that made up this group. Every gun at an angle identical to the one next to it, every arm and leg movement perfectly synchronized—khaki uniforms with white embellishments performing as one. Why do tears come when I remember?

On any other day, these were the casual people of my hometown. People I knew. In a few years I’d babysit for Royce and Jeanette’s children.

Years later the Peterson’s oldest son Bill would write for National Geographic and make a reference to the Memorial Day parades of his childhood. (Life in Rural America, 1974, p. 10) He could not have witnessed his father in the full vigor of a just-returned veteran—he mentions the parades as lazy events of his childhood. But he felt their importance enough to include them. I find that interesting. He went on to criticize our government’s failure to protect Appalachia.

I wasn’t offended by his views. I’m not offended by a checkout gal who thinks of Memorial Day as a trial. I don’t really long for a past that is gone. And although we’re in a conflict—or war—or whatever you want to call it that I believe is equally as serious as World War II, I wish it would go away. Don't we all?

But what disturbs me most is our loss of purpose—our lost sense of identity. I know anyone can say as much, but I want to add that observation I alluded to earlier.

Please understand that, contrary to what some might say, no one thought our country was perfect during or after World War II. People complained about the government then, too. I remember the conversations. And they weren’t expecting a perfect country in the future.

What they had was a vision of something bigger that our country. In fact, when the American GI’s fought, they didn't fight for America. Some fought simply because they were drafted. But at the same time, the concept of decency, the value of human life, the importance of freedom loomed large. And to a greater or lesser degree, they fought against evil.

I love my country, my nation. I think the United States of America is the best place in the world to live—after all, it’s the destination of choice for the displaced people of the world. I also think that if we focus on saving our nation, we’ll become self-serving and somehow lose it.

Jesus said, For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his life? (Mt. 16:25,26 NLT) The principle holds true at every level.

A fairly popular saying made the rounds a few years ago: The family that prays together, stays together. People rallied to the cry and the family as we know it began its demise.

When we try to save ourselves, we become self-focused and self-serving. Saving a country—like like saving a family—like saving an individual—depends on losing sight of personal gain for something bigger, something more important.

But how do we focus on something bigger? We have to be discreet. Prayer makes a difference. But perhaps we need to rethink our motives when we pray—for individuals, for families, and for country.

I’ve prayed for our nation off-and-on ever since becoming a Christian. I've prayed for blessings, protection, wise leadership, etc.—certainly prayers in line with God's Will.

Or are they? I've recently begun to rethink some things. Even when praying for a move of God, I thought it important because our nation needed it. This is subtle, but I was praying self-centered and self-serving prayers for my good, for my country's good. It was all about me, me, me, me, me. And, we, we, we, we, we.

Is God simply part of an equation? Or should He be the center of my focus? What should I pray regarding our nation if I focus on Him? If He’s the center, and if our nation and other nations simply revolve around His plan, would that change my prayers?

Rhetorical questions to bring home the point that we need purified motives. We need to pray for His Will—and then we can ask Him to bring about His plans for mankind.

When we do, our country will probably be blessed, but that won’t be the issue.

It’s time to forget about ourselves and to lose ourselves in something bigger. Bigger than problematic shoppers and memories of the past, bigger than whatever stands in the way of seeking God.

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