Category: Stories from the Past

A Living Word

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I’ve thought that if I had lived during the era of the War for Independence and could have picked my husband’s profession, I’d choose printing. Laying out rows of type (backwards so that the text would appear left-to-right on the printed page) seems fascinating, and I’d like to think that I wouldn’t mind at all if Mr. Printer’s hands and apron were all ink-stained. What would that matter compared to the joy of promulgated news, knowledge and noteworthy notions? Besides, I figured I would be able to manage the print shop nicely (all right, with some help) if my hero joined the ranks of the American militia. After all, we would surely strive to practice what we printed!

Yes, if my last name were Gutenberg itself I’d be rather thrilled (though I admit to true partiality to my real last name as is…It’s rather a handy title, you see.) But why Gutenberg, you ask? Ah, well, it was back in the 1400s that Johannes Gutenberg invented the first movable type printing press. This invention made possible faster and economical printing of all kinds, especially books. 

Thanks to movable type, phrases like these haven been printed and distributed around the world:

“Humility makes great men twice honorable.” ~Benjamin Franklin, Poor Richard’s Almanac

“If I can stop one Heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain…”  ~Emily Dickinson 

“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.” ~Charles Dickens

“Elementary, my dear Watson.” Sherlock Holmes, via Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

The writers behind these words wrote them for various reasons, I’m sure, but, I think, they all understood that what someone reads affects him. Whether their goal was to instruct, encourage, inspire, or amuse, they counted on the power of the printed word. If what people read only goes in their eyes and out the back of their heads and doesn’t change how they live at all – even for moments – I think most writers would scurry off to a different profession. The world certainly knows that writers don’t write for the money involved!

Yes, words have power. Yet books fall apart, ink fades and paper decays. Words really cannot live on their own. They are like marionettes, sitting motionless unless someone gives them action.

There is, however, one Living Word. It is of this Word that a German – who demonstrated that he believed in the power of words by nailing a parchment to a chapel door in Wittenberg on this day 498 years ago – wrote the following lines.

Did we in our own strength confide, our striving would be losing;

Were not the right Man on our side, the Man of God’s own choosing:

Dost ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is He;

Lord Sabaoth, His Name, from age to age the same,

And He must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us,

We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us:

The Prince of Darkness grim, we tremble not for him;

His rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure,

One little word shall fell him.

That word above all earthly powers, no thanks to them, abideth;

The Spirit and the gifts are ours through Him Who with us sideth:

Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;

The body they may kill: God’s truth abideth still,

His kingdom is forever. 

~”A Mighty Fortress Is Our God”, Martin Luther

And it is of this Word that it was written first by hand and then printed for all the world to read: 

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. ~John 1:14, ESV

Now that’s a Living Word. 

And what became of Martin Luther’s words nailed to the Wittenberg Chapel on October 31, 1517? Those Ninety-Five Theses sparked a movement that took Europe by storm and, arguably, changed the course of history: the Reformation. Whatever your view of that event, it does show that words (especially when they are brought to life by actions) have power. Let’s remember that on this Reformation Day.

A School of Her Own: Bringing History and Heart Together

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I gazed around the room one more time. The teacher’s bell, the hooks for hanging lunch pails, the well-used desks and the well-loved McGuffeys. Even though I was heading toward new adventures, it was hard to say goodbye.

We had shared quite a bit of history, this room and I. Once I was a little girl who sat at a little desk and used a slate pencil. Back then, I thought it would be pretty awesome to be a teacher with a school just like this. Why not? I had read about it in books like the Little House series or the Boxcar Children’s Schoolhouse Mystery. But there was a problem: I was in a century that wasn’t very one-room school friendly.

Then, in a snap and a whirl, I grew up and found myself behind the teacher’s desk of that place of childhood dreams. And a roomful of students gazed back at me!

Yes, I had become the one-room school teacher at the living history museum. Children came by the busload to learn about life in bygone days. You can imagine the fun of ringing the bell as various-sized students propelled themselves in my direction. 

