250 Years of Hope

July 6th, 2026

This weekend our nation celebrated 250 years since the birth of America.

Like many families, we watched the fireworks, listened to patriotic music, and reflected on the blessings we sometimes forget to count. As I watched the celebrations, my thoughts drifted to two people who would have appreciated this anniversary more than most—my parents.

I am a first-generation American.

That is a statement I have never taken lightly.

My father was born in Crimea in 1935. My mother was born in Ukraine in 1941. As children they experienced war, displacement, hunger, refugee camps, and the loss of everything familiar. They knew what it meant to live where governments changed overnight, where freedom disappeared, and where ordinary families paid the price.

America was not simply another place on a map.

It became home.

My parents became United States citizens during the 1960s. They were incredibly proud of that day. They embraced this country with grateful hearts because they understood something many of us who were born here have never had to experience.

Freedom is precious because it is never guaranteed.

They never forgot where they had come from.

They never forgot what had been lost.

Because of that, they never stopped appreciating what they had found.

Growing up, I watched my parents work hard, build a home, raise a family, worship freely, and pursue opportunities that had once seemed impossible. They believed education mattered. They believed in honest work. They believed that with determination and God's blessing, a better future was possible.

America gave them that chance.

It also gave that chance to me.

This weekend, as visitors from around the world filled our cities for the World Cup, I couldn't help but wonder what many of them were seeing through fresh eyes.

Perhaps they noticed the kindness of strangers.

Perhaps they noticed the diversity of people from every background living side by side.

Perhaps they noticed the small businesses, the family farms, the neighborhoods, the churches, the parks, and the simple freedoms that often become invisible to those of us who experience them every day.

Sometimes it takes seeing our country through someone else's eyes to remember what a remarkable place it truly is.

That doesn't mean America is perfect.

No nation is.

Every generation faces challenges. Every family experiences hardship. Every life encounters seasons of disappointment and uncertainty.

One of the remarkable gifts this country offers is hope.

The opportunity to begin again.

To work toward a better future.

To dream.

To rebuild after loss.

To believe tomorrow can be better than today.

My parents knew what life looked like when those opportunities did not exist. They also knew the joy of discovering them here.

As I write this, I miss my dad deeply. Just a few weeks ago, he entered the presence of his Savior at ninety-one years of age. Looking back over his life, I realize that while he never forgot where he came from, he also never stopped being thankful for where God had led him.

That gratitude became part of our family story.

It has become part of mine.

As we celebrate 250 years of this remarkable nation, my prayer is that we never lose our sense of gratitude. May we continue striving to be a nation that values faith, freedom, opportunity, compassion, and hope.

"One nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

Happy Birthday, America.

May we never take your blessings for granted!

Most Sincerely,

Debra Flaming