Afraid to Go Home

We all have those moments from our childhood that we will never forget. I still clearly remember one of those days from third or fourth grade...

I had gone next door to see if my friend wanted to come outside to play and instead was asked to see the results of a recent shopping trip. I went inside knowing I shouldn't because my parents had a rule about not entering anyone else's house without their permission. I went inside thinking I would be done quickly and back home before my parents knew any better. Time slipped by faster than I had anticipated and I soon realized that when I got home I would probably be in trouble. At that point I had a choice to make...I could go home and face the consequences or I could continue to pretend everything was okay and postpone the inevitable. Of course, like most kids, I chose to stick around a little longer and by the time I got home my parents were more than a little upset =/ .

There is nothing half so pleasant as coming home again.

Home is the place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to.

Home is not where you live, but where they understand you.

The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.

The English lexicon is full of quotations and sayings about home: being home, leaving home, loving home, missing home. Home is one of those words that fills us with comfort and hope at what it stands for, even if you didn't get to experience it in actuality. Home is something we long for...unless there is something waiting for us that we don't want to experience (in the case of my childhood-self, the punishment for disobedience).

Living so far away from all that I know best provides many opportunities for homesickness. The end of each school year and the beginning of each break is met with the urgent desire to return home. 

But the last few weeks I've experienced a feeling I've never experienced before...a fear of going home. 

Last year my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer, you may have read about that here or here. A cancer of the blood that causes anemia and severely weakens the bones. We knew when he was diagnosed that there would be no cure. That the most we could hope for was a treatment that would slow the progression of the cancer and ease any pain he experienced. The chemo made him sick and it was quickly decided that the benefits weren't worth the suffering.

Being so far away has provided a distance from whole situation (I recently referred to it as my 600-mile buffer). I haven't been around to watch the slow progression from the energetic, unstoppable man of my memories to the mere shadow that now exists.

Staying away made it easier to pretend that one of the people I love most in this world is not slipping into the next. Staying away was easier on me. Staying away was giving into the fear.

There is a book I have shared with each of my classes for the last three years in which the main character is told that the best choice is the one of love and the worst one is the one of fear.

Seeing the tears in my grandfather's eyes yesterday and smile on his face confirmed that I made the right choice...it was time to come home.

Poor Rosy

I was doing some research/reading Sunday afternoon and came across this account in a letter:

One woman - a respectable house-servant, who had lost all but one of her twenty-two children - said to me: "Pahaw! don't har to dese yer chil'en, misse. Dey just rattles it off, -dey don't know how for sing it. I likes "Poor Rosy" better dan all de songs, but can't be sung widout a full heart and a troubled sperrit!"

 Being the curious soul that I am, I had to see if I could find the words to the song...I love Google!

1.      Poor Rosy, poor gal,

Poor Rosy, poor gal,

Rosy break my poor heart,

          Heav’n shall-a be my home,

I cannot stay in hell one day,

          Heav’n shall-a be my home,

I’ll sing and pray my soul a-way,

          Heav’n shall-a be my home.

2.     Got hard trial in my way,

Got hard trial in my way,

Got hard trial in my way,

          Heav’n shall-a be my home.

O when I talk, I talk wid God,

          Heav’n shall-a be my home.

O when I talk, I talk wid God,

          Heav’n shall-a be my home.

3.     I dunno what de people want of me,

I dunno what de people want of me,

I dunno what de people want of me

          Heav’n shall-a be my home.

I dunno what de people want of me

          Heav’n shall-a be my home.

I dunno what de people want of me

          Heav’n shall-a be my home.

 

 

These things are for remembering...

I had some catching up to do in my Bible reading calendar today. After I was finished, I found myself writing this in my journal...

"I read a lot, today, about [leaving Egypt] and the laws given to Israel. I was struck by the emphasis on 'remembering' throughout the generations. We no longer take the time to remember - as Christians, as Americans, as humans. We are so obsessed with the present that we avoid the past and ignore the future. These things are for remembering..."