However, there would be no running into my school “like a herd of pigs headed for the trough.”[1] At my instruction, the students lined up with girls on one side and boys on the other. Then they walked in, took their seats,
and we began our lessons. IMG_9295

Looking back, I felt quite a bit like Mabel O’Dell welcoming students in A School of Her Own. At eighteen, Mabel finds herself teaching in a one-room school in Michigan, dodging a vicious goat, grading papers, getting lost in a blizzard, dealing with the challenges that come with a classroom and a small town, and learning about the Lord. Inspired by the life of and stories from the author’s grandmother, this book brings history and heart together.

What is the point of bringing history and heart together? It’s about making history alive with real people who faced real problems and had real stories. It takes the facts (which are important) and goes beyond them to the relationships. I think that sums up what I hoped to share with my students in my one-room school. With the groups, I had only fifteen minutes (or less) to do it. Talk about a challenge! My history manual and older folks who had attended one-room schools or taught in them were my best resources for true stories to put a sparkle on the facts. Sometimes I think I may have shared more of the fun stories – like the skiing to school and the recess games – and given a somewhat sunshiny picture of life back then. However, I know I tried to communicate facts like how school children really had to work hard to help their families. A School of Her Own  balances the fun with the realities that people were still sinners and life definitely had its hard moments in the 19th century just like in the 21st. 

So there I stood in my school, admiring all the familiar details. To think I had come so very close to being a real one-room school teacher! While I hadn’t faced life-changing decisions with surprising answers quite like Mabel, I had learned, as I suppose many teachers do, as much as I had taught in that room. It was now part of my history, and it was definitely part of my heart. I hope sharing the story brings it to others’ hearts as well, maybe even yours. 

 

If you’d like to read all about Mabel O’Dell’s escapades and learn about life for a one-room school teacher, check out A School of Her Own by Arleta Richardson. Perhaps you’ll even decide to visit a one-room school! Whether you read or visit, I’d love to hear your thoughts on bringing history and heart together. Note: As I mentioned, the book does touch on some of the more complicated issues of life. Parents may want to check it over before handing it to young readers. 

Special thanks to my childhood friends Katie and Ann S. who, I think, introduced me to Arleta Richardson’s books. I guess you never know what a book recommendation might bring about! 

1 Arleta Richardson, A School of Her Own, Grandma’s Attic Novels (Colorado Springs: Cook Communications Ministries, 1986), 49. 

Passed-Down Partialities: People, Poems, Pianos & Pies

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Not so long ago in a land not too far away, there lived a little girl named Ruthie. She lived on a farm with her father, mother and sisters. They didn’t have much in the way of things, but they were surrounded by generally kind neighbors. Ruthie relished the parties for birthdays and the celebrations for national holidays. She also cared for the neighbors’ children when a helping hand was needed. Along the way, one thing was for sure: Ruthie learned to love people. 

As Ruthie grew up, she discovered another love: music. Finally, she had the opportunity to take a handful of music lessons. That gave her the courage to play both the piano and organ for church!

While she loved people and music, Ruthie also enjoyed time by herself. She didn’t even mind being the one to stay home and clean! (Every family needs a little Dutch-ness, perhaps?) However, she also enjoyed a good story. Her family didn’t have many books, but she read The Best Loved Poems of the American People. Perhaps the rhythm of the words struck a chord with her music-loving heart. At any rate, she kept that book for decades to come.

Even after grown-up Ruth left her small hometown, her partialities perpetuated. People, pianos and poems continued to be parts of her life. She also carried sweet memories with her. Remember those parties with the neighbors? Ruth couldn’t help but share the stories, especially about the pies! Mrs. Cacak always baked such wonderful pies! As Ruth traveled far and wide, maybe pie became like a taste of home.

Lo and behold, one day Ruth found that she had become a grandma! Where had the years gone? Well, whether on purpose or not, Ruth passed down her partialities to the next generation. She showered the new little people in her life with love and showed them how to love other children. Once they started taking piano lessons, she played and sang along, imparting her interest in hymns. She shared her book of poems. And, lastly, she offered the stories of her childhood, including the palate-pleasing pies.

Have you ever wondered over how God weaves our lives together? Isn’t it amazing how He even carries on the work from generation to generation? I think Ruth’s story is a good illustration.

