Free! My Broken Beloved

To love any thing is to love it both in wholeness and in fragment - in sickness and in health. And what of loving a free country? I suppose I am finding that I love this country for her roughed up edges, tattered from the wear and tear of fighting for justice, and for fighting well. I love this country for all the ways she stretches to hear the volley of voices crying for an answer - crying for a listening ear. I admire America not only for the birth of a grand vision but also for attacking the daily battles this vision requires. Indeed, to be free is daunting. Not every country wills it on themselves - the price is too high, and it is easier to remain passively ruled. This, however, was never the call for America, dear friends. For to be free is to FIGHT against the threatening shackles of tyranny! To be free is to FIGHT for the lives of those even untouching your own! To be free is to FIGHT to love this dear country through every storm waging war on her resolve! Oh I love America. I love her in peace. I love her in opposition. I love her when parties collide and the fires of anger burn hotter than the fires of unity. I love all her stripes, stars, and that sea of blue. For she is mine. She was our ancestors. Is she still yours?