250 Years Later, Still Full of Promise

The Declaration of Independence begins with a simple but powerful idea: all people are created equal and are given certain rights that cannot be taken away. Among those rights are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The writers believed these rights come from our Creator, not from a king or a government.

 The Declaration explains that governments exist to protect those rights, and that their power comes from the consent of the people they govern. In other words, government is supposed to serve the people, not the other way around. When a government consistently fails to protect those rights or becomes harmful to the people, citizens have the right to work for change and create a government that better reflects those principles.

At the same time, the Declaration also teaches that change should not happen over every small disagreement. People should be thoughtful, patient, and careful before making major changes. But when injustice becomes ongoing and serious, the authors believed it was both the right and the responsibility of the people to seek a better path.

More than 250 years later, those ideas continue to shape our country. The Declaration reminds us that freedom comes with responsibility, that every person has inherent worth, and that we all have a role in protecting liberty not just for ourselves, but for future generations.

Last year, the Fourth of July looked very different.

I smiled when people expected me to, but underneath it all, I was carrying more than I wanted anyone to know. It was one of those seasons where everything felt heavy. I was exhausted, disappointed, and trying to convince myself that brighter days would eventually come. They just seemed so far away. I was surviving, not really living, and there is a difference. Sometimes the hardest seasons don't look dramatic from the outside. Sometimes they simply look like smiling through another holiday while quietly hoping next year will be kinder. This has been my kind of summer, and if you've been following along, you already know I've declared it my "Laylay Summer." It's been the kind of season that reminds you life doesn't always have to be rushed. My calendar has been a little lighter, my heart has been a lot lighter, and I've permitted myself to enjoy the simple things again. Beach days have become therapy. Some mornings have started with nothing more exciting than sitting outside with a drink, and honestly, that's been enough.

This summer has been filled with splash pads, popsicles, messy s'mores, and dinners on a stick because, let's be honest, everything tastes better on a stick. It's been sandy flip-flops by the back door, beach towels that never seem completely dry, and the kind of evenings where nobody is in a hurry to be anywhere else. I've laughed until my stomach hurt, taken entirely too many beach pictures, and realized that some of the best memories aren't planned at all. They just happen when you slow down enough to enjoy the people standing right in front of you.

More than anything, I've loved spending time with my kids. Every laugh, every little adventure, every inside joke, every snack run after the beach, and every messy, ordinary moment has reminded me how quickly life moves. These are the days I know I'll look back on years from now and smile. They aren't flashy or extraordinary, but they're real, and sometimes the most ordinary days become the ones that stay with you the longest.

As if this summer wasn't already making me sentimental enough, I also realized something this week. It's been eight years since I became "Laylay." I honestly don't know where the time went. Eight years of little hands reaching for me, beach days, birthday parties, movies, inside jokes, and watching these amazing kids grow into their own personalities. Becoming Laylay has been one of the greatest gifts of my life. They just love me for being me, and that's a pretty special kind of love. Looking back over the past eight years, I don't think they just made me an aunt. They helped shape the woman I've become, and this summer has reminded me how incredibly grateful I am for every moment we've shared together.

Somewhere between all those beach days, splash pads, popsicles, afternoons spent laughing, and time with the people I love, not everything in my life suddenly became perfect, because it certainly didn't. My business still has goals to reach, advocacy still has challenges, and life still throws curveballs when you least expect them. But I stopped waiting for life to become perfect before allowing myself to enjoy it. After the year I had, that may be the biggest blessing of all.

So yes, I spent the Fourth of July wearing my patriotic bikini. If you know me, you know there was probably sunscreen nearby because eventually I'll get a little too toasted, a cold drink in my hand, and beach sand tucked into my bag like I brought home the whole beach. It wasn't about looking perfect or posting the perfect picture. It was about feeling free enough to simply enjoy the day. I laughed more than I have in a long time, watched fireworks over the water, and soaked up another Georgia summer. Somewhere between the salty air, sandy feet, and fireworks lighting up the sky, I realized that peace doesn't always arrive with a grand announcement. Sometimes it quietly slips into your life while you're busy living it.

As I watched the American flag waving in the breeze, I found myself thinking about its colors. Every July, we decorate with red, white, and blue. We wear them on T-shirts, swimsuits, hats, and flip-flops. We hang flags from our front porches, wave them in parades, and watch them dance against a summer sky. But sometimes we forget those colors represent more than a holiday. They represent ideals that have shaped our country for generations and continue to challenge us to live up to them.

Red represents courage and sacrifice. It honors the men and women who have served our country, the families who stood beside them, and every person who gave something of themselves so future generations could enjoy the freedoms we often take for granted. But courage isn't only found on a battlefield. Sometimes courage looks like rebuilding your life after disappointment. Sometimes it's choosing hope when your heart feels tired, getting back up after you've been knocked down, or believing tomorrow can still be good even after yesterday wasn't. Looking back at where I was this time last year, I understand that kind of courage in a way I never expected. Sometimes courage isn't loud at all. Sometimes it simply whispers, "Try again tomorrow."

