Since moving two years ago into the heart of an overseas American military community, I have been involved with people each day who pay the price for my freedom. Before, thoughts of if in a month or two I would still be in the same place (school, part of the world), or if my parents would be around for my birthday never troubled me. I never realized how many kids my age deal with these concerns, and many more. Nearly all military kids have moved every two or three years since before they can remember. Most of them do not even have a specific location they identify as home. While walking down the street, I recognize coaches, friends, and moms passing by who have family members gone for exceptionally long periods of time. I remember a friend and basketball teammate talking about her brother; he was getting married; he and his wife were expecting a baby. Suddenly, he is gone; he has been killed in action. I now know daily sacrifices lived out in real families add up to the price of my freedom. Watching, playing with, praying with, and getting to know the families who serve our country make their sacrifices real in my life. And I am thankful.
May 31, 2010