Forty years ago we boarded a plane and said Goodbye to England.
Goodbye to our home and friends and church and all the things that had been "ours" for those six years.
Goodbye to the land of Winnie the Pooh, King Arthur and Elisabeth Bennett.
Goodbye to the place where you might run into royalty at any given moment.
Farewell to castles and cathedrals and museums of Viking artifacts, the paths that took us over Roman bridges and the ruins of Roman walls.
We lived there in the early 80's and were there during the Falkland Wars, and the Royal Wedding of Charles and Diana, as well as the birth of Prince William. Elizabeth was Queen and Margaret Thatcher was Prime Minister.
It was during the Cold War, so there was always the possibility that you might go on base during a drill. If you did, then you could expect to see the airmen dressed in their fighting clothes with gas masks. If it was in the winter months, then you would feel the chill from the weather as well as the atmosphere of the reality of the possibility of war.
That was something that always hung over us. We were not there for a vacation
But being there was a dream we had, and you don't turn your back on a dream.
And we made the most of the six years we were there.
We ate fish and chips that we bought at a Chinese Take-Out run by people from Pakistan. It was near enough to walk to.
We also walked to the market in Huntingdon where we got fresh veggies and flowers, and at the grocery store where we learned to bag our own groceries in reusable bags. We got tea, and Alpen cereal and Orange Squash. Cadbury chocolates and other sweets. In town we visited the bakery and got sausage rolls and Cornish pasties.
They had a Woolworth's that sold things like kitchen utensils, wooden spoons, and McClaren baby strollers. We got one soon after being in England because the one we had only did well on sidewalks and mall floors. Our first walk to town rattled the baby to sleep, and threatened to fall apart on the way home!
We drove the car to places all over, more than I can remember just from memory.
We took the bus to Cambridge, and the train to London.
And we camped in Scotland.
Bud learned to take pictures and develop them, I learned to make lace with little sticks called bobbins.
Erin started school in a small English school of 45 students and three classes. Where lunch was served by the older class and I got to volunteer with a group of students playing the recorder!
It amazes me that these years stand out so strongly in my memory after so long, but it was that kind of adventure.
I do miss it, but I have learned that you never know when an opportunity will come that can have a great impact on your life, and you just might regret not taking it.
These days we are enjoying our retirement days. Still making memories every chance we can!
Partly because I am working on our genealogy, and partly because I have a story in mind.
Genealogy was something that I started looking into when we lived in Georgia and had a library nearby with a huge genealogy section.
A friend who lived in Macon took me there, and the librarian who worked there took time to show me how to move around in the books and periodicals and microfilms that were all part of the research.
I don't remember the librarian's name, so we will just call him Reed. This was not a hard decision, because it is not a name I am assigning him for the duration of generations.
It might however, be a a name I use for anonymous librarians from here on out.
He asked me who the oldest family member was that I knew, and where he lived. That was my grandfather, easy. And he lived in Georgia. We figured out the earliest census that he would have been part of, and Reed pulled the microfilm for that census in Georgia...
While I knew his birthplace as Bacon County, at the time of his birth it was Appling County. Reed gave me a map with the old county names on it.
After this, he left me alone to see what I could discover.
I sat at this machine to read the microfilm. I scrolled through what seemed like miles of film and then I saw it.
Alone and in the quiet of a library. My grandfather's name.
Listed as a child.
On the census, he was listed along with his father and his mother. and brothers; names I did not know.
I should have paid more attention when my grandfather would run through the names of his brothers.
I reached out and put my finger on the screen on his name and sat there to let it sink in.
This was my grandfather, as a child. It was a time in his life that I did not know much about, and people who I did not know at all. But there was his name. His family.
And they were also mine.
Later, most of my research would be done on the internet, but the way I felt that day I have never forgotten.
Reed told me that finding this name here in this county at this time was a big deal, and that my search had just gotten a lot easier.
And he showed me a set of books written decades ago about the people who came and settled this area of Georgia. They author called them pioneers. And the books listed their names.
I found my family there. Again....on the first census that was ever taken in the area. In 1820.
These books had some family stories, mostly names and dates and places. Places they called home.
It was certainly a treasure. I made copies of what I could, and I couldn't wait to go back.
Finding this information made my imagination go wild. What was life like for these people? There were Taylors galore and lots of Carters, and Lees, and Sellers... Last names that connected people by relationships.
And the plethora of first names!!
James. John. Henry. Madison. Macy. Missouri.