You see, I am one of Ruth’s granddaughters. Her passed-down partialities have had a huge impact on my life. I hope to carry on her love for people, especially children. If she hadn’t played piano in church, I might not have either! It was with her Best Loved Poems of the American People  that I spent happy hours, and now I post about poems on my blog. And if she hadn’t shared sweet memories with me, I may not have been as inspired to bake pies a-plenty.

This is why younger people like me need older people like my grandma. They give us perspective and pass down passions and pastimes. And, from what I’ve seen, older folks need us young chicks to remind them that their decisions affect others and they need to be thoughtful about what they value. Certainly, there are many other things – even beginning with “p” – that Grandma could have invested in and that could have made my life much different. So if you’re an older person, please consider your ways well and seek out someone with whom to share your gifts. And if you’re a younger person, watch for what you can learn from the older people in your life. Won’t it be wonderful to see what God’s masterpiece looks like someday when we get to see His woven work?

Thank you, Grandma, for passing down these things to me. I’m glad you enjoyed the cherry and raspberry pie I was able to make for your birthday! You know the secret ingredient, don’t you? Love.

Grandma's Birthday Pie

Stepping into the Story: The Williamsburg Years

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At long last, I stepped through the doorway. Even though the inside of the Colonial Williamsburg apothecary shop didn’t look quite how I’d pictured it, my heart leapt as my eyes swept up the details. Above the counter were the jars of medicinal elements. No wonder Thomas Hutchinson felt overwhelmed in The Rebel on his first day as the apothecary’s apprentice! I felt as if I had spent hours in this place even though I’d never set foot in it until this moment. That’s the beauty of books…and I had just stepped into one of my favorites!

With rich details and fast-paced adventures, Nancy Rue brought Colonial Williamsburg all the way to eleven-year-old me in Guatemala via her series The Williamsburg Years. Of course, literary license and the fact that today’s Colonial Williamsburg bounces around in the Revolutionary-War era meant that not everything was as I wanted it to be when I visited today’s Williamsburg. Wouldn’t it have been fun if old Mr. Pickering really were behind the counter of the apothecary shop? Still, whether I was listening to George Washington, strolling up to the Governor’s Palace, nibbling ginger cookies or riding in a carriage, Thomas Hutchinson’s adventures were spread over my experiences like the chocolate sauce on my peppermint stick ice cream at the King’s Arms Tavern.

Like the young United States, Thomas Hutchinson has a lot of growing up to do in The Williamsburg Years. In fact, you may not like him very much when you first meet. On the other hand, you may understand why he feels like he might as well not even bother trying to live up to his two “perfect” older brothers. No matter how you see him at first, you’ll find that he’s changed by 1783. How could it be otherwise when he’s learned to love learning from Alexander Taylor, spent three years as Mr. Pickering’s apprentice, become like a brother to indentured servants Malcolm and Patsy, trained as the right hand of Dr. Nicholas Quincy, witnessed Tarletan’s raids on the Hutchinson plantation, and watched one brother leave to fight for liberty and the other to become a minister? (Not bad for a thirteen-year-old, right?) Yet, with all the progress he’s made, as the battle of Yorktown fills the Williamsburg air with explosions and the Governor’s Palace with wounded soldiers, Thomas still has plenty of his own battles to fight. There’s the issue of Malcolm wanting to join the army more than anything while Thomas can’t stand the thought of sending off another brother. Then there’s Dr. Quincy, who has risked the ire of hot-headed Patriots to follow his Quaker beliefs and is now risking everything to save lives on the battlefront. And what will the Patriot victory at Yorktown mean for Thomas’s best friend, Caroline Taylor, who has a melon-slice smile and a Loyalist family? Maybe you can join the adventure and find out for yourself!

I think one of the many truths Thomas learns as the new United States gains her freedom is what it means to be really free. After the battle of Yorktown brings the war mostly to a close, Thomas’s father shares a few thoughts with him.

When they reached the end of the Green, the bells in Bruton Parish Church were ringing joyfully and people were rushing back and forth across the Market Square in their best clothes, ready to go to the surrender ceremony. Papa watched them for a moment before he spoke. 

