Bicentennial Plus 50: The Blessings We Barely Notice

I can still picture myself as an extremely timid second grader, standing on front porches with a stack of red, white, and blue bumper stickers that said, “1776★1976.”

Thomas Elementary had recruited us to help raise money for playground equipment, and apparently the strategy was to send sweet-faced second graders door-to-door armed with patriotic merchandise and confidence. I remember trying to convince neighbors that the celebration wouldn’t be complete without this Bicentennial bumper sticker for the low price of two dollars. Looking back, that was probably the first of many times I’ve broken out in a cold sweat on my upper lip trying to close a sale.

But the real stunner is realizing that was fifty years ago.

Fifty!

Which means here we are at the 250th anniversary of the United States of America. The Semiquincentennial. Let’s just call it “Bicentennial Plus 50,” because honestly, that feels more over-the-top grand.

The Freedom We Inherited

The Fourth of July has always been my favorite holiday, and the older I get, the more I understand why. It celebrates the three things that matter most to me: faith, family, and freedom.

There’s something powerful about studying history—not just to understand where you belong in the world, but to understand why the world is the way it is and why we are the beneficiaries of sacrifices we did not personally make.

When I read about the Founding Fathers, the pilgrims, the pioneers, explorers, courageous women, immigrants, soldiers, statesmen, and ordinary people who built lives out of almost nothing, I feel immense gratitude. These were people driven by faith, by hope, and by the dream of a better life for their families. They sought for the safety and freedom to worship, to work, to own land, to vote, to build, to dream, and to have some measure of control over their destiny.

And most days, I take those blessings completely for granted.  I’ve even–heaven forgive me–been overwhelmed by them.

President Abraham Lincoln once referred to America as “the last best hope of earth.” He also spoke of the almost divine nature of this nation’s founding, saying that the Declaration of Independence gave liberty “not alone to the people of this country, but hope to the world for all future time.” So moving. Because whether the country or its citizens have lived up to the ideals perfectly or not, the ideals themselves have shaped the world.

Why I Love Americana

I also love this season because it is peak Americana, and I am unapologetically obsessed with every red-white-and-blue bit of it.

If you ever come to my home, you’ll notice patriotism painted into my walls year-round. I love the picnics, fireworks, parades, flags and bunting, hot air balloons, freedom runs, patriotic country music (I’ve created a playlist if you need it), neighborhood celebrations, morning devotionals, the Pledge of Allegiance, craft fairs, lawn chairs, sparklers, and children running barefoot through the grass covered in watermelon juice and sunscreen.

There’s something so right about millions of people stepping outside together in celebration. We sit shoulder-to-shoulder with our neighbors. We watch the sky light up. We take photos. We memorialize. We remember we belong to something grander than our daily comings and goings.

And in a world that feels increasingly divided and digital, that matters more than ever.

I also think some of my deepest gratitude stems from friendships with people who were not born here. Hearing their stories has helped me better understand the freedoms I’ve lived under constantly . . . without even noticing.

Make This Fourth of July Count

So this year, can I leave you with two challenges?  Don’t worry, they’re easy and fun.

First: learn more about the founding of this country. Read the biographies. Study their sacrifices. Watch a documentary.  Understand the people and the inspired principles that guided them.

Second: do something to make this 250th Fourth of July extra meaningful. If you can’t think of how, write me back. I’ve got way too many ideas to implement myself.

I’m writing this post in May on purpose. You have two full months to plan something memorable. Spark ideas. Sway hearts. Create traditions your children and grandchildren will still remember fifty years from now when they’re visiting loved ones at the tricentennial saying, “I can hardly believe that was half a century ago.”

God bless America!

P.S. And if your family has meaningful Fourth of July traditions, please share with me.  I may still be able to fit it in. ;)

Wait! You thought that was the end?

Well, hello there friends.

I know! It’s been nearly seven years since I last wrote here on Spark n’ Sway. Seven years. It feels like both a blink and a lifetime.

Where Life Has Carried Us.

In that time, life didn’t slow down—it expanded. My husband and I built and sold two companies, and are in the middle of launching another.  I decided to form a publishing company on the side and have assisted in 20 books. Missionaries left and returned. Three of our kids got married, and four beautiful grandchildren joined our family. Our church callings shifted and stretched us in new ways. We said goodbye to a parent, a brother, a nephew, friends, and to a few beloved animals who had become part of our daily rhythms. 

And, like everyone else, we lived through COVID—an experience that reshaped the world at large and on a more personal level also caused half of my hair to fall out and pushed me into menopause.  Lovely.

Excuses, excuses.  But somewhere in all of that, writing for pleasure and clarity quietly slipped off my to-do list.

A Conversation I’ve Never Forgotten

Recently, however, something stirred in me that brought me back.

It started with a memory from my high school days. As a junior, I sat on our family’s down-filled living room couches mindlessly chatting away with a boyfriend.  We talked about my grandfather who had passed away when I was just eight. I remember describing the only time I’d met him—what he was like, how he smelled of smoke, and how there hadn’t been enough time to not feel shy around him—and then I said, almost casually, “I can’t wait to see him again.”

He stopped me.

“Wait,” he said, confused. “I thought you said he was dead.”

I remember being just as confused by his confusion. “He is!” I said. “But I’m going to see him again.”

