Hello, and welcome to Mark 5 of the Guts and Glory blog. I am sitting in my room lit by Christmas lights because I am more hipster than I care to admit, looking at my three by five American flag and thinking, what a history.  Today’s post tempted me to tell you a story, a story about that flag, how she got to the place where she flies over our country.  However, I must tell you a story about my own experiences. Now watch as I do both.

            The most impacting part of the last few week’s project, happened on a Sunday afternoon not a week ago. The sky was clouded with forgotten memories and longing, and I, travelling up the mountain roads, longed with it. The more I see my country, the more I tread her mountains, the more I lay in her grasses, staring up into the sky, the more I feel the peace of God, the more I feel in love with something greater than I could ever be. As I was up in the mountains, I was overwhelmed by the freedom that this land invites her inhabitant to, a gift from God given to any who would receive. More on that in my last post. I am not a hippy, very far from it. I know there have been moments when I sounded like one, but rest assured, I am not on pot. Anyway. A large part of my love for the land of America, is in her history. I was thinking back on it the other day, while driving out of the mountains, actually. The very beginning of America is a miracle, it is in itself an impossibility. Not only the Constitution, and the face that what we have done as a nation has never been achieved, but the actual victory of the Revolutionary War.

For instance, there was a point where George Washington and his army were preparing to meet the British in battle. His men were worn, tired, and scared out of their wits. They were farmers turned to soldiers by love for something sweet as freedom. They were men with enough training to get by, but not nearly as much as the British. So, when the battle began and the British came charging in, all the soldiers began retreating from the battle, with Washington charging into the heat of it, yelling, Come back or I will shoot you in the back. They didn't come back. He was so angry with the men, so infuriated with the lack of courage they portrayed, that he rode up to the British front lines and sat there, glaring at them. They unleashed all the hell they could muster, but not one bullet touched Washington. The grace of God has been on the courage of the heart of America from the start. It is by His hand alone that we are here. 
These were thoughts I was lost in for a good while. They largely inspired my last post. They largely inspire my life. The idea that America is here for a reason, that we are here for a reason, that there is something to stand for, that is what captures my gaze. Because I want to stand, I want to be so scared that my knees quake, I want to serve and to love and to love to the extreme. That is where my heart is. I guess my thoughts really are, will there be anyone who stands with me? It isn't a guilt trip matter. It is a literal question. I know that when I am with people I trust, there is nothing I am afraid of. What if I knew I could trust that my back is watched by God and by friends, people who stand with courage for what is right and true, what is it that I or the people with me could fear? Death? 
I got home that night, and wrote my blog post again. This time, I had a new dream inside of me. I love my country more than I can put to proper words, and honestly, I think I already sound like some kid who reads a lot and thinks she can write like the pros. I am just trying to tell a story-- a story of my heart for our Country. We are all created equal. I want to stand shoulder to shoulder with you. To spread hope, to spread life, to reinstate the beauty of our country. My words are my best shot at an invitation. 
All this to say, I am really in love with my country. I am in love with her people. But again, God, Country and Family. And the order of those last two are debatable. Gotta keep the goals set straight. Hope you all had a good Friday. 

R.A. Verhey