“I feel no need to go to Yorktown today,” he said. “For me, the war has been fought right here.” He put his hand on his chest. “Right inside ourselves.”

Thomas felt his brow puckering. “I don’t understand.”

“You have fought your own battles during this war, Thomas,” Papa said. “Right there in your own soul. I think you’ve come through it all feeling God’s hand.”

I have felt God’s hand, Thomas thought as he looked out over the Duke of Gloucester Street…

Papa touched Thomas’s shoulder. “I am proud to say, son, that you’ve joined God’s side, and you’re winning that war inside yourself. Do you know what that makes you, Thomas?”

Thomas shook his head and looked where his father was pointing. On the roof of the Courthouse, the new flag flapped proudly in the wind, brilliantly red, white and blue against the October sky.

“It makes you free, son,” Papa said. “No matter what you may have to suffer, you will always be free.”[1]

What do you think? What does it really mean to be free? This post brings to a close my miniseries on the War for Independence. However, there’s so much more to learn! While The Williamsburg Years are no longer in print, you can still find copies on eBay and Amazon. Then you can visit Colonial Williamsburg online. If you ever get a chance to visit in person, the peppermint stick ice cream at the King’s Arms Tavern really is the very best! Step into the story today.

 

[1] Nancy Rue, The Battle, The Williamsburg Years, no. 6 (Minneapolis: Bethany House, 1997), 187-188.

Without Hindsight: History in the Present

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As I’ve looked at history, I think I’ve sometimes viewed the characters as if they knew their actions’ outcomes. It was all fine and well for the Patriots to be so brave. They must have felt very sure of themselves. Of course they were going to win! How could anyone have wanted to give up?

But they didn’t know the end of their story. They were like I am in 2015, in the middle of the adventure and wondering what might happen next. Are we doing right? Is there any way we’ll win? Or will we be relegated to the failures of history? Is it going to be worth the cost?

And they had reason to wonder. By the winter of 1776, not even six months after the Declaration of Independence was signed, George Washington’s Patriots were underfed, shoeless, unpaid, and suffering sickness and defeats. Since they didn’t know what was coming, 2,000 of them left when their enlistment expired. [1] Even before that show of hopelessness, Washington wrote to his cousin,

“In confidence, I tell you that I never was in such an unhappy, divided state since I was born.” [2]

Yes, these were days to “try men’s souls” as Thomas Paine put it. [3] The realities remind us that the War for Independence wasn’t glamorous. The men who fought in it weren’t given messages from heaven saying that they were going to be famous someday. They struggled with decisions, made mistakes and had to face them, and needed to confide their feelings to friends.

Somehow this knowledge comforts me as I live within my own life’s tale. While it’s true that as a Christian I know I can look forward to a “joyfully ever-after”, I don’t know when that’s coming or what lies between now and then. Somedays I think, I don’t know what tomorrow holds; how can I possibly make life-altering decisions? 

Let’s face it. Life gets complicated and hard sometimes. That sure wouldn’t be news to George Washington! And yet, he and a (comparative) handful of others pressed on. For some reason, God chose to suddenly bless their efforts – with their crossing the Delaware and surprise attack on Trenton on December 25, 1776, for example – and here I am over two-hundred years later with gratitude for that.

Here’s another thought I’ve pondered: If you’re going to be a soldier who sticks with it, you’d hope your cause would be worth it, wouldn’t you? For me, that’s where listening to God comes in. As the “Author of life” (Acts 3:15, ESV), Jesus knows the end of the story. I think that’s a good reason to rely “on the protection of divine Providence” like the signers of the Declaration of Independence said they did. [4]

So I press on – praying, reading, watching, listening, working, waiting for God’s directing hand. What might happen if we’re not “sunshine patriots” or “summer soldiers” [5] who give up when life gets hard? Maybe we won’t have history-shaking victories. But at least generations to come could look back and say, “They didn’t give up. They persevered in something eternally worthwhile. They set an example for us. Let’s live up to it.”

