Dependance day
My favorite 4th of July celebration happened four years ago. At the time my wife and I lived in a somewhat outdated small home that was almost a century old. It was nothing spectacular, except for its location. The house sat right across the street from our town's city park that became the hub of all Independence Day festivities. The park was the best place to watch fireworks, and our house sat 15 yards from it. It was the perfect spot for a barbecue, so we invited 25 friends over.
The day began at eight that morning when I wandered barefoot out to our front driveway and lit charcoal for my weathered Weber kettle grill. I wasn't brave or skilled enough to cook all three pork shoulders that we needed that night for dinner. But I hoped I could manage cooking one for ten hours. Throughout the day I nervously and neurotically checked and adjusted the grill's temperature every fifteen minutes like a grandparent checking on their napping newly born grandchild.
Our friends began to arrive that evening around six. Most came with the standard summer fare of watermelon, potato salad, and baked beans - food simple and delicious enough to redeem any previously attended gathering whose menu had crab dib and shrimp quinoa salad. After ten hours of hopeful anticipation, I took the pork shoulder off the grill and tasted it....the flavor miraculously met my unrealistic expectations, and in doing so that pork shoulder joined my seventh grade 3 on 3 basketball championship as my most cherished petty accomplishments of my life.
We sat in fold-out camp chairs in our backyard enjoying good food and watching a flock of kids all under the age of nine throw bean bags at one another, pausing to down some pink lemonade, then resume throwing bean bags at each other, stop to devour a brownie, then continue pelting each other with bean bags.
Soon it was time for fireworks. Some of our friends crossed the street into the park to join the thousands of other people. The remaining introverts pitched a blanket on our front lawn and watched from there. After 20 minutes of instant gratification, the fireworks were over, and I expected our friends to go home and our evening to conclude.
This was not the case. Our friends continued to linger. Eventually, we all crammed onto our 15x15 front porch and continued the celebration. We stayed there for three hours telling stories and making grandiose plans of toilet papering a good friend's house. And we soaked in the soul-filling laughter that's lifted from insecurity or worry. This space was the pinnacle of the evening. Not the delicious food or the spectacular fireworks, but a humble gathering of friends.
That porch was filled with people who have formed me, people who have walked slowly and closely enough to know my bruises and my goodness. They've lived quiet lives of faithfulness that spoke loudly into my life. When I'm honest, I know my life hasn't been forged by my steely work ethic, but has been shaped by the generous presence of others.
We'd gathered that evening to celebrate independence, yet it was and is my dependance upon those others on the porch that I'm most grateful for.
Who have you depended on recently that you're grateful for?
Jesse French
Restoration Project Executive Director
