I miss the Fourth of July.
It is not as if it is not the 4th here in Central America. As I write this, it is probably the same date in most locations except for Australia. From personal experience, I know Australians live by their own calendar.
I miss the Fourth of July I knew when I was a younger man.
There was never any doubt in my mind where I was going to go on the holiday, or, what I was going to do. My family had its customs and we stood by them.
Every year we went to a picnic in Younger’s pasture. It had been a long time since the Younger family actually owned this piece of ground, but the name remained. In rural communities people do not change a name simply on the basis of real estate transactions. I have known locations described by the house and the family that used to live there 40 years after the house burned and the family left.
Younger’s pasture was not particularly beautiful. However, it had ample space for cars, a snack stand, and baseball diamond. The mighty Zumbro River bordered it. Tables were set up on saw horses and covered with food.
I still think of that food on the 4th… wherever I am.
Of course one of the culinary highlights were the deviled eggs. Sometimes the Holiness people had a different name for them, but we all knew what they were.
Now, most young boys are very aware of the fact that deviled eggs were not meant to actually be eaten on the Fourth of July. We had other uses for them. Placing even the smallest firecracker in a deviled egg produced wonderful results. Especially if someone happened to walk down the path on which you had placed this patriotic surprise.
Working pastures usually provide an abundant supply of another source of joy for young men. Be honest now, cow pies and firecrackers have a natural synergy.
How do I phrase this delicately? Like deviled eggs, the secret is in the recipe. The challenge comes in finding just the right cow pie for the right firecracker. A ladyfinger won’t do. The smallest firecracker permitted is a Black Cat. Without a doubt, if they could be found, cherry bombs were the best.
Like I say, I miss the Fourth of July.
Susan and I moved to Bolivia in 1978. That first 4th was hard. To celebrate our non-holiday, we decided to do something very special… something we did not normally do. We went out and found hotdogs to prepare and eat in our apartment. It was no easy feat to find hotdogs in La Paz in those years.
I will never sitting around that small table, eating those hotdogs and listening to the Voice of America on the shortwave radio. We never felt so far from the United States.
I will also never forget the results those hotdogs had on our stressed missionary digestive systems. Apparently the United States is not the only place where the Fourth was celebrated with explosive devices. I don’t think we left our apartment for two days.
Some progressive Christians find themselves vaguely uncomfortable with displays of patriotism. My guess is this has something to do with the exaggerated nationalism of the past. It may also be related to the fact that we love our country but realize it is not our ultimate home. We do not completely belong here or any other earthly nation.
As for me, I believe that patriotism, at the very least, frees us from our natural egocentric behavior. A patriot should think of others in his society and not himself. If we are not capable of appreciating our own country we will not be capable of appreciating that country to which we move. If we can’t be loyal “to here” we won’t learn to be loyal “to there.”
Today, I am working in an office in Costa Rica. No one has any flags on display. There will be no fireworks tonight. Still, I think of the country I once knew so well and pray that it may once again be a source of blessing and light to all nations.
I also hope that boys still remember what to do with deviled eggs.
It is not as if it is not the 4th here in Central America. As I write this, it is probably the same date in most locations except for Australia. From personal experience, I know Australians live by their own calendar.
I miss the Fourth of July I knew when I was a younger man.
There was never any doubt in my mind where I was going to go on the holiday, or, what I was going to do. My family had its customs and we stood by them.
Every year we went to a picnic in Younger’s pasture. It had been a long time since the Younger family actually owned this piece of ground, but the name remained. In rural communities people do not change a name simply on the basis of real estate transactions. I have known locations described by the house and the family that used to live there 40 years after the house burned and the family left.
Younger’s pasture was not particularly beautiful. However, it had ample space for cars, a snack stand, and baseball diamond. The mighty Zumbro River bordered it. Tables were set up on saw horses and covered with food.
I still think of that food on the 4th… wherever I am.
Of course one of the culinary highlights were the deviled eggs. Sometimes the Holiness people had a different name for them, but we all knew what they were.
Now, most young boys are very aware of the fact that deviled eggs were not meant to actually be eaten on the Fourth of July. We had other uses for them. Placing even the smallest firecracker in a deviled egg produced wonderful results. Especially if someone happened to walk down the path on which you had placed this patriotic surprise.
Working pastures usually provide an abundant supply of another source of joy for young men. Be honest now, cow pies and firecrackers have a natural synergy.
How do I phrase this delicately? Like deviled eggs, the secret is in the recipe. The challenge comes in finding just the right cow pie for the right firecracker. A ladyfinger won’t do. The smallest firecracker permitted is a Black Cat. Without a doubt, if they could be found, cherry bombs were the best.
Like I say, I miss the Fourth of July.
Susan and I moved to Bolivia in 1978. That first 4th was hard. To celebrate our non-holiday, we decided to do something very special… something we did not normally do. We went out and found hotdogs to prepare and eat in our apartment. It was no easy feat to find hotdogs in La Paz in those years.
I will never sitting around that small table, eating those hotdogs and listening to the Voice of America on the shortwave radio. We never felt so far from the United States.
I will also never forget the results those hotdogs had on our stressed missionary digestive systems. Apparently the United States is not the only place where the Fourth was celebrated with explosive devices. I don’t think we left our apartment for two days.
Some progressive Christians find themselves vaguely uncomfortable with displays of patriotism. My guess is this has something to do with the exaggerated nationalism of the past. It may also be related to the fact that we love our country but realize it is not our ultimate home. We do not completely belong here or any other earthly nation.
As for me, I believe that patriotism, at the very least, frees us from our natural egocentric behavior. A patriot should think of others in his society and not himself. If we are not capable of appreciating our own country we will not be capable of appreciating that country to which we move. If we can’t be loyal “to here” we won’t learn to be loyal “to there.”
Today, I am working in an office in Costa Rica. No one has any flags on display. There will be no fireworks tonight. Still, I think of the country I once knew so well and pray that it may once again be a source of blessing and light to all nations.
I also hope that boys still remember what to do with deviled eggs.
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