 

1 David McCullough, 1776: The Illustrated Edition, pg. 197.

2 David McCullough, 1776: The Illustrated Edition, pg. 191.

3 Thomas Paine, “The American Crisis” http://www.ushistory.org/paine/crisis/c-01.htm (accessed 9 July 2015).

4 “The Declaration of Independence” http://www.archives.gov/exhibits/charters/declaration_transcript.html (accessed 9 July 2015).

5 Thomas Paine, “The American Crisis” http://www.ushistory.org/paine/crisis/c-01.htm (accessed 9 July 2015).

This Independence Day…

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The year is 1776. It’s a sultry July day. But bells ring and excitement fills the air. You stand shoulder to shoulder with your neighbors as you hear these words read for the very first time…

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.–That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, –That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.–Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world….”

As the list of injustices the colonies have suffered at the orders of King George continues, your mind wanders over the last several years. Yes, you’ve lived the “taxation without representation” and seen your friends forced to house British soldiers in their homes. You’ve heard the stories of colonists deprived of trial by jury and of sailors impressed in the British navy to fight against their neighbors. Of course, the story of Paul Revere’s ride sends shivers down your spine.

And, yet, for all they’ve done against you, you know some good Loyalists. There are a few even in your extended family. Yes, the men in Independence Hall wrote it like it often is: “Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.”

The next words bring you to the present.

“We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.” [1]

On that July day in 1776, no one knew whether these words would still be remembered centuries later. But here we are on Independence Day, 2015, and Americans across the country still have the opportunity to read and remember these words and all that went into and came out of them.

However, as I read particular sections, something nags at me. Perhaps your 21-century self notices it, too. Along with the gratitude, joy, and thrill we can feel as we recognize the depth of the ideals laid out in this Declaration, we may see the inconsistencies. There are several, but here’s one I’d like to focus on:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness..”

As these words were written, not everyone in America was free as we tend to look at freedom. In fact, for over a hundred and fifty following years, some people viewed others as “less” because they had a different skin color. What does that mean for the War for Independence that we honor? Did America miss something?

If you’ve ever wondered if the American Revolution was just “a white man’s thing”, you and Marvin Washington could have a great conversation. As an African-American boy himself, Marvin isn’t too excited about his new school project on the War for Independence. However, a journey back to 1775 that eventually lands him in the middle of the Battle of Bunker Hill gives him a glimpse of history he had missed. While Abigail Adams was waiting for news to send to her husband about the battle, a man by the name of Salem Poor was distinguishing himself on the battlefield. His actions would later bring him commendations from multiple officers. I hope you’ll check out “The American Revelation Parts I&II” by John Fornoff and that this story will inspire you to learn more just as it inspired me.

So on this Independence Day, while we must recognize that America has gotten some things very wrong and that it most probably will again, I think we can be grateful for many things. A few examples are

  1. the men and women from all different walks of life with all different appearances who sacrificed together to build our country,
  2. the opportunity to hear their words as we stand shoulder to shoulder with our neighbors.
  3. the challenge to build on their foundations,
  4. a Creator who really did give all people certain rights.

Gratitude for those things – now that’s American.

Maybe even more American than hot dogs and apple pie.

1. “The Declaration of Independence: A Transcription” http://www.archives.gov/exhibits/charters/declaration_transcript.html (accessed 3 July 2015). 

Transcending Time: A Snail-Mail Saturday Featuring Abigail Adams

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Dearest Friend,

The Day: perhaps the decisive Day is come on which the fate of America depends – my bursting Heart must find vent at my pen…

It is three o’clock on Sunday, June 18, 1775. Thirty-year-old Abigail Adams is penning a letter to her “dearest friend”, her husband John. She must somehow share the news that their friend, young Dr. Samuel Warrren, was killed in the battle that began yesterday morning on Bunker’s Hill. That battle is not over yet. How could her heart not be bursting with emotions and concern for friends and the future of the thirteen colonies?

Fast forward. It is June __, 2015. America won her independence from Britain long ago, but American women (and women everywhere) still face struggles, loss, and uncertainty of both friends and country. These concerns transcend time. Abigail’s words could be shared (albeit perhaps in different phrasing) by any woman of the 21st-century.

And, yet, as we step back to June 18, 1775 to again peek over Abigail’s shoulder, a question comes to mind: how does she respond to the unknown future? [The original spelling and punctuation have been maintained. Remember, Noah Webster’s dictionary came out in 1828.]

