Fireworks shot from the bow of a battleship. Sounds super profound, no? I thought so, sitting in the fading sunlight on the bank of Patriot's Point in Charleston, SC. I eyeballed the massive ship trying to comprehend that the sedate jet perched atop was designed and built to drop bombs at warp speed on our enemies. To protect the US. That this ship was meant for hostile waters, carrying men and women who have taken up the noble charge to defend their homeland.
Without doubt, the beautiful cascade of sparks dangling in the air above the battleship on Independence Day was moving. But, it turns out, my mental faculties are not symbolic enough to feel all the poignance of the moment. As soon as the first fireworks cast showers of light across the sky, my inner six year-old took over and I grinned and "oohed" and said "I like that one" at least three dozen times over the course the thirty minute display.
Fireworks will always be magical. The way they twist and dance, the gold ones that linger, the unexpected brilliance against a black sky....all of it steals the fullness of my attention and imagination. They are not shells of flame, they are extruded wonder. In a world where awe is hard to come by, seeing a blaze of rainbow light cutting the night always captures me.
Thank you, Jesus, for putting in our midst the elements. For the beauty they possess that can be replicated but not duplicated. For moments in time where it is okay not to dwell on meaning, but just get lost in wonder.