Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Children and God






A little boy was attending his first wedding. After the service, his cousin asked him, "How many women can a man marry?" "Sixteen," the boy responded. His cousin was amazed that he had an answer so quickly. "How do you know that?"
"Easy," the little boy said. "All you have to do is add it up, like the Priest said, 4 better, 4 worse, 4 richer, 4 poorer."
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After a church service on Sunday morning, a young boy suddenly announced to his mother, "Mom, I've decided to become a minister when I grow up."
"That's okay with us, but what made you decide that?"
"Well," said the little boy, "I have to go to church on Sunday anyway, and I figure it will be more fun to stand up and yell, than to sit and listen."
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A 6-year-old was overheard reciting the Lord's Prayer at a church service: "And forgive us our trash passes, as we forgive those who passed trash against us."
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A boy was watching his father, a pastor, write a sermon. "
How do you know what to say?" he asked.
"Why, God tells me." the father replied.
"Oh, then why do you keep crossing things out?"
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After the Christening of his baby brother in church, little Johnny sobbed all the way home in the back seat of the car. His father asked him three times what was wrong.Finally, Johnny replied, "That priest said he wanted us brought up in a Christian home, and I want to stay with you guys!"
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Terri asked her Sunday School class to draw pictures of their favorite Bible stories. She was puzzled by Kyle's picture, which showed four people on an airplane, so she asked him which story it was meant to represent.
"The Flight to Egypt," was his reply.
Pointing at each figure, Ms. Terri said, "That must be Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus. But who's the fourth person?"
"Oh, that's Pontius - the pilot."
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The Sunday School Teacher asks, "Now, Lisa, tell me frankly do you say prayers before eating?"
"No sir," little Lisa replies, I don't have to. My mom is a good cook."
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A college drama group presented a play in which one character would stand on a trap door and announce, "I descend into hell!"A stagehand below would then pull a rope, the trapdoor would spring, and the actor would drop from view.The play was well received. When the actor playing the part became ill, another actor who was quite overweight took his place. When the new actor announced, "I descend into hell!" the stagehand pulled the rope, and the actor began his plunge, but became hopelessly stuck. No amount of tuggingon the rope could make him descend.One student in the balcony jumped up and yelled: "Hallelujah! Hell is full!"
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A little girl was sitting on her grandfather's lap as he read her a bedtime story. From time to time, she would take her eyes off the book and reach up to touch his wrinkled cheek. She was alternately stroking her own cheek, then his again.
Finally she spoke up, "Grandpa, did God make you?"
"Yes, sweetheart," he answered, "God made me a long time ago."
"Oh," she paused, "Grandpa, did God make me too?"
"Yes, indeed, honey," he said, "God made you just a little while ago."
Feeling their respective faces again, she observed, "God's getting better at it, isn't he?"
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Davin asked me why it seems like God doesn't answer all of his prayers. I explained to Davin that God does answer his prayers but that God also gives us room to make choices in life, and gives us room to do the work needed to make our lives better. I then asked Davin to imagine would happen if God answered everyone's prayers so well that no one would ever have to work. What would it be like if Bob the Builder (one of his favorite cartoons) said a prayer to help get a house built and then God came down and built the whole house for Bob. What would happen then, would Bob be a builder anymore? Davin thinks for just a second then replies,"Bob would sit in his underwear all day and watch TV!".
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Jaelynn's favorite bedtime prayer: I love you from the top of your head...to the tips of your toes...to inside your heart and into the light of your soul.

I always touch the top of her head, and then her toes. By the time I get to Jaelynn's heart, she is laughing and wriggling all over!


Special thanks to my dear friend, and adopted grandmother, Beryl, for passing this on. Sending LOTS of love your way!

Stolen Moment of Faith

I grew up in the Midwest, in a small town clustered on the bend of a river. I grew up with traditions that emphasized the importance of conformity. Within the church, it is believed that you were born a sinner and could only be saved with repentance, giving your life to the established doctrine, to become a "good Christian". Within the family, church values continue with an emphasis on showing a good face to the outside world. To avoid bringing shame on the family, you hide the sinful nature of your true self. Any difference of family or church values is dealt with in strict silence. Silence is used to smother the problem. Without oxygen the problem will slowly shrivel until it is forgotten. Without the energy of expression, the problem will atrophy like a useless limb, dejectedly hanging off the psyche. Traditions demand projecting a "good face" rather than admitting a weakness. Weakness will divide the family, bringing sin into its protective circle. Silence is a resilient buffer that serves to exile those who stray. Silence kept the outside world from penetrating the community circle. In this way, what is not acknowledged does not exist. Life is carefully constructed around an ideal that has been carefully maintained for generations.