The race is not to the Swift, nor the battle to the Strong – but the God of Israel is he who giveth Strength and power unto his people. Trust in him at all times ye people pour out your hearts before him. God is a refuge for us…

The last two sentences quote Psalm 62, a passage I have gone to often like Abigail apparently did centuries before me. Although that psalm was written thousands of years before both of our times, it has lost none of its significance through the ages.

Someday my words will probably not be remembered, and even Abigail’s may vanish from the written record, but I believe these Scripture words will prevail. “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away,” Jesus said (Matthew 24:35, ESV). Those are words that truly transcend time.

When everything in life seems unstable, who wouldn’t want something solid like that to hold to? Time will tell if it’s worth the faith.

This post begins a mini-series focused on America’s War for Independence. A favorite resource on this era and my source for the text of Abigail’s letter is 1776: The Illustrated Edition by David McCullough. Within its pages, you can find removable facsimiles of documents significant to America’s founding, including one of Abigail’s June 18th letter (see page 40). 

Perhaps we will pay another visit to Mrs. Adams. If you have thoughts on her or a favorite book or resource, please drop me a note! 

A Cheery Friend: The Frontier Adventures of Elinore Stewart

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Have you ever had a friend who reminds you of life’s simple joys and puts a spring back in your step? I hope you have had at least one. Today I’d like to introduce you to one of mine. Her name is Elinore Pruitt Stewart.

Elinore has quite the story. My family calls it the “grown-up-girls’ version of Little Britches”. Both of Elinore’s parents died when she was young, leaving her in charge of her siblings. In order to stay together, they went through all sorts of adventures of the hard-work variety. Eventually, she found herself a young widow with a baby girl in Denver, Colorado. Elinore once again had to do all sorts of labor – hauling coal and doing laundry – to eek out a livelihood for herself and her daughter. The hardest part of all was that she had to leave Baby in a nursery while she worked.

By now you are probably thinking that poor Elinore had a decidedly sad life, but don’t give up yet. Leaving out dozens of descriptive details, she eventually became a housekeeper on a Wyoming ranch and was able to not only spend time with her daughter but also make a living, get married again, homestead her own claim, and have all sorts of lively escapades in the West of 1910s America! 

1910s? Yes, that’s right; Elinore Stewart doesn’t come and actually sit at my kitchen table with me, and I’ve never actually met her – although I feel like I have! It was during her years in Wyoming that she wrote letters full of dElinore Stewart picetails and vibrant expressions to Mrs. Coney, a friend back in Denver. Thanks to her friend, Elinore’s letters were published in the Atlantic Monthly and later in a book illustrated by N.C. Wyeth. Her story lives on through print editions and an audiobook called The Frontier Adventures of Elinore Stewart: The Letters of a Woman Homesteader, part of the Voices of the Past series. It is through this audiobook that I have come to feel – albeit to only a certain extent – as if I know Elinore.

Looking at history, I sometimes think that remarkable women often had one great character trait that defined them – the hospitality of Katherine Willoughby, the intellect of Abigail Adams, the adventurous perseverance of Sacajawea. If we were going to pick out what defined Elinore Stewart it would be her infectious zest for life or her care for others.

Somehow Elinore’s hard early years, instead of making her bitter, gave her a great appreciation for the often-overlooked pleasures of life. She got delight out of a sunset, a letter from a friend, and the simple fact that her family could be together. What a good reminder that is when I’m having a not-so-great day! Besides the fact that the realities of Elinore’s life remind me how good my life really is, her joyful outlook is simply contagious.