We have been reading The Devil's Arithmetic in class the past few weeks. A book about the Holocaust in which past, present, and future all collide. Hannah, a young Jewish girl, is transported from a present-day celebration of the Passover with her family to 1940s Poland. While preparing for and practicing the Passover, Hannah doesn't want to remember, she doesn't understand why they have to eat bitter herbs while her friends are eating jelly beans.

Several chapters later, after being loaded into trucks by German soldiers, about to be sick, the taste in Hannah's mouth reminds her of those herbs. "And those were for remembering..."

It isn't until she experiences her own bitter experiences in the camps that she can appreciate the past of her heritage and her family...it is in remembering the past that she appreciates the present.

It was with all of those thoughts running through my mind that I walked into my room and caught sight of my Grandmother's picture hanging above my bed...

...the woman I never really understood, and yet, the one I wish I would have had an opportunity to get to know better.

My Grandmother died of cancer just before my 13th birthday, so my memories of her are childish ones, full of things I didn't understand or appreciate until I was older...

I didn't understand why we only ever got a dollar bill in a card for our birthdays, or why our Christmas gifts were almost always something she had made herself....I didn't understand that the only money she had for these things was what she could save from the household expenses.

I didn't understand why we always had the same meal (which I hated) at their house...pan-fried chicken, lettuce with Miracle Whip and pepper, and corn she had canned herself...I didn't understand that was her favorite meal and the only time my Grandfather let her fix it was when they had company.

I didn't understand why my friends got to do cool things with their grandparents and I spent my time learning how to thread a needle, sew quilt pieces together (never quite got the hang of that), and follow a pattern...I didn't understand she was giving us part of herself.

I didn't understand why she would marry someone like my Grandfather, stay married to someone like my Grandfather...I didn't understand just how much she valued family and was willing to sacrifice for them.

I didn't understand, but these things are for remembering...

Where to start...

Because I really spend very little time at home, I use a  downloaded calendar to make sure I get to all those cleaning tasks I would otherwise forget.

I just printed off this week's list.

Tomorrow's tasks include...

"Sort books...

...de-clutter...

...organize...

...bookcase"

This.

Might.

Take.

A While.

The Best Nest

Almost every Sunday, as soon as we finish our craft, I get the amazing privilege of reading to my little cluster of four-year-olds. Some nights we squeeze onto the chairs and other nights, like the one just gone by, I sit on the floor with one or two on my lap and others standing, sitting, or kneeling close enough to see. This book, The Best Nest, happens to be one of their favorites.

We gasp in surprise when the raccoon pops out of the tree; we plug our noses when they investigate the smelly, old shoe; we wince when they pull out the man's hair; we "BOING, BOING, BOING" with the church bell; and together we say "I love my house. I love my nest. In all the world, my nest is best!"

I was a little like Mrs. Bird this morning. I wasn't too happy with my nest. Waking up to record cold temperatures, in a place that uses insulation sparingly, is not fun. One of the only motivations for dragging my self out of a nice, warm bed was the prospect of a nice, hot shower. I turned on the water, tested the temperature, pulled the lever to turn the shower on .... and was greeted with the clanging of empty pipes.

This is not the first time I have lost water because of cold weather (although never this early in the year), but the experience never gets better. Before I could stop them, the thoughts were filling my mind ... "If I lived in town, this wouldn't happen." "If I lived some place better, this wouldn't happen." "If I had better landlords, this wouldn't happen." As I stumbled through my morning preparations, that phrase started echoing in my still groggy brain. "I love my house. I love my nest. In all the world, my nest is best."

My thoughts paused long enough to register the truth that I have a house and I should be grateful. Three hundred and sixty-four (give or take) mornings a year, I have running water and I should be grateful. I have this amazing device in my utility room that heats the water as it passes through so I can take warm showers, wash my clothes, and sanitize my dishes and I should be grateful.

