Snapshots from my life would make a stunning patriotic montage. I can see the music video now: The camera focuses on a tall and slender musician dressed casually in an old pair of boots, denim blue jeans, a wrinkled plaid shirt, and a wide brimmed cowboy hat. He’s strumming the well-traveled acoustic guitar that’s slung around his shoulders and singing about “America, the beautiful.” Behind him waves a giant American flag and the red, white, and blue stripes seem to flutter to his tempo. Then the screen cuts to a montage. The voice of the handsome cowboy sings about America- that America is more than just a beautiful land; America is the beautiful love of its people.
A grandfather passing his wisdom to his granddaughter.
A son riding on his father’s shoulders.
A family gathered together in the shadow of remembrance to those who built this great land.
Or, it could look more like this: It’s the climax of a top-selling blockbuster movie. In mere minutes the world as we know it will come to a tragic end. The President of the United States must address his nation during their darkest hour. Even the most powerful man in the world is scared, but he conjures up as much bravery as he can muster. His face is somber. His voice is grave. As grave as the situation. He rustles the papers in his hand and begins to speak, slowly and deeply, and with each word the wrinkles on his brow become more and more defined. He urges Americans to fight. He tells us that even though all hope seems dim, it is never truly lost. Not as long as we have something to fight for. The montage begins.
The President’s broadcast ends in a buzz of television static. The emergency broadcast rings in the audience’s ears. And then the hero of the movie finds it within himself to accomplish the impossible. He overcomes the evil, threatening forces and saves the world from certain annihilation at the very last second. And as the flags wave and the church bells ring out to announce that victory is won, we pan back to the family that symbolizes all reason for survival.
Our family spent this past weekend in Maryland with James’ parents. After two full days of sightseeing, we headed back home sometime late Sunday morning. As I drove (I almost always drive because I get extremely motion sick in the passenger seat) I had three hours to think to myself. I reminisced about the past few days and wondered what would be the best way to blog about them. It’s become a habit. I thought of all the great pictures I’d taken and about my adorable family. And then I remembered a facebook post that I’d read a while back. My talented cousin-in-law had written that sometimes she thinks her family stepped right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. I loved that. I love the imagery. And I LOVE Norman Rockwell. And it got me thinking that if her family is a painting, mine must be a montage.
When you put them together, the pictures from my life personify all that is beautiful about this country. I was born on the banks of a river in the Midwest, raised in the sun of the Southwestern desert, educated near the surf of the Pacific ocean, married a military man and drove with him across the country, through the Rocky Mountains and Great Plains, braved the snowy winters of New England, and am now settled in the South. I am honored to have seen much of the beauty that our country has to offer. But of all the beautiful sights the eye can behold, the TRUE beauty is right here, in the faces of my family.
You never know, maybe the next big Hollywood director or Nashville star will decide to put us in their montage. It wouldn’t be quite as good as being in a Norman Rockwell painting, but I’d take it.
You had me crying before I even got to "we fight for our Daughters" ...you are a montage. This is so beautiful and I still can't get over that family picture.
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