As I flip back in my journal to see what I might want to share with all of you brave enough to read this blog, I came to and entry from last year-July 3rd, a Sunday.
We were worshipping at a lovely Episcopal church that is close to where my father-in-law lives in a retirement facility, my husband was in the choir.
At that time, Pop was going every Sunday with me to church and often our daughter and grandson would attend as well. Pop this year will be 93. He doesn’t stand for very long and certainly not at church when we are up and down, up and down, to sing, to pray, to kneel…
Here is the journal entry from that day last year:
“Today, almost the holiday, the music for the closing hymn was America the Beautiful. Then, as the American flag was carried front and center of the altar, we sang The Star Spangled Banner. I could not sing, tears choking my throat. It was very moving because as I looked at Pop, a WWII veteran, I could almost imagine what he was thinking. He rose with determination and stood for his national anthem. As I stood with him, tears filling my eyes, I watched as Pop slowly but with a steady hand and great pride, saluted the flag of his country. It was a moment that needed no words.”