We set out, three hours before the show, ready to see the awe and wonder on our children's faces as they observed exploding showers of sparks and light. After the wait, with tense moments, but also dancing, snow cones, and pretending our stroller was a rocket ship, the lights in the field went out and the show began.
I put my arm around my boy whose jaw dropped open at the first flare, while my wife held our girl who insisted over and over again that it was scary.
Neither kid took their eyes off of the explosions in the night sky.
Fireworks like supernovas. Fireworks like dandelions.
Vivid colors of magenta, blue, violet, red, green, white, and yellow.
We had no idea when we picked our spot in the ballpark complex that we would be mere yards from the launching pad. I can't understate the nearness of the fireworks - they were literally just over our heads.
Yet, even then, even though we felt we might be able to stretch out our hands and feel the heat of the flames in the sky, there was something noticeable in the proceedings:
No matter the closeness, as each firework went off there was a clear delay from the explosion to the sound.
Whether it was the sound of dynamite.
Or the sound of a drizzle on pavement.
Or popcorn in a microwave.
There was a delay between the light and the noise.
Sometimes for nearly a second ... Astonishing. The spreed of light and the speed of sound in stark, colorful, contrast.
And as I spent that hour huddled down with my family enjoying the festivities, I felt that I was learning something about grace. There's something to be said about how God is moving to us, all around us, before we hear God's voice in our lives. That God is within us, drawing us near to God, before we acknowledge God's presents.
That THE God, before we were knitted together in our mother's wombs, knew us - and still knows us.
What if it's the mission of us who follow the Son of God to call others to listen to the lightshow booming all around them? And sit with them as they listen to the sound?
Grace like fireworks.
Every second.
Of every day.