White represents integrity, hope, and the desire to do what is right. None of us is perfect, and no country is either. Our history is filled with extraordinary accomplishments, but it also includes chapters that remind us we still have room to grow. I don't believe hope ignores those difficult parts. I think hope acknowledges them while believing they don't have to define our future. Every new day gives us another opportunity to learn, to grow, and to become better neighbors, better communities, and a better nation than we were yesterday.

Blue represents perseverance, justice, and vigilance. Those qualities remind us that freedom isn't something we achieve once and never think about again. Freedom requires people who continue showing up, caring about one another, participating in their communities, and believing that tomorrow is worth investing in. Maybe that's one reason I've always loved the ocean. The tides rise and fall. Storms come and go. The waves never stop rolling onto the shore. They simply keep coming, steady and faithful, reminding me that perseverance often looks less like making a splash and more like quietly refusing to quit.

When I look at the American flag, I see more than three colors stitched together. I see courage that keeps moving forward even when life is hard. I see hope that believes tomorrow can be brighter than today. I see perseverance that refuses to quit, even when the journey is longer than expected. Those are values worth celebrating on the Fourth of July. More importantly, their values are worth carrying with us long after the fireworks have faded and the beach chairs have been packed away.

I love my country. I truly do. I love the freedoms we have to worship, to vote, to serve our communities, and to spend time with the people we love. At the same time, loving your country doesn't mean pretending everything is perfect. There are decisions my government makes that disappoint me. There are policies I disagree with, and there are still battles worth fighting. Through my work in disability advocacy, I'm reminded every day that there is still room to grow. I want a country where people with disabilities have real opportunities to live in their communities, make their own choices, and be treated with dignity and respect. When I see barriers, I don't lose hope. They remind me why this work matters.

I believe you can wave the flag while still asking your leaders to do better. To me, those two things have never conflicted. One of the greatest freedoms we have as Americans is the ability to participate in shaping the future of our country. We have the right to vote, to peacefully express our opinions, to serve our communities, and to advocate for the changes we believe will make life better for the next generation. Democracy has never been about everyone thinking the same way. If it were, there would be no reason to vote or debate or work together. Sometimes we'll celebrate the decisions our leaders make, and sometimes we'll be disappointed by them. That's part of living in a free country. The important thing is that we keep participating, keep listening, and keep believing tomorrow can be better than today. 

People with disabilities know many of the opportunities we have today exist because those who came before us refused to accept that disability should limit someone's future. They believed children with disabilities belonged in neighborhood schools. They believed adults deserved opportunities to work, communicate, vote, worship, build relationships, live in their communities, and make decisions about their own lives. Those rights weren't simply handed to us. They were earned through decades of persistence by self-advocates, families, lawmakers, and ordinary people who believed America could become more inclusive than it had been before. Every curb cut, every accessible entrance, every communication accommodation, and every law protecting our rights exists because someone chose not to give up when change seemed impossible.

This year, America turns 250 years old. That's an incredible milestone, and like every 250-year-old story, ours has included moments of extraordinary courage alongside moments that challenged who we wanted to be. If I'm honest, there are days when it feels like we're taking a few steps backward instead of forward. Sometimes it seems like we're revisiting conversations we thought we'd already settled. Sometimes progress feels painfully slow. But around here, we'd probably just smile, say, "Bless their hearts," and keep chugging along. That's what Americans have always done. We stumble. We learn. We argue. We grow. Then we get up the next morning and keep moving forward. I still believe that's one of our greatest strengths.

And if my patriotic bikini bothers you because you've decided there's nothing left to celebrate about America, I guess we'll have to agree to disagree. I can love my country without agreeing with every decision my government makes. In fact, I think that's part of being an American. Patriotism doesn't require perfection, and it doesn't require blind loyalty. It simply asks us to appreciate the freedoms we have while continuing to work toward something better.

I refuse to let disappointment steal my gratitude. Yes, some decisions frustrate me. Yes, there are policies I wish looked different. But I'm still thankful to live in a country where I can vote, practice my faith, spend time with the people I love, enjoy a day at the beach, and use my gifts to serve others and make my community more welcoming for people with disabilities. Those blessings don't disappear simply because I disagree with some of the decisions being made.

Maybe that's the Southern girl in me, but I think we'd all be better off if we remembered Jesus' command to love our neighbors. We can have different opinions, cast different votes, and still choose kindness. We can celebrate our country while hoping it continues to grow. Those ideas don't compete with one another. They belong together.

When I think about Independence Day, I don't just think about fireworks, hot dogs, or beach trips. I think about the generations of people who made it possible for someone like me to serve on a state council, mentor young people, speak, write this blog, and build a life defined by my own choices instead of someone else's expectations. I know there is still work to do, and I hope there always will be people willing to do it. That's why I celebrate the Fourth of July with such a grateful heart. I celebrate not because America is perfect, but because I believe in its promise. I believe every generation has the opportunity and the responsibility to leave this country a little kinder, a little stronger, a little more accessible, and a little more welcoming than they found it.

A year ago, I was trying to make it through the darkness. Today, I'm soaking up another Georgia summer, loving on my kids, watching fireworks over the water, laughing more than I have in a long time, and finally feeling like myself again. Maybe that's what this Fourth of July gave me more than anything else: perspective. Healing doesn't always arrive with fanfare. Sometimes it quietly finds you while you're watching the sunset in a red, white, and blue bikini, surrounded by the people you love.