Stories for Another Day, part ? - My Great-grandfather, the Scoundrel

So...I don't remember if today's "Story for Another Day" is part 1 or 2.  But it comes from my Memorial Day post from 2010, so long overdue.

My great-grandfather John Salter came from Liverpool.  We don't know much about his life in England, except that he served in the military.  We also know that he had a wife, and, from what we understand, children.  We know that he and his brother came to the US in the late 1800's to find their way in this fledgling country.  We know nothing about his brother after that point.  We know that our great-grandfather went back to Liverpool, as he had found a place to settle.  He went back to bring his wife and family here.  From our understanding, she wanted nothing to do with coming here. 

So my great-grandfather stayed in Liverpool with his wife and children and lived happily ever after left his family, came back to this country, married my great-grandmother, had 7 more children that we know of.  Four grew to old age - my grandfather, John Kenneth Salter, his brother, Warren, and sisters Ruth and Ena (who we always knew as Auntie).  Three children did not live past early childhood.  Louis and Earl died fairly young.  My grandfather was born a twin; his twin sister was stillborn, and my grandfather weighed less than 3 pounds - in 1896 - before neonatal units.  Always wondered what a female version of my grandfather would have looked like.  Always marveled at how close I came to not being here - if my grandfather had been stillborn, or if he, like two of his brothers, had not survived infancy...

But I digress.  I am the great-granddaughter of a rogue and scoundrel.  There.  I said it.

Memorial Day, Part II

Text (for the most part) from my message at the Meyersdale Memorial Day Service.  Much, but not all, of this, is from a previous blog post.  The part about Willowdale Cemetery is newly added, as the visit occurred on May 24, 2013.  Photos of the monument of which I spoke are posted to my facebook account (as well as other photos from the cemetery).

I never met my great-grandfather Salter. He was from Liverpool, and served in the Royal Army, we know in India and perhaps in Afghanistan as well. He is buried in Old Tennent Cemetery, in New Jersey. And every year, the Boy Scouts put a flag (of the US, not the UK) on his grave on Memorial Day weekend. There are flags at the grave of his son, who served in the US Army in France during WWI, at that of his granddaughter's husband , my dad, who served the US Navy in the Pacific in WWII, and at that of a great-great grandfather, who served in the US Civil War, along with countless other graves of those who served, in numerous conflicts as well as during peacetime, at that and countless other cemeteries around this country and around the world. Some, like my ancestors, who came home, lived their lives, raised families, and grew old. Some, like my cousin Johnny, who came home, tortured by their injuries or memories, unable to love themselves  or forgive themselves or others until they were taken home by God. Some, like the young man whose eternal resting place lays in Old Tennent Cemetery, who did not come home alive; his headstone tells a simple story: his name, dates of birth and death, and three words: "Died in France." I never knew him or his family members, yet I visit his grave every time I go home.

This past Friday I visited Willowdale Cemetery in Goldsboro, NC, to pay respects at the grave of my sister’s brother-in-law.  Now Goldsboro was occupied by the Army of the North, led by General William Tecumseh Sherman.  And so, while at Willowdale, we got out at the site of a memorial to the Confederate dead.  800 soldiers, 200 of them known only to God, are laid to rest in a mass grave. 

Surrounding the burial mound are walls engraved with the names and units of the 600 who are known.

And on one side of the monument, you will read: 

On fame’s eternal camping ground

Their silent tents are spread

 And Glory guards with solemn round

The bivouac of the dead

Memorial Day weekend is not the unofficial start of summer, or an extra day off from work, or a day of beach or park or picnic, or a day to snag some really good bargains at the mall. Let us remember that Memorial Day - Remembrance Day - is a day to remember those who served our nation. I'm not saying don't have fun. But as you go about the rest of your weekend, remember those who made it possible for us to celebrate our freedom. Remember those who came before. Remember those who are mourning those that they lost.  Let us remember that those who lost all to give us our freedoms, are now guarded by the angels, are now resting in the peace that many of them were unable to achieve here on earth.  Let us honor them with our lives.

Out of Whack

So...I went to the chiropractor yesterday.  Made the appointment Monday.  I've had some pain in my arm.  Lived with it for a while, thought it would go away.  You know, like you do.  And yeah, I've LIVED with it, lived with it.  You know.  Moved furniture.  Carried groceries and books.  Took the tubs of Christmas decorations to the basement.  Then realized that I had not seen particular decorations so MOVED THE TUBS to find what I was looking for, and restacked them.  Over my head.  Lugged laundry up and down the stairs.  LAID ON IT TO SLEEP TRY TO SLEEP.  Picked up little kids at church and playgroup.   Pulled my hair back with one hand while putting clip/band/barrette in with other hand. Reached behind myself to fasten bra Fastened bra in front and turned it the right way.  You know.  LIVED with it.

