Tag Archives: independence

How Free Can You Get?

God bless, it’s “Murica” time!

Come on out and wave those banners and flags! Pull out the graphic tee, gather with the Fam, and find a spot on the grass for the annual fireworks display! Let freedom ring from the mountains to the prairies— if only for a day.

I can’t say much about what I knew as a child regarding freedom’s call or price but I surely knew the taste of it. The occasional family gathering at my grandmothers or the local lake seasons my memory with bluefish on the grill, some meat on the whining spit and lot’s of running wild in all directions. Sparklers and fireflies and the nylon-webbed aluminum chairs that clanked together as we took our place on the blanket spread before them. There the musky scent of rotting apples at the base of the tree, some sulphur and magnesium wafting through the air, blended together with the sharp smell of OFF! mosquito spray.

This only happened a handful of times but in my soul I felt cared for, loved and strangely free as I sat with my childhood family eating and watching the bursts of color spread over the sky above and rain down in streams of light.  I could relax in their presence if only for a moment. On that day, we were a family. We were Americans… citizens of “the land of the free and the home of the brave.” But the truth of the matter is that none of us was then truly as free as we could get.    Not yet.

It has made me ask: how free is free?  How free can you get? Is freedom based on where you’re born? Where you live and work? What your passport or driver’s license says? Is freedom based on a document? A constitution? A pledge, a vow or a good score on a citizenship test?

No doubt there are some places in the world where documents hold the key to our freedom and security. Those of us born into a world where this is never questioned cannot truly understand the inner workings of the heart and mind of those for whom this has never been true.  However, we owe every bit of our understanding to the ones who came before us, making the journey from wherever it was and deciding to walk towards the light of the freedom they dreamed could be a reality.  A “leave your kin, ticket-punched” kind of freedom purchased, no doubt, using all the guts and courage anyone could ever imagine. Fought for in various ways on various battle fronts both public and private, foreign and domestic, we live life in a “better country” someone else fought for…. and likely died for.

But is freedom an address? Is it simply where we get our mail? How free can you get? Is there still a freedom worth fighting for, sacrificing for, and on many levels, dying for?

Considering the past, the present and the future, I am grateful to know that the Holy Spirit has revealed a greater freedom in my life. The moments of celebration in my childhood were brief, sweet and precious few— shining against the backdrop of deep dysfunction and abuse. The family-styled celebrations of these moments in our nation’s collective history that provided these private highlights grow strangely dim in the light of that singular moment at the age of 12 or 13, when God revealed himself to me through the Gospel of Jesus Christ and showed me how to begin the walk of True freedom.

I was a child when it began. I spoke as a child and understood things through the eyes, mind and worldview of an American-born child. But now I’m grown… I’m growing… and I know that whatever rights and privileges I’ve ever known have only been granted to me in order to serve the cause of the Greatest Freedom there is as a citizen of Heaven.  No matter where in the future I may get my mail, I am grateful for the representative flag and banner I’ve been privileged to live under all my life but most especially, for the freedom it purchased so that the REAL FREEDOM I’ve come to know through Jesus as a result— can frame and foundation my life and future choices. It’s as free as one can get here on Earth at any address, in any capacity.

Free from guilt.
Free from sin.
Free from the demons of the past within.
Free from pain.
Free from loss.
Purchased by Christ’s heavenward cross.

This time next year, we will be living in another place where the 4th of July will merely be a date on the calendar. It will feel weird and bittersweet on some levels. Will we still celebrate? Most certainly. Because while our citizenship won’t change on earth we will still have reason to celebrate our freedom in Christ for, at the end of it all… it’s the only freedom that counts.

How free are you? Freedom is no small matter because God says so.  I am compelled to remember the many times I’ve flown across the continent or ocean hoping to shed some light for myself, but also for others in the name of the Gospel. Each time, the safety speech given about the oxygen mask procedure grabs me. I don’t ever want to use it! But it’s also the part where we’re told to secure our masks first ….then do so for another. Likewise, with our freedom in Christ. Once our freedom is secure, we must  do all we can to secure it for another.

Here. There. Everywhere.
This is the freedom  worth celebrating 24-7-365

‘Merica, blessed to be a blessing

It’s our week in the land of the free and the home of the brave.

The week when we dust off our patriotism, unfurl our star-spangled banners, and hitch our pride a little higher celebrating the land and country we love.

‘Merica  A people united by an air of fierce independence and the ideal of unrestrained opportunity…  a strange mix even on the best of days.

Somewhere at sometime, someone once said, “Necessity is the Mother of Invention.” Experience has taught me truth in this and that very often, Hunger is her muse.