I think a large part of Elinore’s ability to look on the bright side was her care for others. She refused to be self-focused and industriously set about making life more beautiful for others. Even when she had a ranch full of people to cook and clean for, four children to raise, food to grow and animals to tend, she found time to bring a little beauty to friends, neighbors and strangers. In disc 5 you can find Elinore serving as matron of honor at a long-awaited wedding as well as making the wedding dinner and helping the overloaded boardinghouse owner, writing “Indoor Outings for Invalids” to bring some of her adventures to the homebound and, oh, well, you might just have to make it your own adventure…

 Beyond these things, Elinore was on an others-focused mission. While making a good life for herself and her family was a priority, it wasn’t the only reason she chose to homestead her own claim. It appears that she chose to do it to inspire other widows that they too could enjoy a simple, healthful life homesteading with their children instead of slaving away in cities where they had to leave their children to find work. Of course, it wasn’t an easy life, but not easy doesn’t necessarily mean not good; working hard in the clear, fresh open air where one could grow  food together with family could be so much better than scrimping to earn whatever one could to buy a little food alone. Elinore aspired to give struggling women hope by her efforts, and as you can discover for yourself, she accomplished what she set out to do.

I hope you’ve enjoyed getting acquainted a bit with my friend Elinore Stewart and that you can get to know her more for yourself. I’ve loved having Elinore in the kitchen with me when I’m alone on a baking day or working on some project. However, I will add that her story is a real story about the American West. It’s not all happy-go-lucky. There are deaths, outlaws cause trouble, the realities of Mormonism are discussed and people have tragedies in their past. (Note: The adapted reading in the Voices of the Past series tidies up some elements left in print editions.) Also, while Elinore does express her faith in God, she is not quite as Christian as could be hoped perhaps. All of these elements are a part of a real woman’s life. This is the kind of story that makes history breathe and makes me love it. At the same time, please be discerning, especially when letting little/sensitive children listen.

And don’t worry, I do have some still-living friends of the cheery variety as well! They’re just not quite as shareable as Elinore.

Once Upon a Town: The Miracle of the North Platte Canteen

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Ten minutes was all they had. Ten minutes to share a kind word and some home-cooking. Ten minutes to send off the American boys who might never come home.

So out came the sandwiches, out came the angel food cakes, on came the jukebox and on went the coffee. After all, ten minutes was all they had.

Can you picture it? The troop train clangs to a stop and young soldiers pour off. Mothers and daughters hand out plates of food as if serving their own sons and brothers. What would the hospitality and kind words mean to you if you were heading off to war? How would angel food cake taste when you knew it would be the last you would have in a long time or when you’d been eating military food? What would you do with the pen-pal address hidden in your popcorn ball?

This is the story of the North Platte Canteen. During WWII, the North Platte Canteen was a hopping place as troop trains stopped in that small Nebraska town on their way across the country. North Platte’s people saw this as an opportunity. Why not seize those ten-minute stops to encourage those American soldiers?

So the homemakers got together. Soon the husbands and children joined in to whisk egg whites with forks, serve sandwiches, form sticky popcorn balls, and chip in their pocket money. My own Grandpa Dan who grew up in Nebraska remembers that his mother sent money to support the Canteen. I’ve wondered if my Grandpa Ken who served in the Air Force during WWII ever stopped in North Platte.

A special thank-you to my Grandpa Dan and Grandma Ruth for sharing Once Upon a Town with me and for Grandpa's service in the US Navy.

A special thank-you to my Grandpa Dan and Grandma Ruth for sharing Once Upon a Town with me and for Grandpa’s service in the US Navy.

And what was the impact of those ten minutes? Well, within the pages of Once Upon a Town: The Miracle of the North Platte Canteen by journalist Bob Greene, I discovered that North Platte became famous among American soldiers, families pulled together to serve, a little boy sold his shirt to raise money, a lifelong marriage began with a popcorn-ball connection, and decades later many of those involved teared up as they shared their Canteen stories. One soldier even took his children on a post-war road trip to show them the Canteen where they found his name in the guest book. These are the true stories of sacrifice, community, hard work and love that capture life on the homefront and show how mere minutes of kindness can leave a permanent impression and change many lives.

I found myself intrigued by the fact that serving especially scrumptious homemade food out of the Canteen to the soldiers was a private idea. It wasn’t a government project. It didn’t take a bureaucratic committee. It did take a host of volunteering and kind homemakers, farmers and country children. What a great example of charity that is “relational, local and voluntary”!

