Flying the Flag: A Tribute to Tradition and Memory

I’ve always enjoyed watching the flag of the United States of America unfurl and flow in the sky. I often feel a little patriotic pride whenever I pass a Perkins Restaurant as their large flag waves at me. While there isn’t a standard “Perkins flag size,” they often go for the most massive flag possible, at times exceeding 30 x 50 feet. It’s just beautiful! Additionally, my father’s military service fostered a sense of patriotism as he enlisted in the Navy in WWII and continued as a reservist for 25 years of military service. The flag given to my mother by the Navy Honor Guard at my father’s graveside is in its display case in my home.

My fascination for the U.S. flag likely developed from my grandfather coming to live with us when I was eight years old. He moved from California and must have left a flag behind. As a result of Big Pop’s request, my dad put up a rudimentary flagpole fashioned out of galvanized steel pipe with a pulley mounted on top and the halyard laced through it. He set the pole in a concrete-filled post hole, and a sturdy, stitched, 100% cotton flag flew from that 8-foot pole. Every morning my grandfather raised the flag and lowered it each evening. I often sat with him on the front porch and enjoyed our conversations, watching my Toy Fox Terrier chase squirrels and feel the gentle breeze as it lifted the flag in our shaded front yard.

We headed for church one Sunday morning before Big Pop raised the flag. A short time later, a church member arrived and, having passed our house on the way to church, asked if everything was okay at our home. Confused, my mother said, “Yes. Why do you ask?” He responded that the flag was flying upside down, a sign of distress. Mom quickly called to check on my grandfather, and the flag was right-side up when we returned home. In his remaining years, Big Pop never made that mistake again. After he died in 1969, we continued to raise the flag, but not with the consistency he did.

In my late twenties, I took a church position in Memphis and had the opportunity to move back into that childhood home. The flagpole still stood, and the flag was stored in the living room closet. I was astonished that the flag’s colors were still vibrant (likely from never flying in direct sunlight), and its stitching remained intact. It was a treat for my daughters to raise the flag occasionally. My wife began to make birthday flags to fly on the flagpole to commemorate each year’s noteworthy milestones. Unfortunately, at some point in our nine years in that home, a child (who will be nameless) was holding the halyard as she walked in circles and wrapped the rope around the pole. At some point, the fatigued metal at the base of the pole snapped, never to be reinstalled.

The old flag traveled with us to Iowa in 1994, and it continued to fly on holidays in special memory of my grandfather, whose hand so lovingly cared for it all those years ago. It last flew on July 4, 2024, but I forgot to bring it in that night. The next morning, I retrieved in only to find several tears and a large hole in the field of blue. I wrapped it back around its wooden pole and placed it in the closet to never fly again.

As Memorial Day approaches, I want to resume the tradition of flying the flag for at least the patriotic holidays. I researched and purchased a well-stitched and reinforced flag that is appropriately “Made in the U.S.A.” The flag arrived today, and it is on my deck railing. While the local V.F.W. and Boy Scouts have an annual flag retirement ceremony, I’m not sure I can let go of this cloth that is truly our family’s nearly 60-year-old “Old Glory.”

The new flag from Allegiance Flag Supply will hopefully give me another 60 years of patriotic good vibes. Well…I won’t push it that far.

The Accidental Christmas Eve Tradition

While I have some vague remembrances of Christmas Eve as a child, they are mostly family gathered by the tree, my father reading the Christmas story from Luke 2 and heading off to bed with great anticipation of what the following day would bring. I don’t recall our Southern Baptist Church ever having a Christmas Eve service.

Even after I became a minister, neither of the two churches in which I served had Christmas Eve Services. So, Myra and I had our own traditions of always being home on Christmas Eve, enjoying a BIG Christmas Eve dinner, driving around town to see Christmas lights, allowing the girls to open one gift, and reading the Christmas passage from the Gospel of Luke. For our last Christmas in Memphis and for the first time, we attended a Christmas Eve service at First Evangelical Church, where Myra taught Precepts Upon Precepts (a women’s Bible study developed by Kay Arthur). The following year, I was in seminary in Fort Worth, and our church also had a Christmas Eve gathering. Little did I know my next pastoral posting would come with the expectation that I lead that annual celebration of the Light of the World.

Upon arriving at Crest Baptist Church in August of 1994, I found the membership had various denominational backgrounds, with most having had some experiences with Advent, the four-week season in the Church calendar dedicated to anticipating the arrival, or “advent,” of Jesus of Nazareth, the long-awaited Messiah and King. I was the ONLY “cradle roll” Southern Baptist. I soon discovered that the celebration of Advent and a Christmas Eve service were expected responsibilities of my ministry. While I had no theological objection to this expectation, they were out of my wheelhouse from previous church leadership roles. I searched for resources to guide me in discovering the themes of Advent and colors of each candle in the Advent wreath. Ultimately, I found this addition to my Christmas celebration, merging my family and church family traditions, very fulfilling.

However, as much as we tried to continue some of the family traditions we began in Memphis, we discovered the realities of an Iowa climate changed things. Having had a busy schedule and no chance for Christmas shopping, we were planning a late shopping trip to Des Moines on Monday, December 23, 1996. We awoke to an ice storm and could not make the 60-mile trip to the malls. The girls were devastated at the idea of no presents under the tree, but I assured them we would leave before dawn on Christmas Eve and go to the early opening stores before going to the mall.

The following day, at 7:00 a.m., we found Best Buy, Kohl’s, and Target essentially vacant and were at the Valley West Mall when they opened at 9:00 a.m. Around 10:00 a.m., I took up residence on a comfy couch by the escalator and was the touchpoint for Myra and the girls to bring their loot as they continued their forays into other shops.

After completing our shopping by 11:30 a.m., we had lunch and returned to Creston. The afternoon was filled with the busyness of gift wrapping by Myra and the girls while I made the last-minute preparations for the Candlelight Christmas Eve service. The feeling of accomplishment after finishing our shopping and the anticipation of the upcoming service filled us with a sense of satisfaction and joy.

What seemed like a huge risk in waiting until the last minute to do the bulk of our gift buying became a point of family bonding as we went on an adventurous trek in the dark of Christmas Eve morning. It was a tradition that we maintained for the rest of the years that our girls were in Iowa for Christmas.

So, when Anna told me last night that her family was going shopping at 7:30 a.m. this Christmas Eve, I thought I’d pass and sleep in. However, I was awake and ready to go on the shopping adventure. Happily, I treated the Harrison family to Cracker Barrel brunch at 11:30 a.m. as we rekindled some of our special Christmas Eve memories.