That was this morning, but this afternoon I began to recall all of the other reasons why my nest is best.

There aren't many people who know all that was involved in my move to South Carolina (and there are more dimensions to the story than I have time to tell in this post), but it was a whirlwind of a trip. When I arrived I had no place to live. It had been arranged for me to stay with someone at the school until I could find a house, but that fell through the first night. It was the next evening, after a hotel stay and my first day of work, before I could go looking.

A local realtor took me to the only place they had openings, an apartment complex on the other side of town. We pulled into the lot and my already low spirits sank a little further. Trash and other debris littered yard. Everything looked dirty and in a state of disrepair. I think the realtor noticed my lack of enthusiasm and tried to reassure me with the knowledge that the police kept an eye on the area...it didn't work. Touring the inside didn't help with its stained carpet, dingy walls, and cramped kitchen.

He took me back to his truck to wait while he looked at something that needed his attention. I sat there, trying not to cry (for the millionth time that day), praying "God, if I have to live here, I will, but PLEASE have something else!"

I managed not to break down when asked what I thought of the apartment, but my voice was a little shaky when I asked if he was sure there was nothing else. He mentioned some unfinished duplexes and asked if I wanted to see them. Not knowing what else to do, I said yes.

This time when he pulled into the driveway I wanted to cry again...because this time there was pretty little porch, bright windows, and clean white walls. And I knew...this was my nest.

It wasn't as easy as that, I had three life-changing weeks (another story, for another post) to wait on them to finish the construction, but I knew I had found the place especially prepared for me by loving Father. This is why I can say...

I love house.
          I love my nest.
                         In all the world, my nest is best.
                                                                  ...Thank You, Lord, for how You've blessed!

Proclamation for a Day of Thanksgiving and Praise by General Saxton

I hereby appoint and set apart THURSDAY, THE TWENTY-SEVENTH DAY OF NOVEMBER, as a day of Public Thanksgiving and Praise; and I earnestly recommend to the Superintendents of Plantations, Teachers and Freedmen in this Department, to abstain on that day from their ordinary business, and assemble in their respective places of worship, and render praise and thanksgiving to Almighty God for the manifold blessings and mercies he has bestowed upon us during the past year, and more especially for the signal success which has attended the great experiment for freedom and the rights of oppressed humanity, inaugurated in the Department of the South. Our work has been crowned with a glorious success. The hand of God has been in it, and we have faith to believe the recording angel has placed the record of it in the Book of Life.

You freed men and women have never before had such cause for thankfulness. Your simple faith been vindicated. "The Lord has come" to you and has answered your prayers. Your chains are broken. Your days of bondage and mourning are ended, and you are forever free. If you cannot yet see your way clearly in the future; fear not, put your trust in the Lord, and He will vouchsafe, as he did to the Israelites of old, the "cloud by day, and the pillar of fire by night," to guide your footsteps "through the wilderness" to the promised land.

I therefore advise you all to meet and offer up fitting songs of thanksgiving for all these great mercies which you have received; and, with them, forget not to breathe an earnest prayer for your brethren who are still in bondage.

Given at Beaufort, S.C., this Ninth day of November, in the year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and sixty-two.

R. Saxton,
Brig. Gen. and Military Governor

Thanksgiving 1862 from the Journal of Charlotte Forten

Thursday, November 27 ~ "Thanksgiving Day" 


This, according to Gen. [Rufus] Saxton's noble Proclamation was observed as a day of "Thanksgiving and praise." It has been a lovely day - cool, delicious air, golden, gladdening sunlight, deep blue sky, with soft white clouds floating over it. Had we no other causes the glory and beauty of the day alone make it a day for which to give thanks. But we have other causes, great and glorious, which unite to make this peculiarly a day of thanksgiving and praise. It has been a general holiday. According to Gen. Saxton's orders an animal was killed on each plantation that the people might to-day eat fresh meat, which is a great luxury to them, and indeed to all of us here. This morning a large number - Superintendents, teachers, and freed people, assembled in the little Baptist church. It was a sight I shall not soon forget - that crowd of eager, happy black faces from which the shadow of slavery had forever passed. "Forever free!" "Forever free!" Those magical words were all the time singing themselves in my soul, and never before have I felt so truly grateful to God. 


