The Sound of Freedom
=====================

Last night I walked outside to watch the city fireworks show
that takes place every year right across the street from my
complex. It was a nice night; the breeze gently blowing just
enough to keep the Texas heat from causing the usual summer
discomfort.

I sat quietly alone, choosing to remain well back from the
street filled with people, lawn chairs, cold drinks, happy
chatter. I was alone because my friends had left early due to an
overindulgence on the part of a three-year old. I chose to
remain alone because my daughter was spending this 4th of July
with her father - for a parent the pain of divorce never ceases.
It's hard to fully enjoy the beauty of any event when your child
is not there to share it with you.

But I was determined not to miss it; anticipating her questions
the next day, "How was it Mommy? Was it big? Was it loud?
Was it pretty?" How could I answer her honestly without actually
witnessing it? So, I closed the front door and walked to the end
of the sidewalk in my courtyard, finding a spot where I could
view the show but perhaps avoid the onslaught of summer insect
bites.

Yes, it was loud and big and very beautiful. The constant
booming at times so loud that car alarms would briefly twitter
in angry response to the vibrations of the explosions. I sat and
watched and listened to the nearby crowd "ooh and ahh" at the
loudest and largest outbursts. They were beautiful and sparkling
and a few produced the elusion that they were coming right at
you.

In the midst of all the thundering noise, I closed my eyes and
the thought struck me that these sounds that were being
applauded and were the stuff of celebration, were also the
sounds of war. As many in the United States sit in relative
comfort, having come in full expectation to be entertained;
these same sounds are heard in cities all over the world. But
these are not the sounds hearkening shimmering beauty as each
well-packed charge explodes into an awesome flowering ball; but
rather, these are the sounds of impending doom. These sounds are
not heard one night a year; but every night and often every day
as well.

The sounds heard by others long ago in our own country and now
almost constantly in other countries in their cities, towns and
villages are the noises that must keep people in constant
retched fear. The loud popping that brings so much pleasure to
so many on this night, brings pain and loss to so many others.
In my head and in my heart, I could easily replace the sounds of
clapping hands with the thought of breaking hearts. With each
last gasping breath, how many dreams go unfulfilled? When we
read about carnage due to war in the newspapers, we see the
numbers of loss. But numbers make no mention of plans, promises,
desires. All is ripped away in an instant with pain the only
remnant as smoke is the remnant of one's breath upon a candle
flame.

In America, we plan picnics and concerts and become involved in
so much preparation for this one big night of celebration.
Everything is designed for that one moment when the resounding
blasts of pyrotechnic delights begin. The bombs bursting in
air. In other countries, these are the sounds that are heard in
the night as they lay in their beds (if they have them)
wondering if they will live to see another morning. They are
long past trying to imagine what kind of destruction will greet
them with the rising sun. They are no longer shocked by the
sight of obliteration.

As I sat cross-legged on that sidewalk and listened to the
thundering noise, I could easily replace the squeals of delight
from little children with the screams of those children whose
nightmares can never be ended merely by waking up. I thought of
the kids whose Barbie dolls and Tonka trucks and VHS and DVDs
have been replaced by the toys of machinery parts and bits of
brick and cast off weapons. I thought of all those children that
have never known what it feels like to play. I thought of all
those people who have forgotten what it feels like to smile.

These are the sounds that harken loss - loss of loved ones, loss
of a way of life, loss of peace in any form. It occurred to me
that most Americans work hard to teach our children all of the
lessons we can to try to keep them safe: don't talk to
strangers, wash your hands, look both ways before you cross the
street, eat your veggies. What lessons these parents in war-torn
countries must teach their children?! I would imagine things
such as: don't play in the rubble, how to avoid land mines, how
to dodge stray bullets, how to forage for food to survive.

Were all these thoughts signs of depression on my part? Was I
wallowing ankle-deep in a fit of morbidity? No, these are the
thoughts that preceded the notion that these sounds
reverberating in my hears and these sights that shimmer in my
eyes have come at an unbearable price. The price that is paid
every time a loved one goes off to war. The price that is paid
for every unforgiving bomb that rips through the lumber and
cement of the buildings that were once called home. The price
that is paid when loved ones breath no more. The price that is
paid in every part of the world where the struggle for growth is
carried forth with destruction. These sounds that cause happy
applause on this 4th of July are truly the sounds of freedom.

Abraham Lincoln once said: "Those who deny freedom to others
deserve it not for themselves, and, under a just God cannot long
retain it." This beauteous show should be and is met with
delight; however, let us not forget the price that has been and
will continue to be paid for what we have. Let us pray to God
for all those who have fought and suffered through earth's
continual struggle for independence. Independence that for so
many has meant invasion.

Let us thank God that we can sit on our picnic blankets, our
boats, our bumpers, our theater seats and enjoy this spectacle
every year. Let us also thank Him for the highest price ever
paid. How sad to have paid with His only begotten son for the
forgiveness of our sins, and then to watch as his children of
all nations are slaughtered in senseless violence.

"And hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on
all the face of the earth."
Acts, xvii, 26

I pray to God that the sound of freedom will someday be the
sound of silence. Let us all lay down the weapons of war and
pick up the cross of peace.

~A MountainWings Original by Paula Fleming, Plano, TX~
This was submitted to MountainWings in 2004