From the time I was a young girl, I was very independant. Left on my own, I liked to venture in the woods or could be found with my nose in a book. The neighbors were wary of my family, we were poor and living in public housing: a sure sign of "trouble". I did not like their prissy daughters who kissed trees as their "boyfriends" and played with expensive dolls with fish eyes. My clothes were hand-me-downs. With a mighty exhale I could pop the button of my too-tight jeans. My scrawny arms stuck out of the scant sleeves of my shirt like a palm tree reaching for the sun. My hair defied bows and barrettes by sticking up; I am "different". My childhood memories are conflicting images: of my inner world and the façade I was expected to show.

I was so proud to receive my First Communion, yet had many questions as to who this All-Powerful, All-Knowing, All-Seeing-God-guy was. Bible school was interesting, but I wasn’t satisfied with what I was learning. I vividly recall walking to the front of the church, where the pews and somber stained glass windows were clouded by spicy scented smoke rising from censers. Under the flickering candles, I knelt before a priest who whispered words in Latin; words I did not understand but I felt a sacred rhythm spiral around my body. I tilted my head to receive the Communion wafer, a dry circle upon my tongue. I was careful not to bite into the wafer, not to swallow. Instead I carried the wafer on my tongue, back to the hard seat of the pew, and spat it into my upturned palm.

As my finger traced the lines of the delicate cross cut into the wafer, Reba Jeanne hissed at me, "You're not supposed to take that! I'll tell!" Reba Jeanne was named after a Country music star and a Saint, as a result she prayed in a nasally twang, and her conscious two-stepped between purity and rancor.
Reba Jeanne became my enemy when she kicked my brother between the legs with the pointed, metal toe of her Patsy Cline-wanna-be boots. My brother did not fall to pieces. Instead, he became a man in the eyes of schoolyard boys because he withstood the lethal blow without shedding one tear.
" What's the use in telling? ", I taunted, "God already knows what I've done!"I saved the wafer until after mass. I then took the wafer outside church, holding it up to the sky, in all of its paper-thin glory. I wondered if God would strike me down, or if He would send Reba Jeanne to finish me off. When nothing happened, I was convinced that God was not sitting on a throne in Heaven judging people, and weighing sins on a gilt scale. As I closed my fingers over the wafer, warmth filled my palm.

From that moment on, I began to trust in my spiritual sense. The warmth of the wafer in my palm was so reassuring. Instead of damnation I was met with a sense of peace. The turmoil I felt was lifted away. As a child, I reasoned that God gave people a spiritual sense (or intuition) to reward faith, to reward the hard work of going beyond fixed traditions. Intuition provides a connection to what is not readily seen. I wondered if people were not meant to see everything. With sight comes the impulse to judge, to measure, to sell a new product displayed by a bony model in a string bikini. By not seeing, we question, search, and are led into vast horizons.

Lynn Mari, ©2006

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Follow Our Hearts: The Spiritual Legacy of Family Bonds


The knowledge of what has always been remains in us, as part of his (God’s) plan for us. Sometimes we call it intuition, at other times we call it inspiration. When we follow our hearts, when we are in tune and balanced, and when we listen to the still inner voice within us…we ‘know’. These gifts and abilities are stored in our cells—our cellular memory—and they include the experiences and lessons learned by our ancestors, which are also imprinted in every cell of our body. We pass those memories to our children and then to later generations; these include both genetic and spiritual memories...” Betty J. Eadie, The Awakening Heart (p. 53).


In researching my family history, and collecting these stories, I often felt that I was guided to learn something. Sometimes I received a message from a dream. Sometimes an unusual “coincidence” revealed something, or led me to a place important for to my work. Sometimes, through extraordinary events people were brought into my life to provide help, an insight or an answer. This could all be just chance or perhaps there is something more…a spiritual purpose unfolding?

In The Awakened Heart, Betty J. Eadie (who writes about what she learned from a near death experience, and how it changed her life) theorizes that all people are spiritual beings living a physical life on Earth. As part of the human experience, a person has a “veil” placed between the spiritual and earthly worlds so that person is able to experience free will, and other lessons presented in the earthly world. These lessons are provided so that the spirit will mature and fulfill a special purpose here on Earth. Though the “veil” exists, if a person freely and consciously chooses they can tap into their spiritual gifts and abilities. I believe that just as you can choose to tap into your spiritual gifts, and inner power, you can open the “veil” to connect to your ancestry. The experiences and connections of family leave a lasting imprint on our identity, even if we are not aware of this imprint. When you choose to connect to your family (by conducting family research, practicing family traditions, or passing down a family legacy, etc.) or your heritage, a part of the “veil” is lifted. A part you is brought closer to the distant past, and the people whose lives shaped your own.