Cinderella.
Seriously...Cinderella!
My great great grandmother was Cinderella!
I wondered about the person who would name their little daughter Cinderella, and then I found out her name was Cinderella too.
Somewhere a mother held a little baby girl in their cabin in the pine woods and wrapped her up with homespun cloth and placed her in a homemade crib.
And then she named her after a fairy tale princess.
Let that sink in and dwell on it a second. What thoughts went into that?
Why were you named what you were named?
I was named because my mom really liked Debbie Reynolds. So I've been told.
My father had a really unique name, and he told me that he thought it was a family name, but he wasn't sure. I found his name as a last name in this intriguing group of people who have impacted my life before I ever knew anything about them.
These Wiregrass Pioneers.
These were people who were given land as payment for their service in the Revolutionary War.
They moved into their land and made relationships with others who came at the same time. From surrounding states. From different lives and situations, they left and moved into land they had to clear to make homes and farms and furniture.
And they built churches. On their lands.
I've been to one of those churches. When I first went, there was a rail that divided the church into two. I was told that men sat on one side and women on the other! And I remember singing hymns there. The pews were made from trees on the land, and the land became the site fore big get togethers. Family reunions with food and fellowship and connections just because you are family.
These names I found were these people.
And they loved the people that loved the people that loved my grandfather.
More than "just a name". Much more. But more than my mind could take in as a child there.
I just knew they were my family.
My own family consisted of four girls and our parents. For some reason, after I was named, my parents thought it would be a good idea to name the next sister with a D name, and then it was kind of a requirement when sister # 3 and #4 came along.
I remember them trying out names out loud, and listening for the way it would sound. This time they changed the order and put the D names second. My third sister was given a name that would represent my dad, and my fourth sister was given a name that would represent my mom. I'm glad they did that.
Handed down names mean something more than we might realize at first.
So now I am writing a story and the part that is slowing me down is the naming.
I want names that will mean something.
I want names that sound good, and are easy on the tongue, and will be remembered.
And I'm stumped.
It's not just naming the characters, that is slowing me down, but the locations. The shops they like, the church in the town and the towns themselves.
While looking for names, I have gathered lots of of possibilities. They come from many sources, and mean different things to me. The names have to be right. I want them to be right. My characters also want them to be right.
While gathering names, I have also come across words that I am keeping.
Words that I did not know existed.
Words that I love. Words that I am adding to my word list book. These words have struck a chord with me and I don't want to lose them...to forget them. That's why I keep this list.
Like Hiraeth.
It's was in a list of Welsh words. It means longing for somewhere.
But it is more than just being homesick.
It is a deep ache that can be an ache for somewhere you've never been before, or even a place that only exists in your imagination!!
I'm pretty certain it will show up again in my blog.
Or the story.
But more on words some other day.
This morning, it's the names that occupy my thoughts.
You can find a lot about what was important to the people then...like the name Marion in South Carolina, or George Washington Carter in Georgia, or James Madison Taylor.
These were their heroes! Surely you wouldn't name someone after a villain!
And their heroes were heroic enough that they carried the names down through generations.
But for some reason... name popularity changes with time.
Mary, Martha and Ann for instance.
A search on the internet will tell you that while Mary is still on the all-time most used names at #1,
in the list of most common girl names for last year, it was not even in the top 25!
When I was in school, there were so many Debbie's that we had to use our last initial to differentiate between us. Now I don't ever hear the name in younger people.
I wonder if the newer choices will be names that are handed down to others in the next generation.
Will the names last?
I will say it again. Choosing a name, one right name, among so many is not easy.
Next time I read a story, or a book...I will have a deeper appreciation for the effort the author took in giving their characters the names they did.
Eliza Bennett.
Oliver Twist.
Valjean...
Dumbledore
So what's in a name? A bunch it seems.
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Proverbs 22:1
A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches, loving favor rather than silver and gold.
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Acts 11:26
The disciples were first called Christians at Antioch.
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Isaiah 43:1
Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; You are Mine.
Some friends (who are also family) were visiting from home, so we decided that it would be fun to try out punting.
A punt, in case you were unaware, is a long narrow flat boat used for maneuvering shallow water.
When you rent a punt, you are provided with a long pole.
The pole is used to push the punt into motion.
Sounds simple enough, right?
So we went for it.
These long boats look so graceful as they glide through the waters around the old college buildings that, along with weeping willows, line the river Cam.
It is a dreamy and peacefully idyllic English scene.
