Lessons From History

Last night we attended the Paoli Illumination, an annual event held at Paoli Battlefield to commemorate the Paoli Massacre of September 20, 1777, an unexpected and prodigiously brutal attack on American forces during the Revolutionary War.  In a word -- well, there is no one word.  Throughout the evening I was struck by so many perceptions and emotions, one of the first being, "I never even knew this existed!"  I wouldn't even call myself a history "buff," but I am definitely an enthusiast.  A childhood of my mother's interest in the Colonial Period proved contagious, and many years of homeschool history's byproduct, the desire to "bring history to life" for my children, made me think I was pretty knowledgeable, particularly about our area's role in the War for Independence.  As they say, "You learn something new every day!"

On a contemporary note, the air was crisp, the sky relatively clear, stars visible, and the moon, though not quite full, still beautifully luminous.  If we'd not been drawn to this place by an email announcing this event we certainly would have missed this glorious night!  Add to that scene, a trail of luminaries stretched across a field, the presence of "ghosts" in period costumes, and the reverent and historic significance of the location, and you've got yourself the makings of goosebumps.

There really is nothing better than experiencing history just as those who made it lived.  Walking in their steps, seeing things by the light in which they saw, hearing shots in the distance and the shouts of those who were struggling fiercely for the freedom of a brand new nation.  At this actuality, one can't help but be moved by the selflessness, the courage and the tenacity of those who gave life and limb for posterity.

As we reached the end of our tour, the folks working the admissions table and some of the earlier vignettes were gathered at the "entrance" for a breather after what was, I'm sure, a long day -- 21st Century volunteers, eating pizza, talking with friends and family on cell phones, disabling car alarms to trade straight-lasted shoes for more comfortable New Balances from the trunk.  These ordinary folks so dedicated to the preservation of our history and the evangelizing of generations, they sacrifice countless hours, untabulated costs, personal ambitions, and social invitations, just to educate and "entertain" my family and me for an hour or so.  And as much as that sacrifice makes me want to drop an extra donation into the jar the next time we attend (and we definitely will!), it is minuscule compared to that of those who fought and died on this field some two hundred thirty-three years ago.  That, my friends, is what's known as a reality check.   

Love: God's Gift of Himself

Thank you, Father, for love. 
The love of friends and family, even pets,
that gives us just a glimpse of Your love.

Your perfect love, no one can compare;
Your perfect love, so immense we cannot comprehend.

The love of those around us, simple enough we can grasp,
but complex enough we are drawn in our thirst to You.
The love of one another, forever before us,
pauses and impels us to regard You.

Your perfect love, faithful beyond all measure;
Your perfect love that is without condition.

A Gift

Each summer, Scott labors over our garden -- faithfully planting, watering, trimming.  This year's weather was so humid, although the garden was beautiful, I chose to enjoy it -- mostly -- from the window.  But now, the mornings are cool enough, I can grab a liter of coffee and enjoy one of the best gifts anyone has ever given me -- my husband's version of "Longwood Gardens" (so say the haters).  There's the constant flurry of squirrel activity -- flicking bushy tails, tree branches waving under their weight as they swing from limb to limb, nails scratching bark and the "crick, crick, crick" of their call.  I hear the honk of a rippling black arrow long before it flies overhead.  Splashes of bright color peek from still-green leaves, though most of the garden has been cut back, prepared for its winter repose.  The squeal and hiss of brakes on the street out front signal the arrival of a new school year.  And, almost as if on cue, a leaf falls.

Tuning In -- to God

Every morning on my way to work, God and I talk.  Days off, when I'm not laughing in the face of circadian rhythm it is much easier to get up, read my Bible and spend quality time in prayer in my room.  But, through the week, the place I can remain quiet and alert, is during my drive.  Although having quiet time in my car helps me to circumvent the temptation to reset the alarm and go back to bed, there is always the temptation to listen to some music instead -- especially when we've been out in the car the previous afternoon, and as I start the ignition in the morning, some cool new tune comes on and coaxes me into its riffs.  "Just one song," I think.  Or even, "Well, I've been really good the last couple of days.  I prayed longer last night before bed.  I can skip it just this once."  Its not long before I'm back down on my knees and begging forgiveness.  Not because God has laid out some divine judgement, but because without Him I am nothing.

David expresses it perfectly in Psalm 30:

When I felt secure, I said,

"I will never be shaken."

O LORD, when you favored me,

you made my mountain stand firm;

but when you hid your face,

I was dismayed.

In today's vernacular, The Message says it, just how I feel it:

 When things were going great

I crowed, "I've got it made.

I'm God's favorite.

He made me king of the mountain."

Then you looked the other way

and I fell to pieces.

Sure, God lets us suffer the consequences when we make dumb choices -- what loving Father wouldn't?  Does He enjoy inflicting pain or dishing out "just desserts?"  No more than anyone would their own child or grandchild.  But sometimes, it doesn't take anything close to that to remind us Who brought us to "the mountain."