These are a few stories of interesting events that brought me closer to my family, not only in a physical reunion but also by revealing a more significant message.



My Guardian Angel

As a little girl, I knew I had a special guardian angel watching over me. I didn’t know her name but I felt her presence from time to time—gentle, reassuring. She saw beyond my rough exterior—buckteeth protruding from a belligerent smile, wild hair curling in all directions, faded jeans splotched with mud. I really think if she could get hold of me I would be tied to a chair and scrubbed clean. I would imagine the sharp bristles of her brush tearing through my hair then the steady tug and pull of my hair being smoothed into braids. I imagined being dunked into a tub of hot, foamy water as she scowled over the state of my clothing. She would know how to sew the hand-me-downs into new condition. I might even be scolded for the way I presented myself. She saw the best of me—the little girl I was afraid to be. Throughout my life I would feel her presence or have dreams of her, my guardian angel.

Who was this guardian angel? She was revealed to me as a real person when I was six years old. In one of the most vivid memories from childhood, I remember visiting with my father (who was separated from my mom) and showing him a flyer printed on purple paper from the YMCA. The flyer announced a father-daughter event, which had a Native American theme. People of color were definitely a minority in the town I grew up in; I was probably one of the first racially mixed children born in this town. I don’t recall any Native American families living in this town. The only time I would see Native American people come to town would be once a year, when a pow-wow was held at the campground, which used to be a Dakota settlement. So, of course, this event hosted by the YMCA symbolized a stereotypical portrayal of Native Americans—a romanticized version where little girls could be Indian princesses and their fathers, brave warrior chiefs. At the time I didn’t care about anything of that, I just wanted to hang out with my father.

My father almost never spoke about his family or what his life was like growing up. I can only remember two or three occasions that my father ever mentioned anything to do with family. On this special occasion, my father looks at the flyer and says to me, “I have a picture of my mother and father that I am going to show to you.” I felt a tingly feeling—a really strong feeling. Something inside of me just connected with the word “mother”. I knew then that my guardian angel was my grandmother, though I didn’t know her name. My father never did show me that picture, never did take me to the father-daughter day at the YMCA. What he gave me was unintentional, yet profound—I knew who my angel was.


Nile: Sista Gal & the Sight


My cousin Nile is like a sister to me. We have been separated all of our lives because we live so far apart, and a series of events kept our two families separated. Nile’s father, Uncle Roo is my father’s oldest brother. Uncle Roo was raised in Alabama while my father was raised in Indiana with his other seven siblings. My aunts and uncles in Indiana made an effort to reach out to Nile and I, to include us in the family circle (thank-you so much…my life is truly blessed!). After an uncle told Nile about me, and gave her my
e-mail address, we connected over the internet and our bond began from there. Eventually I was able to visit Nile in Alabama, but that’s another story…

Nile grew up hearing old gospel songs sung to her by Big Momma (our great-grandmother), Aunt Julia and other older relatives. Nile told me that these songs were passed down from generations of our family, that they were sung as our ancestors picked cotton in the fields. Nile has a strong sense of faith; it has been the one constant in her life. Nile also believes in what she calls “the sight”—intuition. Nile experiences “the sight” as a strong feeling, sometimes a dream or brief vision, sometimes a voice talking to her. Since I also believe in intuition, its one of the things that has brought us closer together as sisters.

Nile and I would often practice using our intuition. One of us would ask the other a question and we would answer—using only what intuition provided us with. When I visited Nile in Alabama, we were sitting on her coach, asking questions in this way. Nile asked me if I believed that spirits of loved ones who passed away would watch over us. I replied “yes”. Then Nile asked who her spirit guides were. I settled myself and focused on her question. What came to me was the name “Jane” then I saw a big, white house that looked worn down. Wood was exposed in some places. I saw a gathering of all these people coming forward—and I knew these people were our ancestors. Nile said she never heard of a “Jane” and didn’t like the idea of people coming to her! Through a remarkable “coincidence”, Nile and I would later connect with an older cousin who told us about our family history. I then began to search for the names he mentioned by using the Ancestry census. I was able to trace our family tree to 1870, to the grandparents whose roots we all sprung from: Jordan and Jane Martin. In our family, my grandmother Jane was never called by her birth name, instead a nickname—“Judge” was used. We also found the white house at a site where our family worked as croppers. I can’t say for sure if our ancestors are guiding our genealogy work, and giving us help when we need but I would like to believe this is true.

