America is having a bit of trouble with her image these days. Like a teenager whose going through some changes — hormones swirling, emotions swinging wild like a kite on a particularly windy day. She’s not bad, mind you, in a phase. Just confused, maybe. Awkward. Kicking out at the world, not because she’s cruel but because she hasn’t quite figured out who she wants to be next. But give her a little time, and she’ll find her rhythm again. She always does.
Now, history’s a funny thing — it’s like an old, cherished record: scratchy, jumpy, unpredictable, but always full of soul if you know how to listen. And if you spin it back to World War I, the record tells us about a Europe locked in mud and misery. Trench lines drawn like scars across the continent. Gas masks, mustard gas, rats as big as raccoons. It was hell. And there stood America, across the pond, reluctant but watching.
At first, we sent money, steel, food — the breadbasket and the workshop of democracy. But then the Germans pushed their luck, started sinking merchant ships, scribbling secret notes to Mexico, dreaming up some backdoor invasion. America doesn’t like being played for a fool. And on April 6, 1917, she stood up, rolled up her sleeves, and joined the fight.
Over a million American doughboys crossed the Atlantic. Farmers, clerks, miners, teachers — all hunters. That last part matters. Because while the Europeans hunkered down in trenches, our boys weren’t content to just wait it out. No sir. They hunted. And at Belleau Wood in June 1918, when a French officer suggested a tactical retreat, one Capt. Lloyd Williams — a Virginian, God bless him — fired back with a line that still echoes: “Retreat? Hell, we just got here!”
That kind of grit rattled the enemy. And by November 11, 1918, the guns fell silent. The Armistice signed.
But you know how it goes — peace is fleeting, like the seasons. Two decades passed and then the world caught fire again. Hitler this time, and his dark dream. And once again, folks doubted America. Thought we were soft — too rich, too distracted. Thought maybe we couldn’t fight anymore. They thought wrong.
On June 6, 1944, the hunters came back. The US Military with Easy Company. The Screaming Eagles. Young men from Minnesota, Georgia, Oregon, and all over the United States, all soaked to the bone and charging through machine gun fire on beaches named Omaha, Utah, Gold, Juno and Sword. The Germans learned quick — this wasn’t about money. It was about justice, about duty. And when things got tough, as they did in the Ardennes during the Battle of the Bulge, and the enemy demanded surrender, General McAuliffe gave them a word to chew on: “NUTS.”
You gotta love that. Straight, simple, stubborn.
Now out in the Pacific, things were different but no less brutal. Island by island, jungle by jungle — Guadalcanal, Iwo Jima, Okinawa. General MacArthur, Admiral Nimitz, and good ol’ “Bull” Halsey led the charge.
And then there was that moment — early on, when the Japanese tide was rising, and the people of the Philippines were left battered and broken. General Douglas MacArthur, pulled away from the islands under fire, turned and made a promise. Not to a microphone, not to a general staff — but to a suffering people. Three simple words: “I shall return.” And by God, he did. Wading ashore on Leyte like a ghost out of prophecy, bringing with him the long-promised deliverance. That wasn’t politics. That was personal.
In the Philippines, folks who’d known the whip of colonial rule saw something different. They saw Americans — tall, maybe, powerful, sure — but speaking words about equality, about liberty. One old-timer said it plain: “They said all men are equal — in the eyes of man and in the eyes of God.”
Whew. Still puts a lump in the throat.
So here we are. Memorial Day. A day not for barbecues and beach chairs, but for remembering. For giving thanks to the men and women who laid it all down — not just for America, but for the idea of America. For the world, really. You don’t have to agree with every war, every policy, every president. But if you can’t find it in yourself to respect the people who gave their lives for something bigger than themselves? Well, maybe you need to look long and hard in the mirror. This land gives a lot, but it asks for something, too.
And as we look back, maybe we ought to look forward, too. Because a world without America at its best — strong, just, principled — is a world that drifts. Western Europe might crumble, tyrannies would rise, and the bright light of freedom would dim. And somewhere, someone would whisper a prayer for the return of the star-spangled banner on the breeze.
So, to the American soldier — past, present, and those yet to wear the uniform — we see you. We remember you. And from this little house in Richmond, VA on this quiet morning, we send up a prayer of thanks.
Happy Memorial Day.
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A Kings 
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