While I don’t endorse the entire book – please read with discretion/some sections are not suitable for children – particular stories are definitely worthwhile. For me, Once Upon a Town: The Miracle of the North Platte Canteen was a productive read and a challenge. Could we be as dedicated as Mr. Greene to collecting the stories of those who have gone before us but with a focus on God’s glory? Would we be willing to give of our time and resources with such gusto if given an opportunity like the women, children and men at North Platte? Could they have used those ten-minute intervals more fruitfully for Christ’s Kingdom? Are similar opportunities waiting for us today? Hmmm. Food for thought.

May you all have a very blessed Memorial Day weekend. As we take time to relax with family and friends and eat something yummy like angel food cake, may we also take time to remember and be grateful for those who paid the ultimate sacrifice for our liberty.

On the 18th of April…

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It’s April 18th, and I’m so excited that it’s here! You see, it just so happens that April is National Poetry Month. (Who knew, right?) That means it’s high time I introduce you to two of my childhood friends.

First, meet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He was one of the “Fireside Poets” who wrote several poems that I memorized and loved to recite when I was in school. (Ok, you might hear me quoting them yet!) “The Children’s Hour” and “The Village Blacksmith” became two of my favorites, but another poem is oh-so apropos for today because one of it’s lines says, “On the eighteenth of April…”

Do you know which poem has that phrase? The first two lines will give you a clue:

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,

There you go! The multi-page poem “Paul Revere’s Ride” commemorates the daring deeds of an American Patriot named Paul Revere who warned the people of Lexington and Concord that the British were coming to capture both the Patriot leaders Sam Adams and John Hancock and the Patriot supply of gunpowder. His successful “midnight ride” began on April 18th in 1775 – 240 years ago today!

If you’ve never read the poem, do give it at least a quick look today. Can you hear the rhythm?

The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, 
And the measured tread of the grenadiers 
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Can you see it on the screen of your imagination?

And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height, 
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 
A second lamp in the belfry burns!

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, 
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:

Obviously, I love this poem. However, dear old Longfellow practiced prolific poetic license. For example, the “one if by land, two if by sea” signal was meant to warn other Patriots, not Revere. He already knew when the lanterns were hung that the British were planning to come by sea.

If you’d like to know more about the true tale, one way is through an audio story called, “The Midnight Ride,” by the team at Adventures in Odyssey. I think that audio drama played a role in endearing both poetry and history to me so long ago. (Note for those who listen: Apparently, both “Old North Church” and “Christ Church” were used as names for the same church in Boston, the church with the highest steeple in the city – just perfect for showing off signal lantern lights! (1)

You can visit Old North Church along the Freedom Trail in Boston.

You can visit Old North Church along the Freedom Trail in Boston.

 

"Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church…"

“Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church…”

Beyond historicities of Longfellow’s poem, I’ve been contemplating another aspect of it: For much of the world, Revere’s midnight ride is all they know of him – if that. How much we miss! There is so much more to his story. For example…(2)

  • Did you know that Paul Revere’s father came at age thirteen to America from France because his Huguenot (French Protestant) parents wanted him to escape Louis XIV’s tyranny?
  • Could it be that his father’s love of horses prepared Paul for his (several) daring rides for liberty?
  • Have you heard that Revere learned his skill as a silversmith from his father and then took over the family business at age nineteen when his father died?
  • Are you aware that he was a member of the Boston Tea Party?
  • How about that he was chosen to design and print the new American money used to pay soldiers during the War for Independence?

All of these other glimpses of Paul Revere give us a much richer picture of him, don’t you think? He had his share of joys and heartaches, successes and failures. Many things worked together to make him the man who made that midnight ride.

I was struck by a little lesson here. Just as we see Paul Revere in one moment of his life and can think that that’s most of the story, we can think the same when we meet people day by day. How often do I meet someone for a few minutes and think I know their story? Maybe a truth to take home from Longfellow’s poem is that people’s lives are full and complex. A one-time meeting often only scratches the surface. What would we see differently if we knew more of the other chapters?

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,-- 
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!

1 “Old North Church” https://www.thefreedomtrail.org/freedom-trail/old-north-church.shtml (accessed April 17, 2015).

2 Scott Ingram: Paul Revere, Triangle Histories – The Revolutionary War (Blackbirch Press, 2004).