There’s something about the Fourth of July that makes a man stop and stand still for a while. Not just because the flag’s out front or the folding chairs are lined up down by the ball field. It’s something deeper. A kind of quiet that settles in and reminds you to be thankful.

This time of year always gets me thinking. Maybe it’s the way the evening light hits the barn, or the sound of a far-off firework popping in the distance. But my mind drifts back to how this country got its start. It didn’t begin with parades or barbecues. It began with an idea. A bold one, put to paper in longhand, and signed by fifty-six men who knew they might not live to see how it all turned out.

They weren’t all polished politicians, either. Some were farmers. Some were lawyers. A few were just barely older than my own grandkids. Edward Rutledge was only 26. Thomas Jefferson, who put the words together, was just 33. John Hancock, with his famously large signature, was 39. They had families and farms and futures at stake, but they signed anyway. Not because it was safe, but because it was right.

That kind of courage still humbles me.

But signing the Declaration was only the first step. Freedom had to be fought for. It was earned valley by valley, season by season. And it had to be defended over and over again, through muddy trenches, frozen hillsides, ships at sea, and faraway fields, from Gettysburg to the beaches of Normandy, from Korea to Afghanistan.

And even now, it still has to be guarded. Not just by soldiers, but by all of us. By how we live, how we serve, and how we raise up the next generation to understand what it all means.

These days it’s easy to get caught up in what’s wrong with America. But I think it’s worth remembering what’s still right. This is still a country where second chances are real. Where faith and freedom can share the same front porch. Where hard work matters and neighbors lend a hand when trouble comes knocking. We’re not perfect, but we keep showing up. And we still believe in better.

So on July 4th, while the skies begin to darken and the first firework whistles into the air, I’ll take a few quiet minutes on the porch. Might read a line or two from the Declaration. Might just sit and listen to the sounds of summer. Either way, I’ll thank the good Lord for the freedoms we enjoy and the folks who gave their all to make them possible.

I’ll remember the young men who risked everything by signing their names to a dangerous idea. And I’ll try to live in a way that honors what they started.

Because the Fourth of July isn’t just a holiday. It’s a heritage.

—Albert
 Firecracker Lighter, Front-Porch Philosopher

P.S.

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