the uniforms.

I have crazy, overflowing family pride. It's marked all my memories, yet grows with each one. 

As a little girl, I remember proudly stating to my classmates that Dad was a marine and a fireman and my papa was the best fire chief in the world.  Dad had a way of capturing us kids with tales of his military adventures that took him to the far east and back again. And even now, our table talk has a way of circling back to the most recent paramedic or fire call (or just a retelling of one of our favorites). 

Who could blame my brothers, then, for following in the footsteps of our own, personal hero? Travis joined the Marine Corps and John became a fireman, working in the same city where our family history of fire service was established. Down the street at the police station, my cousin, Tom, was sworn in as a police officer and now owns the pistol of our great grandfather, who was also a police officer. 

This past week, when Papa asked me to take photos of John and Tom in uniform, I readily accepted. But I had a little surprise for him...a secret that Travis and I had been keeping from everyone. He was in route to Chicago to join us for Easter weekend, and now he had agreed to bring his own uniform for the photos. 

Words don't do justice the beauty of the joy written across everyone's faces as they each saw him for the first time. 

Shock and disbelief, raw emotion, and a certain delight mixed with relief. 

The Lord has surely blessed my family. And after seeing these men that I am so proud to call brothers and cousin, stand alongside one another in uniforms that represent their sacrifice and service to our community and country, I realized that they now bless all of us. 

As if all the gratitude in the world could be bound up in such simple of words...

Thank you.