About a year later—in 2002—I was talking with Nile on the phone. We were giggling like girls, and rolling our eyes at the latest antics of our children. Out of nowhere, Nile shouts, “I smell a baby!” I had no idea what she was talking about. My first thought was to make sure my son was not getting into trouble. Looking all over the house, I saw nothing amiss. Nile was so insistent, “I smell a baby!” I just couldn’t convince her that what she was saying didn’t make any sense. It would be another year before I would understand what Nile was telling me…


Coming Home: Uncle Lee

When I visited Alabama for the first time, in May 2001 I really felt “at home”. As I drove away from the Atlanta airport, and headed into the countryside, a part of me felt so excited and yet so at peace. There was so much I wanted to see and do to catch up on the all years I had been away. My family was gathering for the annual Ford-Morton reunion and I looked forward to getting to know my relatives. The heart of the reunion was Uncle Lee, who had a gift for bringing people together. Uncle Lee helped reconnect Nile and I, and when I would have questions he was the once I would call first.

Uncle Lee is a tall man, who wears a jaunty driving cap. He has a smile that lights up his whole face and a deep, rumbling laugh. He likes to golf and though competition can get feisty, the game is always played in a fun spirit. Uncle Lee’s wife is my Aunt Rae. This year, Aunt Rae did not attend the reunion due to illness so Uncle Lee would not be staying in Alabama for very long, he wanted to get back home to her. Uncle Lee is the second oldest of the Ford children, he knew where the places important to our family are located. There was a small farm near Brent where my grandparents lived for a time; my grandfather kept hogs and cattle there. Uncle Lee, my father and some of their siblings also lived on this farm for a time. I think the farm was near a railroad tracks. The farm is gone now but the brick chimney and part of the foundation is said to remain. There is the Cooper cemetery outside of Centreville where my grandmother is buried. And, of course, all the stories Uncle Lee would tell on the way… I told Uncle Lee that I was having dreams about my grandmother and he replied that Aunt Rae was too. Uncle Lee told me how to get to the Cooper cemetery and said he was sorry that he could not travel with me this year because he had to get back home. Next year, Uncle Lee promised, we will go to all of those places.

Next year I was in Indiana attending the funeral of Uncle Lee—who died suddenly of a heart attack. Uncle Lee died in Centreville, not too far from all the places we were to visit. He died on July 7th, one day after his birthday (Uncle Lee was born in the home of his maternal grandfather, Big Poppa, who worked for the Coopers). The farm he lived on, as a boy was not too far away. The cemetery his mother is buried in is also not too far away. And ironically, Uncle Lee was attending a family reunion for his mother’s side of the family when he died so suddenly. Family had been so important to Uncle Lee; I couldn’t help but to think that he had come home.

In Indiana, the funeral for Uncle Lee was festive, a celebration of his life and all the gifts he had passed on. I was raised Catholic and never seen such a warm, joyous funeral. I had never seen all-out singing and dancing in a church. I had never seen the preacher leave the pulpit to shout his praise to the crowd. To be honest, I was ready for a change—the service was deeply moving. Family gathered at Aunt Rae’s house, her kitchen was stacked floor to ceiling with food. The neighbors were so sweet to do the cooking. The funeral brought us together as a family, and many memories were shared. It truly was an honor to Uncle Lee to celebrate his life in this way.

A year later, our family would be blessed with the birth of my second child. My daughter, Jaelynn was born on July 7th—the anniversary of Uncle Lee’s death and later, I found out, also to be the birthday of a very special uncle. I had reconnected with this uncle through the efforts of Uncle Lee, who, before his death, made sure that I would know the elders of the family. I can only hope to carry on the legacy he started with my research and this web page. And Nile—I believe you now—grin.

Lynn Mari, ©2006




More on Betty J. Eadie: Embraced By The Light: The Official Betty J. Eadie Web Site

http://embracedbythelight.com/index.htm

The Family Quilt- Ford, Martin and Green(e)

Welcome to Alabama!


Spanish moss offers momentary shade from the relentless heat, the red earth is warmed by the blazing arrows of the sun. I am invited into my cousin, Nile's kitchen, we are wild and sassy together causing much embarassment to our children. The kitchen is heavy with the aroma of macaroni baking in the oven, a layer of cheese bubbling on top. Ribs sizzle in rich BBQ sauce. Nile and I playfully argue about the secret to good BBQ (I use vanilla in mine). Having been separated for so long, Nile and I have much to discuss.