Think "Water Music Suite" peaceful.
Until "we" got in the water!
At this point I have to tell you that pushing with the pole does not work as well when you want to turn the boat quickly!
We found this out the hard way.
There was a family of ducks.
You probably know the rest.
We struggled to avoid crashing the boat into the ducks, and ended up dividing the little family.
After we had passed, they were quick to get reunited, and did not seem nearly as stressed as we were.
Thankfully no ducks were harmed!!
Nevertheless, try as hard as we could, we could not make our punt go where we wanted!
All of our effort was wasted, and on top of that, we probably looked rather pathetic.
Finally, a kind gentleman circled his little boat around us over and over again,
while explaining that we were steering the punt all wrong.
It was the way we were using the pole.
"Use it as a rudder!!" he shouted.
It took several times before we were able to understand what he was saying,
but once his advice was clear?
"Ah... we can do that."
So we did.
And it worked.
Just holding the pole down on one side or the other turned the boat easily left or right,
and we were off.
Well ...
there was that one point where we had to push with the pole to get out of being stuck under one of those beautiful ancient weeping willows.
In the end, it was an enjoyable day and is a great memory.
I was reminded of it recently while I was reading James.
James had some things to say about rudders.
And great ships.
About how those great ships were controlled, even in a storm, by a small rudder.
Not the other way around.
The rudder steered the ship, the ship did not control the rudder!
And that is the picture he wants us to have as he brings up the subject of the tongue.
James says,
"Consider ships -
though very large and driven by fierce winds, they are guided by a very small rudder
wherever the will of the pilot directs.
So too though the tongue is a small part of the body, it boasts great things!"
(James 3:5)
We know, it should be different.
But those words of ours?
Just sitting there on the edge of that tongue and before we know what is happening?
Oh my word...
Seriously, there are so many ways I blow it with words.
Sometimes unintentional, but much too often, I know what I am doing, and do it anyway.
Even as I tell myself I'm messing up.
You may have never used your tongue in a way that hurt someone,
but I think we have all felt the pain of being on the receiving end.
The one who wounded will most certainly regret it at some point.
By then it is too late.
The words are out there and cannot be retrieved.
Today you don't even have to use your tongue.
Our keyboards can manage to be destructive quite well.
Words...
They can be used to hurt, but also heal.
To harm but also help.
To bring humiliation or bring honor.
Our words can be hollow, or harmonious.
They can offer hope like a great big hug to your heart.
They can leave us with a heaviness that never leaves.
Words can bring up mental images like losing control on a busy highway
or settled in to a peaceful harbor
. They can be words that offer hospitality or words that hinder community.
Our words matter and in all of the cacophony I want mine to be different.
In the third chapter of his book, James says,
... "brothers and sisters, these things should not be this way"!
I think we really already know that.
But I'm sorry.
I don't have any easy 3-step solution that can guarantee 100% success.
I am still struggling in this myself.
One thing I do know.
The words that I speak are heard.
And they are heard by real life people - not just somebody "out there",
but somebody "out there" who is also immortal.
Somebody who will be affected by my words.
My words.
To and about His creation.
The person who receives my words matters much.
But to Jesus, they matter most.
He says in Matthew 12:34 that the mouth speaks from the overflow of the heart.
So it is a heart issue ... more than a tongue issue.
This made me think...
I have another memory that may shed some light on this.
When we came home from living overseas, people noticed quickly that our children talked differently. They had English accents, and they used English words.
Being in the environment and culture of England affected even those little details for them.
Maybe if we saturate our heart in the language that we want to use?
Fill our minds with words that emphasize Kindness? Gentleness? Patience?
Allow the Spirit to guide our tongue instead of the tongue guiding us?
Because when the words that I am speaking horizontally matter as much as they do,
I need to make it a priority to spend some honest time in vertical communication with the Lord.
...to be sure my heart is where it needs to be so that my words are the words that they need to be.
It would take just over half an hour to get there...
and was usually a pleasant drive through small English villages, fields and pastures.
Unless it was one of the days that I was on my own...
On those days it always felt like I'd run the whole way!
By the time I got the children dressed,
and made the drive in a vehicle that spent more time in the shop than out of it?
I was exhausted!
But just being there gave me a chance to catch my breath (and restore my soul)
before it was time to go home
and do it all over again in reverse.
Our little group of believers was made up of American and English Christians
and we recently were offered the use of a very special building
...
We had church in an old English independent chapel.