... And what a significant fact it is that one may now sit here in safety - here in the rebellious little Palmetto State ...


But this has been the happiest, most jubilant Thanksgiving day of my life. We hear of cold weather and heavy snow-storms up in the North land. But here roses and oleanders are blooming in the open air. Figs and oranges are ripening, the sunlight is warm and bright, and over all shines gloriously the blessed light of Freedom - Freedom forevermore! 

Saying Goodbye...

The tears have come. I knew they would. They have been building up for about a week now. I didn't know when, or where, but I knew they'd come.

They like to tell you the steps of grief, but I have trouble believing they fit everyone and every circumstance when death is never the same way twice. I have lost family members and I have grieved their passing. I miss them and their roles in my life. But the losses that have shattered my heart the most over the years are those to whom I have no earthly relation.

I work with kids (teenagers mostly) because they are so full of life and so full of hope for the future. That's what makes their death so difficult to bear. I always thought it would be the phone call telling me that Seth, with his big heart and even bigger smile, was gone that would haunt my memories. The shock, the disbelief, the desire to wake up from an all too-real dream. A nightmare I never wanted to have to go through again.

Saturday morning, the family of Community Bible Church will be gathering to say goodbye to Laurian, a sweet girl from my Sunday School class. How do you say goodbye to someone who ran to give you a hug every time she saw you? Who loved to dance and dreamed of becoming a fashion designer? How do you say goodbye to anyone who dies so young? How do you answer the unanswerable questions?

I'm not able to be there tomorrow, but if you are reading this please join me...
~in praying for her family.
~in praying for the church family.
~in praying for the teens in the church, especially our Sunday School class.

So many are hurting, are questioning, are trying to understand...please pray that in this time we will learn to draw ever closer to the only One who can comfort our broken hearts and bring healing to our shattered world.

Memorial Day Memories

Four score and seven years ago...

Every year with each new batch of students one question remains the same, "How can you stand teaching this stuff? Don't you think history is boring?" I fell in love with American history about fifteen years ago, on a rainy Memorial Day much like today. Because of the weather, the annual parade up the hill to the cemetery had become a gathering inside the village fire station. The day's program was the same, a local pastor chosen to speak a few words and offer a prayer, representatives from the VFW and American Legion, and the notes from the Fairless High School marching band were still bouncing off the cement block walls when I got up to speak these words.

 ...our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation,  conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

It was tradition that three local kids would be chosen to recite during the program, one of the pieces I no longer remember, an elementary school classmate read "In Flanders field the poppies blow, between the crosses, row on row...", and I was chosen to do the Gettysburg Address. I still remember how my voice shook as I repeated the words of Lincoln.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

Memorial Day began to remember the fallen soldiers of the Civil War. To remember those who gave their lives for the life of our nation. Lincoln never took lightly the lives of the men placed in his care, each death impacted him immensely. But he was always mindful of what would happen if America failed this test. 

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate - we can not consecrate - we can not hallow - this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.

Instead of using the typewritten sheet I had been given, I had my eighth grade US History textbook with me, I read the introduction to the Address about the two-hour long oration those gathered in Gettysburg heard before Lincoln rose to give his brief, three-minute remarks. My voice continued to tremble, now not just with nerves but also with emotion, as I repeated his confident statement that Americans would never be able to forget the actions of those who fought for our freedom and the charge he gave to all of us to continue the work began by those in the military. 

 It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain - 

Lincoln made it quite clear, the best way to honor those who have died for our nation is not to have parades or picnics, barbecues or trips to the beach, but instead to have that same commitment to liberty and freedom that they found worthy of their lives.

that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom - and that government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Happy Mother's Day!