Eventually our talks lead us outside to the rugged backroads, overgrown cememtaries and ghostly auction block of Cahaba. We find relatives who are generous with stories, talking until our voices are but a whisper. We search the internet and historical records, the connection to family guides our every step. Too late we realize the food has been left behind, the kids are throwing a house party, and in the middle of nowhere is not the place to be when the needle is on empty. If you have ever felt the connection to family you will understand the pull of blood and spirit is powerful. We moved on currents to find each other, and in our reunion is the greater purpose to honor our kin--to record their lives and stories. There are still unanswered questions, and relatives lost to time and distance. When Nile and I find our way back to the table, I hope to see many faces. I hope the warmth in the room is more than the food baking in the oven but the warmth of pride from our ancestors watching over us.


FORDS IN PERRYVILLE:

There are three main groups of Fords in the area of Perryville and Sprott, this is my line-
Caroline Ford b. 1825, both parents from Georgia. Had 15-18 children, and began a line of Fords living in Perryville. Was widowed.

Her son, Paul Ford m. Laura Radford on Feb. 8, 1878. When Laura died, Paul Ford married a woman named Lucretia.

Children of Paul Ford and Spouses: Johnie D, Allie D, Arthur, Genie, Willie, Bettie, Joe, Columbus, Jesse, Millie.


FORDS IN DALLAS COUNTY:

Several Fords moved to Dallas County (Summerfield, Valley Creek, Selma, Pleasant Hill)including Willie and John Ford. Much later, some of these Fords from Perryville and Dallas county moved to Indiana. Many Ford are buried in College Hill in Summerfield.

Of my Ford relatives in Dallas County are Pettus Ford, a farmer. Pettus Ford married Mary Ella Martin and in Jan. 1910, my grandfather Robert "Bud" Ford was born. Other children of Pettus Ford are Herman and Annie (Jug) and possibly a daughter named Sylvester who worked at Sears. Herman disappeared, and may have moved to the Birmingham area. I have many Ford relatives who live in Birmingham.


THE MYSTERY OF CALLIE MARTIN:

I have found a 1910 Census record for Selma that lists a Callie Martin as living with Mary Ella, Robert, Herman and a Hubbard and Earnest...all her children. The coincedences between these names is strong but who is Callie Martin? The Martin clan is large, is she kin? Mary Ella was orphaned as a child, did Callie take her in? What happened to Hubbard and Earnest? My great-grandmother Mary Ella also worked as cook. She was very young when she gave birth to my grandfather, Robert. Was she taken in with her baby by a relative?:


FORDS, MARTINS AND GREEN(E)S:

An older relative told me that the brother of Pettus Ford married into the Green(e) family. The Greens are also cousins to the Martins. John Ford married a woman named Ola and had several children who lived on a farm in Valley Creek. One of his sons married into the family of Sol and Lucy Green. The children of Sol and Lucy Green are also first cousins to Mary Ella Martin. One of their children, Ms. Hollis helped with this research, and to her I will be forever grateful.


IMPORTANT PLACES

*Slave auctions were held in Cahaba, once the capitol of AL.
*The largest Martin plantation I have found is the estate of AJ Martin, a resident of Orrville. He held 79 slaves. There were an estimated 15 Black families living on the plantation of AJ Martin.
*The Martin family lived in Woodlawn and Summerfield. The grandparents of Mary Ella Martin were Jordan and Jane (Judge) Martin. They had many children including Sarah Jane, Willie, James, Agnes, Bama, Luke and Julia.
*Some of the Martins ground corn, as slaves, in Keenan's Mill.
*Some of the Martins are buried in Wayman's Chapel near Four Mile Branch or in Elmwood Cemetary in Selma.
*Mary Ella Martin worked as a cook for the James Crawford family, living on Rangeline Road in Valley Creek. As a child, Robert was called "Spicey" or "Bud/Buddy".
*Later Mary Ella worked the Stringer Place in Pleasant Hill.
*The Greens worked the land of the John and Vesta Morgan family. They lived on Summerfield Road in Valley Creek.

Lynn Mari, ©2005

DOES THIS SOUND FAMILIAR?Drop me a line! I am still doing research, and look forward to hearing from you. THANKS FOR STOPPING BY!


My Geocities Page: http://www.geocities.com/graceofwynn/ALgenealogy.html

Special Thanks to Tom Blake, your Slaveholder & African-American surname page is a treasure: Slaveholders and African Americans 1860-1870

http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.com/~ajac/