Really old.
This building had witnessed Christians in worship consistently for years...
Even before there was such a thing as the United States of America!
There was a stone plaque inside that said as much.
Literally...
:-)
One Sunday, a pastor was visiting from "home".
I'd gotten there early and while I sat on the pew to catch my breath,
he walked around and pointed out the plaque to me while
admiring the unique architecture inside this old chapel.
"This is exactly the type of church where Spurgeon could have preached!"
It was a familiar place to me.
It was my church.
Amazing things happened there!
But I'd never taken the time to imagine someone like Spurgeon standing in the pulpit.
Spurgeon was not a name I was familiar with until that Sunday.
The pastor said Spurgeon started his ministry preaching in small independent chapels all over this part of England since he was living in the area around Cambridge at the time.
And he was only in his teens!
I didn't give it much more thought, but then...
as I was reading a book about the history of lacemaking in this area,
there was a note that caught my attention.
It said that said the mother of Charles Haddon Spurgeon had been a lacemaker.
Each time, he became more endearing, this country preacher.
Back in the states, I read his book, "All of Grace" and became a fan.
It wasn't until years later when I had access to the internet that I was able to discover more about him.
For instance, he read Pilgrim's Progress at the age of 6!
His mother, the lacemaker, had 17 children; not even half survived their baby years.
Life came with hardships and Spurgeon would know many.
He became a very popular preacher.
At the age of 19, was invited to move from this quiet countryside
to be the pastor of the largest Baptist congregation in London.
Sounds like exciting times, but they were hard days.
During his first year in London, 20,000 people died from cholera.
England became involved in the Crimean War.
It was 1854.
His popularity only increased.
And this when he was only 22.
In 1856 he married. Before they celebrated their first anniversary, they were parents to twin boys.
And one day short of the twins 1st month birthday, Spurgeon would face something that would have an effect on him for the rest of his life...
Remember he was in the midst of major adjustments at home...
a new wife and two new babies!
His church had grown to thousands and had to move to a new building to accommodate the crowds.
In his first sermon in this new place, someone shouted "fire".
You can probably imagine the confusion as 10,000 people tried to leave the building
while an unsuspecting 12,000 outside still tried to get in.
When it was over, there were 7 people who had died and 28 badly injured.
Spurgeon was never the same, and dealt with depression the rest of his days.
It doesn't take much to imagine the depths of depression that he experienced in the years following.
It probably doesn't surprise you to know that he never again used the same text.
or that it is said he almost quit preaching altogether.
Yet he still preached.
Still shared the gospel message.
Still recommended the grace of God.
And still pursued hope.
He did not walk away from God.
This kind of life will always have my attention.
A life depending on God can face hardship with faith
by hanging on, by leaning hard, by taking one step at a time...
Depending on God who proves faithful again and again.
This is how I want to live my life.
For too long I thought that depression had no place in the life of a Christian.
I was wrong.
Spurgeon is now a regular part of my devotional reading;
Morning & Evening, his devotional classic.
Even having read it for years now,
I still find fresh encouragement that I'd not seen before,
I highly recommend it.
Every day and every page he points to Jesus.
Why wouldn't he?
Jesus is the only one who knows our every struggle.
And who else sees every tear?
Does He not know?
"He was despised and rejected by men, a man of suffering who knew what sickness was"
(Isaiah 53:3)
"Doubt not his grace because of thy tribulation,
but believe that He loveth thee as much in seasons of trouble as in times of happiness. "
CH Spurgeon
After all that Charles Haddon Spurgeon went through,
I think he is a perfect spokesman to share the news
that no matter what you face... Jesus knows.
And Jesus cares.
Always.
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I have been able to make many connections to lacemakers and Christians who lived in this part of England.
For instance, you can find old bobbins that are inscribed with the name "John Bunyan",
the author of Pilgrim's Progress.
The woman who first taught me had one of these special bobbins.
The author of the book I spoke of earlier, "Romance of the Lace Pillow" shared that there would have been many bobbins inscribed this way
because there were few of the lacemakers in this area that had more books than their copy of the Bible and Pilgrim's Progress.
This makes it even more interesting to me that the book Pilgrim's Progress would have been a favorite of his (he read it over 100 times), seeing how his mother was a lacemaker.
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If you are interested in reading more, let me recommend a book
"Spurgeon's Sorrows"
by Zack Eswine
He has researched Spurgeon's many sermons and writings to bring us encouragement for those who suffer and those who love them.
