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All things by immortal power,
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Near or far,
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Hiddenly
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To each other linkèd are,
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That thou canst not stir a flower
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Without troubling
of a star;
-Francis Thompson
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Henry
Kissinger once said, "The boundaries of history have been marked by the
masses of the unwashed."
This
writer never takes a shower, never turns a faucet in the kitchen, without
thanking God for water. What water means to life, both animal and plant. The
fact that water has made the determining factor of almost every event in
history. 70% of the Earths crust is covered by water, and makes up 70% of any
animals body weight, water determining all plant life (mystery of the ages,
routes in the soil, and the magnetism involved in water traveling even to the
top of the tallest tree).
I never
get out of the shower, without thinking that my ancestors never knew what it
was to have a decent bath... The unwashed.
This
world traveler has seen unwashed people, the world over In Africa- Asia,
Hundreds of men and women in rivers, beating their dirty clothing against
rocks, washing their laundry in a river.
From one
side of the world to the other, people spending their day, with great jugs many
times on their heads, transporting water from a creek to their home.
As with
characters in the bible, as with our ancestral forebears, to understand them,
we must put flesh and blood on and in their bodies. I fully realize that today
and in the 21st century, their are children born who never know their
parents, or knew their grandparents.
Please
God forgive those who do not have "precious memories," who do not have
"family ties" to hold onto.
I have
all the empathy in the world, for the unwashed masses whose life is a struggle,
in remote corners of the world, which God has blessed me to visit. I must
remember, however, my own family.
In-between
the ancient farm homes of both my mother and father, my grandparents, and
great- grandparents before them, a distance of about two miles, a curve in the
dirt country road. In the grave yard at that curve, are the tomb stones of
these, "saints of old" who I want to remember.
Their
were very few photographs back then, most of their ephemera (paper products),
destroyed in their activity and just survival of daily life. People just did
not prize old things. Every time this world traveler was near a monastery, I
thought of the monk who found the sisters in
Saint Catherine's Monastery
at Mount Sinai,
burning old biblical scrolls, just trying to stay warm.
We think that God is tough. My ancestors were really
tough. Think of their horror story, before leaving England, flaying to keep their
Christian belief. Crossing the treacherous Atlantic
in a small ship... Sick, some buried at sea. Landing on the shores of this
promise land, near Morris town, NJ 1677. Battered by the sea and the New England winters. Think of what they encountered with
their very few possessions, clothing- food- tools- medicine. But they eek out
of existence out of the soil of New
Jersey, founding Morris town. Then the hard working
farmers moved south to North- Carolina.
To show how tough they really were (and only a few family
members know this). In my lifetime, few automobiles, cousin Barney, who owned a
car, drinking liquor, drove his car into the ditch right there at the
graveyard. His family had built our church in 1874, still there- still beautiful.
His own family "kicked" him out of the church for drinking. So many
times I wanted to tell his beautiful Christian wife and children (now dead and
in Heaven), that story.
how
things have changed at the church house, the school house, the court house, and
all my relatives houses. Places which have had such a tremendous influence on
my life.
I still
want to meet a perfect man, other than my blessed lord. My own
"warts," "sins," though forgiven, still bother me. But even
though we fail him, he never fails us.
Not only
did those folks buried in that graveyard, never have a decent bath, how they
suffered from disease, not only wants but needs, at the one room school-house,
which even my own mother attended, my grand-parents along with NC education governor
Charles B. Aycock, they had to go to the woods and cut wood for the stove. Also
buried in the graveyard, aunt Catty, the teacher... Uncle Turner, who once a
year would go into a nearby town, and buy ice for everyone's once a year treat,
ice-tea and ice-cream (July 4th celebrated at the school house). In the
graveyard is my mothers 2 year old brother, who died from a dread disease.
Until her death, my grand-mother thought every young boy looked like
Seth.
There is
a long line of those in the graveyard who I can remember from stories which
were told to me. Such stalwart ancestors, who knew nothing but handwork-hard
times, and the all preserving power of God, will keep those of us who had it
much easier, from complaining. They never heard a radio, but heard the voice of
God from beautiful birds in the trees. They never saw a television set, but saw
the hand of God in the lives of the sick and lonely. They never tasted
"fast food" but knew the thrill from healthy- green- real food. They
did not worry about diet or exercise, because farm work, walking most places,
kept them in shape.
In a
world of political correctness, were the price of a soul is so cheap, God help
us to remember the values of real Americans, real "Christ like"
individuals.