We both just stared at each other, completely incredulous. He must have thought I was mental.  And it had never occurred to me that someone might not believe that. To me, it was as natural and certain as the reality of us sitting on that couch together. Of course we live again. Of course family relationships continue and deepen . . . forever.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to understand what a profound blessing that knowledge really is.

To know that we lived before this life. To understand that our purpose is to learn and grow during our current mortal experience. And that because of our Savior, we too will live again—whole, restored, and reunited with those we love. That knowledge changes everything. It gives meaning to loss and softens grief. It tempers my impatience around seeing my loved ones again.  I know from sacred personal experiences this is not simply feel good fluff, IT IS REAL.

The Glorious Promise of Easter

And that brings me to Easter.

Dig out from under the onslaught of chocolate eggs and pastel church dresses, and you’ll learn that Easter is actually about the resurrection of Jesus Christ—His victory over death, and the promise that all of us will rise again. 

But as the matriarch of my Thayne Gang, I’ve been thinking about how to teach that, especially to little hearts and little minds—my grandchildren.  They are just beginning to understand this celebration.

And I keep coming back to the power inherent in an object lesson that is simple and tangible: people.

Showing photos of people. The people we love. The ones we look like, speak like, and tell stories about.  The people that gave us a name, a home, and a push in the right direction.  The ones who left us suddenly or agonizingly slowly.

Though gone from our view, these people are a continuing reality, even if they can only surround us as ministering angels for now.  And the deeply imbedded curiosity and longing to see them again is a massive pull and vital part of God’s plan for families.

I believe in His plan—completely and gratefully—brought about through the Savior’s atonement, death, and resurrection.

Because of Him, no one’s story ends at death. Because of Him, our mutual interest in each other doesn’t expire when they move on to the other side. Because of Him, we can joyfully anticipate gathering together again in that grand, plushly carpeted living room, under a sparkling chandelier (my vision of heaven) to visit and laugh long into the night.

And maybe that’s why I felt prompted to write again after all this time. I am giddy at the prospect of seeing my mom and dad, my grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, friends, pets and especially my Heavenly Father and Savior Jesus Christ.  Aren’t you?

Thanks for reading. It’s good to be writing again.

He is risen!

P.S. This post’s photo is the little loft location for my Easter object lesson . . . and that couch is the very one this revelatory conversation happened on 40 years ago.

Taking Down Christmas: Three Tricks For a New Year and New You

Some people think it’s Scrooge-like to take down the tree and decorations the day after Christmas.  Perhaps it is.  But, for those of us who need simplicity to function, we find it a necessity. 

This year I put on some upbeat country music and told the kids “Let’s see how many songs it takes for us to take everything down, put it in totes, move it out to the cottage, and get the vacuuming and dusting done.” The only thing upbeat from that moment on was the music.

After the crowded calendars, dinner plates, and front rooms of the Christmas season, I find myself longing for open space.  I want nights to stay home, simpler meals, and space to move around the living room without knocking ornaments off the tree. 

Jon Kabat-Zinn, creator of the Stress Reduction Clinic and the Center for Mindfulness in Medicine, said “Voluntary simplicity means going fewer places in one day rather than more, seeing less so I can see more, doing less so I can do more, acquiring less so I can have more.”

Um, wow.  He just described the complete opposite of what most of our Decembers look like.  But, our lives don’t need to remain like that come January.  Here are three ways to create room for the new year and the new you of 2020. 

Adopt the Hot Lava Mindset

Don’t place anything on your flat surfaces (tables, counters, shelves) unless you find it beautiful and semi-permanent.  Think of those surfaces like hot lava that will burn up and destroy what you place there.  Instead find a true home for the item.  That could mean filing it, chucking it, putting it in a box to donate to charity or immediately returning it to where it belongs.  This habit can be practiced all day long, or at the end of each day when you see a backpack on the verge of bursting into flames on the kitchen table. 

Give Your Debit Card a Vacation

Have you ever put yourself on a spending freeze?  That means not spending anything for a week, a month, or even longer.  You could either lock up your cards and checkbook in a safe, deliver them to a friend for safe keeping, or make a pact with your spouse or best friend to stop the madness of acquiring.  If you are like me--and like to give personalities to inanimate objects--just picture the poor beleaguered card, limping and panting after the overuse of the holiday season.  Give it a vacation and time to heal.  Our spending does need to be checked, even if it’s so we can give ourselves a pat on the back for doing better this year than last. 

Picture a Rested and Renewed You 

We have all either heard of or created a vision board for the dreams we’d like to see come true.  I am a believer in the practice, as it has worked for me time and time again.  But what about creating a vision of a rested, peaceful, and delightful you?  Could we find ways to incorporate simple days, simple clothes, and simple meals into our lives?  Could we cut down on the excitement and bump up the contentment?  Could we scale back the worry and elevate the trust?  Are there words we could try to embody?  Perhaps writing and repeating a mantra that would symbolize the-new-me-in-the-new-year?  

Though I love the Christmas Season for the way the world gives at least a nod to Christ’s birth, it has been hijacked into a season that too often promotes less of what Christians believe.  We owe Him better than that.  We owe Him our best.  

Back to taking down Christmas.  I’m happy to report that five of us did it all in just four songs.  Perhaps this New Year I’ll help the family create a four-song moment for us to make room for Him again in 2020.