Late 4th of July evening after good volleyball and plenty of dessert, our friends headed downtown for Boise’s big fireworks display. We, on the other hand, acted responsibly. Tomorrow’s church duties called so we drove home. And there, in the final minutes of our northern latitude’s long dusk, we crested the brow of Black Cat Road for the descent into Treasure Valley.

On the far side, fiery orange stretched horizon to horizon outlining the mountains. Above the line, the hidden sun’s hot glow melted into the deep indigo of advancing night. Below it, stark mountain silhouettes framed warm clusters of city lights – Boise to the right, Meridian before us, Eagle beyond that, Nampa to the left then Caldwell a bit farther. Enchanting summer night view with just my honey in the car, windows open, hot wind buffeting hair, carrying farm smells and field sounds. A fitting end to holiday ease.

Then we saw them. Bursting red bubbles, arcing green streaks, brilliant flowers exploding into burning showers cascading back to black earth. Like a technicolor pot set to boil, fireworks suddenly appeared in city and town, village and hamlet. Dozens and dozens of displays appeared. Some close, others popping above distant trees. Some official presentations, others spontaneous, grass-root affairs. But all clearly unembarrassed, in-your-face, joyful celebrations of freedom and recognition of great gifts received.

A will to celebrate freedom. The desire to celebrate freedom. Safety to celebrate freedom. Prosperity to celebrate freedom. Strength to celebrate freedom. Freedom to celebrate freedom. Blessings so thorough, we’re free to think them normal. We parked on that hill for most of an hour, duties set aside, basking in the unexpected joy of His vast grace.

So, tell me. What happened the last time you grasped the fearful freedom His unmerited favor brings?