I let out a yell when he popped it back in.  One Hal heard in the waiting room.  Dude told me to count to 4 - I didn't even get to 2.  Yeah, he's a wise doctor.  If only I had been wise enough to go sooner.

We live with pain a lot, don't we?  Staying in bad relationships because we're used to them, and have been living with the hurt so long we are afraid to let it go - better to feel pain than feel nothing, one friend told me.  Is that really better?  Staying in a job we hate, because someone, somewhere along the way told us that what we loved, what we wanted to do with our lives, was a waste, was not a way to support ourselves, let alone a family (because, after all, we had to go out and start with the McMansion, the new vehicles, designer clothes, we couldn't live in a small apartment or buy anything used).  Do those "things" make us as happy as the dreams we once had, using the talents we have instead of conforming to the demands of others?   Alcohol or drugs or sex with people we barely know because we want to numb ourselves to the pain of being alone, or the pain of being with the people/in the jobs that are slowly killing our spirits - until the high wears off.

There is a God-shaped void in our hearts, that we try to fill with anything but God.  Been there, done that, have the tee-shirt, the sweatshirt, and the commemorative mug.  It's part of our being human.  We can do it ourselves.  We can make ourselves feel better.  Except that we can't.  It's not an "us"-shaped void.  God has given us the capacity to choose Him, or to not choose Him.  He's not going to force himself on us.  But the next time you're out of sorts, the next time you look in the mirror and realize something's not right - like, hey, my right shoulder 1 1/2" out and 1 1/2" lower than my left - stop being comfortable with your pain.  Stop trying to work through it yourself.  Turn to the Great Physician, and let Him pop back in what's out of whack in your life.

Thinking Inside the Box

I love my niece EC.  But I'm ready to clobber her.  Why, you ask? (or maybe you don't, I'm going to tell you anyway)

When we were visiting earlier this month, she showed me a game app she had downloaded onto her tablet.  I won't say the name.  I will only refer to it as "that evil game" or TEG for short.

So, I got home and downloaded TEG.  And have been playing it.  And will probably delete it after I finish this post.

Now, the game in and of itself is not inherently evil.  Really, noTHING in this world is.  Although things are used for evil.  And some just separate us from God because of the time/talent/treasure they consume.  And that's the thing with TEG.  It's challenging.  Not challenging as in how to make the money earned for the month stretch to pay all the bills, or how to transport children to the myriad of activities they are involved in.  It's a mind challenge time suck.

The object of the game is straightforward enough.  There are sets of paired dots, of different colors, on grids of various sizes.  The player needs to connect those dots.  Sound easy enough?  One cannot cross the path of another dot pair, and one must completely fill in the grid.  Still sound easy?  Think again.

See, it is intuitive to make the connection in the shortest possible way.  And sometimes that is the solution.  But many times, the shortest way between one pair, blocks the way for another pair.  So, the player has to go around the grid - sometimes all the way around, as opposed to going one block across.  Sometimes, the player connects all the dots - and half the grid is still empty.  Sometimes, only one block is empty.

Isn't life like that?  We're told to think outside the box - but sometimes we need to think through what is right in front of us.  Sometimes we need to realize that the intuitive "easy" answers won't work for one reason or another.  Maybe what looks clear, will block someone else's ability  - to do their job or have their fun, or whatever - one's shortcut may leave another unable to properly function.  Maybe we'll cross paths with another - and while that may work on occasion, crossing paths can, as in this game, cut off another's path.  You see, sometimes we need to look at the whole picture.  Sometimes, we have to forgo the easy path, in order to facilitate ALL that needs to be done.  Sometimes, we need to go a convoluted path, in order to make sure everything gets done - even if another could cover it, we need to make sure it's covered if they slack off.  Sometimes, we need another's eyes (read:  accept criticism and direction from others).  Sometimes, we just need to turn the game off, and walk away before we throw it across the room in frustration make ourselves nuts because we're overthinking it.  Sometimes we just need to walk away because it's taking too much of our time/talent/treasure sucking the life out of us.

So...I'm not going to play TEG anymore.  Yeah, I'll probably still play games.  But this one?  It's making me nuts.  So, as much as I love you, EC, please don't show me any more games.  Because I have no little self-control when it comes to computer games.