Ten months after 9/11, another 4^th of July has rolled in and out of our lives. And as I sat watching fireworks that evening, a simple question struck me: How many Americans sending off those rockets and flares did so with a deep sense of history, both recent and long term?

This year marks the 226^th Anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, signed by 55 brave and courageous men. They committed their fortunes, families and future when each took pen in hand and signed that profoundly historic document. It was signed not with ink, but with blood from their hearts and minds. With that one coalescing act, they sowed the seed from which grew a newborn country with a singular and extraordinary concept: That the rights God gave each human being at creation, protected by our new government of the people, could only survive through the vigilance of the governed.

I always feel a bit of a thrill when I ruminate on what happened that day in 1776. To me it represents one of the most incredible human events ever; an event touched by other-worldly forces. In an age when our courts can rule that America must be severed from the will of a Supreme Being, perhaps we should dwell a bit on how exceptionally uncommon are the precepts which created America. Our Forefathers had no doubts about the importance of a stronger purpose and whose hand guided the creation of their baby government. They staked their lives, and those of their families, on it.

When I was 13 and my mom, grandmother and sister dragged me along to Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia, I had just lost my dad to Angina. She thought a change of scenery would do me good. I thought the town a bit contrived, a silly carbon copy of "stuff" that happened ages ago to a bunch of dusty old men. I was bored out of my mind. What could this possibly have to do with me? Until I visited the Capitol Building. It forever changed the perspective from which I viewed history, America and freedom.

We visited the Capitol during the evening tour. It was lit entirely by candles. Shadows of present-day people danced along the walls, as the darker corners seemed to shelter the shadows of past occupants. I felt that unseen ghosts were watching us. It was a bit spooky. But it was the first "real" thing to capture and hold my attention during our visit. The tourists trundled noisily into the two- or three-tiered hard wooden benches of the Burgess' chamber, each row elevated above the one below it. Everyone settled in, rearranging purses, shuffling feet, chit-chatting.

As people became still, a silence fell upon the crowd. A man dressed in Colonial day garb entered through the heavy wooden double doors of the candlelit chamber. It was 1765, and the Stamp Act had just been passed by England, an action they thought would encounter relatively little notice or resistance. But to the Colonists it was one more tax burden emphasizing their plight. They were being taxed to support an oppressive government, yet had no representation, no voice in their destiny.

The man was playing Patrick Henry. He walked somberly to the middle of the chamber, his hard Colonial clogs the only human noise. He waited a moment or two for the silence to grow deeper. Everything was hushed, as if it were a church.

At last Patrick Henry began to speak, his eloquence rising with the force of his authority as he gave his historical "Give me liberty or give me death" speech. We were spellbound. This was not an actor in 1959; we were transported two hundred years back in time. My goosebumps grew goosebumps as I listened to those mind-stirring words. Finally, the last few words rang out with clear and passionate persuasion:

Electricity coursed through me. I began to cry. Embarrassed at my lack of control, I was quickly comforted as I noticed others, too, had sprung their own leaks. It was one of life's perfect moments, born anew with each remembrance.

It was then I realized how precious freedom is, how courageous these men were, and the price that must be paid to be true to the noble sacrifices they made.

So, 10 months after 9/11, when the fate of Democracy itself is being tried, it's fitting now more than ever that we keep in our hearts the first few words of that world-shaking document signed on July 4, 1776:

And for those in Sultan still "waiting for the next election" so things will change and it'll be "safe" to become involved, I say this: