Greetings Dear Reader,
My family is far from perfect. I have often said that I have a family kudzu
not a family tree. If you are unfamiliar
with kudzu feel free to read about it here. The vines, leaves, and tendrils of it encompass
everything and have both good and ill uses.
As I began to write this today my youngest brother called
and we talked about family for quite some time.
Hence my blog will go up later today than is usual. That is not a problem. My commitment is to post daily Dear Reader,
and not when I will post.
The conversation with him cemented my gratitude for him as
part of my family. My elders (a waning
population), my peers, and my youngers (a booming population) are very different
individuals. We have many paths in life
that do not cross often enough.
Some of my family members really like me and others do
not. There is not one of them that I do
not love and wish the very best for him or her.
We fill the entire political spectrum and land at divergent places on
most social issues. The thing we have in
common is that we are all still family.
Most of my family lives in Georgia or Florida. My self-imposed exile in the northern mid-west
keeps me from seeing them as often as I would.
I am still very thankful for them all.
I am still appreciative for the ways in which they have shaped who I am. For ill or good we are all the product of our
forefathers and the choices we make along the journey.
We can easily call up the complaints and criticisms we hold
concerning our families. It is vital
that I more often remember the value of those to whom I am related. We seek tribes that share our values and
vocation. If we forget our family in
doing this it leaves behind a hole we cannot fill.
I must live in gratitude for those whose lives are connected
to mine through blood and union. Any
good that I can do must be my duty and not just my pride. I am grateful for my family because even
though kudzu is invasive and overpowering, it produces some lovely flowers that
cause one to forget the rest of the plant.
Forefathers –
Dan Fogelberg
They came from Scandinavia, the land of midnight sun
And crossed the North Atlantic when this century was young
They'd heard that in America every man was free
To live the way he chose to live and be who he could be
Some of them were farmers there and tilled the frozen soil
But all they got was poverty for all their earnest toil
They say one was a sailor who sailed the wide world round
Made home port, got drunk one night, walked off the pier and drowned
My mother was of Scottish blood; it's there that she was born
They brought her to America in 1924
They left behind the highlands and the heather-covered hills
And came to find America with broad expectant dreams and iron wills
My granddad worked the steel mills of central Illinois
His daughter was his jewel; his son was just his boy
For thirty years he worked the mills and stoked the coke-fed fires
And looked toward the day when he'd at last turn sixty-five and could retire
And the sons become the fathers and their daughters will be wives
As the torch is passed from hand to hand
And we struggle through our lives
Though the generations wander, the lineage survives
And all of us, from dust to dust, we all become forefathers by and by
The woman and the man were wed just after the war
And they settled in this river town and three fine sons she bore
One became a lawyer and one fine pictures drew
And one became this lonely soul who sits here now
And sings this song to you
And the sons become the fathers and their daughters will be wives
As the torch is passed from hand to hand
And we struggle through our lives
Though the generations wander, the lineage survives
And all of us, from dust to dust, we all become forefathers by and by
By and By; By and By
And crossed the North Atlantic when this century was young
They'd heard that in America every man was free
To live the way he chose to live and be who he could be
Some of them were farmers there and tilled the frozen soil
But all they got was poverty for all their earnest toil
They say one was a sailor who sailed the wide world round
Made home port, got drunk one night, walked off the pier and drowned
My mother was of Scottish blood; it's there that she was born
They brought her to America in 1924
They left behind the highlands and the heather-covered hills
And came to find America with broad expectant dreams and iron wills
My granddad worked the steel mills of central Illinois
His daughter was his jewel; his son was just his boy
For thirty years he worked the mills and stoked the coke-fed fires
And looked toward the day when he'd at last turn sixty-five and could retire
And the sons become the fathers and their daughters will be wives
As the torch is passed from hand to hand
And we struggle through our lives
Though the generations wander, the lineage survives
And all of us, from dust to dust, we all become forefathers by and by
The woman and the man were wed just after the war
And they settled in this river town and three fine sons she bore
One became a lawyer and one fine pictures drew
And one became this lonely soul who sits here now
And sings this song to you
And the sons become the fathers and their daughters will be wives
As the torch is passed from hand to hand
And we struggle through our lives
Though the generations wander, the lineage survives
And all of us, from dust to dust, we all become forefathers by and by
By and By; By and By
Wishing you joy in the journey,
Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer
who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a home
owner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure
store.”
(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
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