It’s a lesson my husband and I learned well through  years of trying to keep a few pennies ahead in the positive column as self(un)employed artists raising and homeschooling a family.

There have been some really “creative” periods over the years and I sorta pride myself in my ability to “make do”…DO.  I tend to think I can manage on very little and find alternative ways to make up the lack. Second-hand is fine; homemade is better. By the grace of God, we’ve always had everything we’ve needed and most of what we’ve wanted as well.

So if you asked about my current state of affairs, I  gladly admit to being humbly content…sweetly satisfied. Blessed….without a hint of materialism or an air of entitlement in my soul.

Not much anyway.
Well…maybe just a titch.
Ok… a titch and a half!

I don’t like to think so. I don’t like to think I’m all that materialistic  or have much of an entitlement attitude  but a recent event has caused me to stop and “check my privilege”.

Allergies. It began with allergies.

Nasally stuff, you know… dust, dander and the what-not that plagues us here in the South. Nothing major but we’ve kept it at bay with a little red pseudophed in the mornings.

It works.

Sadly, we live in a world where evil seems to have a free reign, so this formerly over the counter medicine has moved up under tighter regulation. Now you have to show ID, sign for it,  only so much can be bought, yada, yada, yada.

So we do it. No biggie…right?
Until it seems we get “profiled”.

On our way to an outdoor church event, dressed down and a little raggety for outdoor play, we decide to stop and get this and a few things before the pharmacy closes. No dice. The pharmacist on duty cites a “new regional policy” and nothing we say can sway her decision.

Ya’ll…. she’s serious.   I’m LIV-id— the “trying-not-to-cry-I’m-so-stinkin-mad” kind of livid.

Polite, but point blank I ask why, after months of shopping and following the rules at this store is it suddenly not OK.

Looking at me she replies, “It’s the new policy because there are a lot of dirt-bag meth heads around here.”

Whoa….excuse me?!

We left empty-handed. A follow-up with the National company left us wanting for “justice” because they leave it to the discretion of their pharmacists to make these types of policy calls.  An apologetic call from the store’s manager confirms the same.

I stew and fume for days.
I mean.. seriously?!??!   Do I look like a “dirt-bag meth head” to YOU?!?!
Wait….don’t answer that.

Wait…. because it really doesn’t matter.

Calming down, I realized that my problem was not so much that I didn’t get what I thought I needed, or that there was the distinct probability we’d been labeled. The problem went deeper.

I was angry because I didn’t get what I wanted AND the respect I felt I deserved along with it.

I was angry because I don’t like being told no.
I don’t like being told I can’t have something.

I have “rights” you know!
This is ‘MERICA dang it!

Well, apparently some “rights” weigh in more heavily than others and the abuses of some can mar the rights of us all. Evil is like that.

I was shocked to see  the ugly rear up in my heart so immediately and self-righteously. Suddenly, my eyes are opened to how, even in America, others are dealing with this every day as they are denied a good or service based on their appearance or other such determinant.

Hidden slightly below that realization is my neglect to see,  no less acknowledge,  how blessed…. fortunate— dare I say…. LUCKY  I am to live in a country and a location where right down the street I have access to *everything* I need and most of what I want. Medicine. Milk.   At least 100 varieties of ice-cream.

I forget that WAY too often.
I seldom stop to think about it.
And I need to think about it.

Not feel guilty, but to acknowledge the bounty of my blessings and all I have to share.

Holy Fear

It’s been pounding in my heart for weeks now— this story and revelation have been further compounded by the numbers of people I’ve encountered who really do not realize the nature of this story in Africa.

I don’t blame them….part of the reason we will go is to tell the story and show what’s being done to help.  It’s a tall order.    Complicated.

Confusion marked with ignorance or fueled by propaganda and corruption is allowing HIV/AIDS to decimate communities, families and almost an entire generation.

Even when medicines are available, caregivers, transportation, logistics,
clean water, food and …honesty…are not.

Health care and humanitarian aid organizations  are doing what they can to keep up with the crisis, to care for and educate those in need but the numbers are staggering. Don’t misunderstand; the situation is not under control.

And yet….this is their DAILY life.. ..what they know and surprisingly, in many cases, we have been told that the people are joyful, thankful… living in gratefulness for what they have.

And those who are sick, in need and near the end, when someone arrives with a hospice bucket,  they are so stinkin’ blessed by a few tubes of Carmex and some socks. Shoot, they’re blessed by the bucket itself!

So yeah… what was I… sitting in my 2400-sq foot, air-conditioned home with indoor plumbing, 2 pillows and a comfortable bed, 5 cats, 2 dogs, a garden and plenty of food to spare,               …what was I complaining about?

I really don’t remember.

Blessed to be a blessing,Lorretta signature