A Fourth of July Parade

On the way to the lake this morning, I saw that the streets around the town common were lined with empty chairs. Everyone claimed a spot along the sidewalk with a folding chair, and then went to the fair. At 2:00 they would come back to fill these front-row seats for a good view of the parade. I thought about it for about a minute. Nah, I don’t want to sit there and watch a parade by myself. Besides, it’s supposed to rain.

So down at the lake I took my seat in the sand,
pulled out some grapes and a book in my hand.
I wanted to be with the Lord today
Instead of seeing some flashy parade.

Two cute little girls in pink sun hats and tropical suits caught my eye. They are dumping sand and water out of yellow pails. Gramma is seated on a big white blanket. She is wearing a white blouse over billowy floral pants, topped by a white sun hat. Crisp and proper. She has a purse beside her and sits with her slender arms wrapped around her knees.

All the sandals are lined up in a row nearby and everything on the blanket is arranged in neat order by the obvious attentiveness of this proper lady. Grampa is standing in the shallow water, patrolling in green and blue. A blue plastic tote filled with buckets and water toys speaks of their devotion to these fortunate kids.

Gramma and Grampa smile at each other and laugh at the kids’ antics, and I am touched by the scene. Then, with a sudden pang, I realize afresh, I have lost what they still share.

I glance around me at all the other families and couples. Young lovers kissing in the water. A man puts lotion on his wife’s back. Fat old ladies, big-breasted black women, even the young and bashful in pale white skin—all are seated next to a companion. Someone to grow old with, someone to enjoy their grandkids with. Someone to smile at and share all the tender moments. I wonder if they all know how lucky they are?

I don’t like to linger on this point, but truth be told, I am the only person sitting here by myself today. My kids all went water skiing and I am alone to celebrate this holiday. This is a time set aside to celebrate freedom, but Lord, there is one freedom that is difficult to give thanks for. It is the freedom from a marriage I wasn’t ready to lose.

I wish I had my camera. Gramma just got some money from Grampa and got the girls each a yellow popsicle from the ice cream truck. Within minutes, the little one was covered with the melting goo and started to cry. So Grampa lovingly brought them back to the water’s edge where they could lick and drip to the heart’s delight. It is such a happy view… Pink little girls and proper parents. Popsicles and yellow pails. So perfect on a summer day. So endearing, it should be a postcard for happiness.

But the sweetness of that sight, their gentleness, and something about the old-fashioned simplicity of the moment transcends the here and now and makes me cry. It is the longing for what I once knew and the yearning for love together that calls forth a little stream of tears to parade down my cheeks. Once tapped, I cannot interrupt the flow. There is a rhythm that insists on spilling out like the drips of a melting popsicle in the midday sun.

Quietly, I blink and watch the characters of this little drama. They feel so familiar now, and yet we have never met. Funny, how you can feel so much love and appreciation for total strangers.

I stand to shake off the dreary emotions and decide to go for a cooling swim along the beaded rope. The parade is over now. It is time to march to a different tune.

Yes Lord, tune my heart to sing your praises! Oh God, let me not be swallowed up in sorrowful emotions, self pity and loneliness. I will trust you in times of quiet solitude and I will trust you in times of busyness. Father, I will look to you to meet every need of my heart.

I rolled over to paddle on my back and suddenly found myself looking up at a better parade. Billowy white clouds marched before a glorious expanse of bright blue sky. A few lovely birds and gulls seem to dance in delight before my eyes, like children leaping for joy. They are just happy to be alive, I mused. Beautiful! This is why I’ve always loved the backstroke. See what I’d miss with my head in the water?

Lord, neither of these were the parades I expected to see today. Tears and clouds are not orchestrated by town planners or accompanied by brass bands along designated thoroughfares. But these are the things that knit our souls a little closer to you--and that’s worth lining up for.

I celebrate the simple fact that I am alive today. I exult in the freedom and ability to feel--yes, sorrow as well as appreciation—and to see a parade across the scroll of your heavens, Father. I am grateful for the blood that was shed to make me truly free and alive!

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