Remembering September 12

For most of us September 11, 2001 is a date that changed our lives. But for my oldest son, the date that changed his four-year-old life was one week before—the day his “B” disappeared.

“B” was his little green security blanket. We had brought him home from the hospital wrapped in it, and he’d been attached to it ever since. Now it was gone.

We searched high and low, then re-searched again and again. He was certain someone had stolen “B”. We then began the search for the replacement. Nothing.

“I’ll never be able to go to sleep again,” he said and cried and cried. I cried too. I felt his anxiety as I imagined the sleepless nights. And perhaps even worse was the fact that in less than two weeks we would be getting on a plane and flying to our new home in London. I wasn’t sure either of us would make that nine hour flight without his “B.”

Just when I was losing hope, he pulled out his little, blue fleece jacket from the suitcase. “This smells like ‘B,’” he said. He wrapped a sleeve around his hand, pulled it across his face and fell asleep. He’d found security once again , and I’d found relief. At least temporarily.

On the one-week anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the United States my family got ready to begin our trans-Atlantic flight. I’ll admit I was more than just a little nervous. I don’t like to fly under the best conditions, but when passenger planes had just been used as weapons, I was feeling scared. It felt as if our nation’s security blanket had been taken, and we were still crying ourselves to sleep over it.

I put on a brave face. Next to me my son had his little blue jacket. He was set. I wished for a security blanket of my own. I watched him all comfortable in his seat, testing out his tray table. I just wanted to lean over and ask, “Can I borrow a sleeve?”

Now, ten years after “9/11,” it’s still difficult to think back to that terrible day. But the day I do like to remember is September 12. That was the day the healing began in full force. A blanket of hope was already wrapping our nation, woven with the threads of friendship and faith, of courage and kindness. Whether it was firefighters risking their lives or strangers passing out shoes and peanut butter sandwiches, we were bound together with the indomitable American spirit of strength and determination. That’s what makes us who we are.

We still stand now, not only the greatest nation on earth, but also the greatest hope for the world. I love this verse of our national anthem:

Then conquer we must

When our cause it is just

And this be our motto

“In God is our trust.”

May that spirit live on forever in America.

4th of July Provo

Patriotism Paradise

I guess there is nothing I love in the summer like a good old-fashioned 4th of July parade. These pictures were at the Freedom Festival parade in Provo, Utah, and I think the photos speak for themselves. But if they don't, you can check out my latest attempt at patriotism at the "Moms for Mitt" blog where I give a little more description (momsformitt.blogspot.com).

Here it is:

Nothing says “America” like a good old-fashioned 4^th of July parade. Is there anything more patriotic, not to mention amazing, than being on a street with crowds of thousands of people who rise to their feet and actually stand in silence, hand over hearts, as our military representatives march by carrying our nation’s beautiful flag?

There are few things in summer I love like the Freedom Festival parade in Provo, Utah. We try to visit there every year to enjoy the festivities. From the first sound of the motorcycle police brigade doing their drill formations at the head of the parade, to the firing of the George Q. Cannon from the BYU ROTC at the end of the parade, I feel like I am in patriotic paradise.

Every high school marching band that shuffles by playing military marches and “My Country ‘Tis of Thee,” every Star Wars costume-clad storm trooper each holding one of our 50 states’ flags, every convertible carrying Congressmen and Council members, and every glittery float with “scholarship contest” beauties from surrounding towns, all remind me of the many freedoms and joys we celebrate as a nation, especially this time of year.

But maybe the most surprisingly moving part of the whole parade is the crowd of what seems like hundreds of Mormon missionaries walking together down the parade route dressed in their white shirts and ties and their little black name tags. The hundreds of thousands of people gathered on the sidewalks give the greatest cheers to these young men and women out representing their church and serving their Lord. Children rush into the road to give high-five’s to every passing missionary they can possibly reach. Whistles, shouts, cheers, and wild clapping echo all the way up the street as they approach and follow them like waves as they pass.

Perhaps they’re the favorites of the crowd not only because of their Mormon heritage in a Mormon town, but because these young men and women represent everything this great nation was founded upon—hard work, sacrifice, freedom of religion, and faith in God. It’s no wonder children are screaming for them like they’re rock stars and mothers are watching them with tears in their eyes while fathers are swallowing the lumps in their throats. This is patriotism at its finest, and what blessings of liberty we have to celebrate in this great nation! May we all do our part to preserve them.

Only in America

Riding Uncle Josh's WWII tank with Veterans and cousins--who gets to do that?