Intently he peered into the night, hoping for glimpses of the stars of freedom. His persistence was rewarded as the thunderous noise of bombs burst into a red glare, illuminating our flag stating, "Freedom is still here!" Anxiously he searched the shoreline as the early light of dawn cracked the horizon. Our flag? Our freedom? Our America? Was it still there?
Sitting on the banks of another shore, I peer into the approaching night to see if our flag is still there, searching for some evidence that we truly are still the home of the free and brave, but America is silent. There is no light to the night sky. The darkness of night quickly closes in, the colors of those broad stripes and bright stars start to fade, my heart cries out, "What happened? Where are our brave?" But there is no reason to question, I already know the answer why. Not too long after our fathers fought and died, losing houses, lands and families for the freedom of our land, we started concentrating on ourselves building bigger homes and surrounding ourselves with comfortable things. As we busily built up our homes, we ignored the little red flags as we really were busy and "I'm sure someone else will take care of that." Our comfort zones became bigger and we could not stand up for truth, not for fear of losing our lives, but for fear of a raised eye brow. And though I will still cry each time I hear our Spangled Banner sung as I fear I will not see the flag flying as the dawning approaches, I cannot spend my time searching for that beautiful flag of freedom. No. I must press forward while there is yet time, impressing the Bible upon my children's hearts and minds and compelling the lost, occasionally glancing to see if our flag is still there.
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