I'll admit it.....I'm pretty much a news junkie.  I think it's so important to stay informed but being apprised of all of the goings on can also have its downside, too.  Sometimes, it feels like I'm always hearing about the bad side of America and her people.  Story after story, I hear of hate, deceit, greed, violence, and every form of disregard for human life imaginable.  Child neglect.  Election irregularities.  Illicit affairs.  Fraudulent lawsuits.  Murder.  Molestation.  Drugs.  Corrupt politicians.  Discrimination.  Theft.  Cruelty.  Mass shootings.           

I know all of that exists, but I want to tell you about the America that I see every day. That America has been filling up sandbags and boarding up windows in North Carolina.  She's the family fostering a child who was abandoned and needed a home.  She's the large group of volunteers who gather to find a missing child.  She's the man who pays the bill for the car behind him in the drive through. She's the van, full of willing hands, that pulls into storm ravaged towns.  She's the prayer service that meets to lift up the name of a sick friend to the Great Physician.  She's the stranger who chases the purse snatcher.  She's the neighbor quietly mowing the widow's grass when she's not home.  She's the jar full of dollar bills on the counter at the gas station.  She's the car that stops to help change the old man's tire.  She's the little, white girl and the little, black girl who don't see color when they look into each other's face.

She's the one who turned in the money that she found. She's driving an elderly friend to the doctor.  She's the group of guys who volunteer to take the disabled hunting.  She's the doctor, nurse, and dentist spending their vacation in a hot, primitive tent helping patients halfway around the world.  She's the plane load of food and medical supplies flying over the oceans to desperate situations.  She's the group of children caroling outside the elderly couple's door.  She's the missionary, who left the comforts of home, burdened for people she's never met and who don't even speak her language.  She's the man who offers his seat on the subway. She's the fund set up at the bank for the family of the fallen police officer.  She's the one who pulls over for the hungry dog by the railroad tracks.  She's the guy who takes up time with the boy without a father.  She's the lady who gives one of her kidneys for the child of a friend.

She's the firefighter who ran up the same World Trade Center stairs that everyone was clamoring to come down.  She's a gym full of cots and warm food when the storm blows.  She can be found scooping green beans onto a lunch tray at the soup kitchen.  She's the disabled soldier who left his cover to save a comrade.  She's the volunteer who spends his Saturday working to build a home for a needy family.  She plays the piano for the patients at the nursing home.  She's the man who holds the door open a few extra seconds for the lady coming in behind him.  She's the one cooking a meal for her neighbor with cancer.  She can be found digging through bricks and twisted lumber, with his bare hands, hoping to find survivors.  She's the truck loaded with Christmas shoeboxes traveling dusty, remote trails lined with poor children.  Her name is on the bone marrow donor registry.  She's the stranger who stays with the wreck victim until help arrives.  She's the soldier who stoically guards the body of the Unknown Soldier no matter the conditions. 

She's the mother who takes out the trash and throws the baseball while her husband is deployed.  She's the table full of casseroles and pies delivered to the family in grief.  She's the man who dies trying to save a little girl from drowning.  She's the boy who stands up to the bully for his friend.  She's the scout leader who spends a lot of his weekends on a cot instead of a golf course.  She's the fish fry that benefits the sick, little boy.  She's the box full of canned goods at the school's food drive.  She's the man who builds a ramp for his disabled neighbor.  She's the present under the tree of a child who wouldn't have gotten one otherwise.  She's the underpaid teacher who stays late to help a student.  She's the rescuer who won't give up the search for a teenager missing in a flood.  She's the five dollars handed out the car window to a homeless man.  She is the soldier who bravely stepped onto the sands of Normandy with death all around him.  She's the childcare worker who died shielding a baby in her care. 

She's the PTA.  The petition.  The red kettle full of quarters and nickels.  The church with open doors on a cold night.  The blood donor.  The check written to Make a Wish.  The volunteer fireman.  The anonymous donation. The mentor.  The Eagle Scout.  The quilts made for patients on the cancer floor. The bake sale. The driver for Meals on Wheels.  The Sunday School teacher.  The family who takes a card from the Angel Tree.  The volunteer at the Fisher House.  The poll worker.  The care package sent to a soldier.                                      

That is the America I know.  That is who she is to me.

I'm so very proud to call her home.

God certainly shed His grace on her.