Spread Your Wings And Fly

Spread Your Wings And Fly
Spread your wings and fly

Friday, March 30, 2012

L Is For Lineage



a2z: Take 2. Patty Wysong Helping bloggers blog.


Patty Wysong's A2Z Take 2 Writing challenge. This has been an incredible and fun experience.    Thank you Patty

As I was cleaning my desktop the other day, I discovered a red folder I had placed there for safekeeping. And you guessed it, I forgot all about it.  One the outside of the folder, written in my son’s handwriting was, “Family Tree,” inside were several fragile, onion skin pages filled with my family history, entitled, “Two thousand years of Forsyth history.”  My lineage.
Forsyth Clan Coat of Arms

The first name I read was, “Forsite The Good.” I was very happy he was good and not Forsite the terrible. That would have been a discouraging start of my lineage.  Forsite the Good supposedly lived in what was once Turkistan in the year 70 BC. Yikes! For the next few years there was a lot of moving, conquering, alliance making (with the king of Sweden,) marrying and begetting. From this time until 410 AD, no record can be found of the family line. Probably too busy conquering and begetting to keep track of names and dates.

From 410 AD on however is a very thorough and well-researched document of my lineage. I felt as if I were in history class again, only the history I was reading was my own. I read of kings, barons, lords, and a Scottish Chieftain – travels from Denmark to Rome, on to France, Austria, Scotland and Ireland. I read of wars and battles, one involving half-brother’s that were pitted against each other – Papin and Grippo. Grippo was killed.

Battle of Bannockburn  1514
 I was fascinated reading my history. Nearly two thousand years. Unimaginable. I found myself envisioning their lives, their families, the battles fought. When I told my husband he said it made him think of Mel Gibson’s movie, “Braveheart.” There was a time in history when my family was called de Forsyth's. John Forsyth, was the first to drop the "de", in 1540. Thank you very much John.


 My lineage travels through centuries and navigates continents - each new generation adding to the last. I found myself doing google searches on names I found. Yearning to learn even more about the people whose blood still flows in my veins. I sat, mesmerized, staring at an etched image of Charles (Charlemagne) who became the King of Franks upon his brother's death. He built a castle for his adopted nephew, and named it Forsyth (his nephew's name) and gave his nephew the title, Vicomte de Fronsac. Wow!

 My ancestors finally immigrated to America, some settling in New Hampshire, later in Virginia, Kentucky,  and my line of the family in New York State.  Some served in the Revolutionary War, some the civil, more battles, more death.

All these names, all the unknown faces, the distant lands, the battles won and lost, are a part of me. A part of my lineage. It honestly blows my mind. My distant ancestors could no more imagine Sandy (Forsyth) Wells, one day living a life, not of royalty, but as proud country folk, then I can imagine those who will follow me, perhaps hundreds of years from now. Through whose veins my blood will flow.
Glasgow UV. Est. by sons of  Robert de Forsyth
 My grandchildren are the newest and youngest links to my amazing lineage. (I don’t mean that as brag, we all have amazing family histories.) One day, my husband and I will be names added to the continuing family scroll. Our faces will be some old couple in a faded photo, never met by our future generations. That is a very strange idea for me to wrap my head around. The day will come when we will be but distant memories as our lineage continues.

 As incredible as it was for me to travel through time, and visit my ancestors, and learn more about my lineage: this all pales compared to my, to our, true lineage. I’m talking even before our first forefather and mother, Adam and Eve, even before dawn of time, as we know it. I believe our true lineage begins with the one who not only created us, but all that we know. Before there was Forsite the Good, before Adam and Eve, there was always Father God.


We truly have and amazing lineage.  

           

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

K - Family Keepsakes

a2z: Take 2. Patty Wysong Helping bloggers blog.
 Patty Wysong's A2Z Take 2 Writing challenge. Feel free to go to her site and check it out.


My husband and I recently finished the daunting task of repainting three rooms in our house. Our living room, dining room, and entrance way. We worked hard to choose just the right colors, for our home, which is over a hundred years old. We knew we wanted to be able to keep the historical look, and that we wanted yellow. After weeks of planning, and work, (mostly my husband’s) we have success. I love it.

antique stove lifts
Our home is filled with antiques, family heirlooms, family photos, as well as trinkets and other gifts given to us by loved ones. To me, each one of these items are valuable keepsakes. Things which we keep, for the sake of love.  As one travels from one freshly spruced room, to the other, they will see our family keepsakes - our family history - in one form or another.


My mother's hutch
From my mother’s hutch and old teapots adorning my kitchen, to my in-law’s antique secretary desk, and half moon china cabinet in our dining room - which are all filled with charming keepsakes -  and on to our collection of old stove lifts, which remind me of my grandfather - and our ever growing collection of whimsical  refrigerator art - keepsakes are a vital part of our home, and our lives. They are a reminder of parents and grandparents whose faces we can no longer see, voices we no longer hear. They are a tie which binds us to generations long gone, as well as children whose lives have taken them far from home. They are a expressions of love from little ones who hold our hearts.

half moon china cabinet
 To some, keepsakes are merely useless dust collectors. If they don’t have a practical use, then they are worthless clutter. A place for everything, and everything in its place. I have to admit, it would be much easier cleaning their house than mine. Old crocks, vintage washboards, oil lanterns, hand-sewn quilts, and walls filled with family photos, may be dust collectors, but they are also part of who we are as a family.

When I walk through my house, yes, I see dust which needs my attention.  But I also see family. I feel warm, comfortable, secure. When I look at the numerous photos of our children and grandchildren, I feel blessed. When I look at the unique keepsakes our sons have given us as gifts, I feel loved. I guess you could even say that our home is a keepsake. It is the house I grew up in. The house I was a child in. It holds my life memories, both good and bad.  And now it’s the house my grandchildren love to visit. They also love our many keepsakes, as they are a connection to people who they adore, and miss.


grandchildren


Our home is long-standing, and over-flows with keepsakes - both old and new. It’s a grandparent’s home, where kids know they are loved. It’s our sons’ home, where their lives were formed, and will always be a part of them.  It’s comfortable. It’s filled with wonderful memories, and new memories are being created each new day. Our keepsakes are a vital part of who we are as a family. They are the keepers of much love.

Monday, March 12, 2012

J - Jumbled Mass Of Emotions

First thing I want to say is this that I had no intention to write on this subject. I had other J words in mind, like Joy and even John 3:16. But this morning the word Jumbled flew into my mind and I knew I had to write this. Even though it’s incredibly personal, and most people may think I’m a little nuts. Here goes.

Let me start by asking a question. Has there ever been a person in your life - someone you may never have even met - who impacted you in ways you never imagined? Now, if something happened to that person, possibly they die, have you questioned your strong emotional reaction? This happened to me just last week. (I wrote this early)

My husband and I were relaxing one night last week, and I clicked on my Face Book account to see what was happening in my family and friends lives. The screen came up, and there he was. The sweet, young face, of someone who most “Baby Boomers” know - Davy Jones. And beside his picture were the bold words - “Davy Jones Died at age 66.” My mind couldn’t grasp what my eyes were seeing. I finally stammered the words to my husband, “Davy Jones Died.” He also had a difficult time grasping how this could be true.


Needless to say, I felt instantly sad at his death. His face and name would be added to the growing list of celebrities, who seemed to die all too young. Even though we have never met these people, they somehow make a connection in our lives. But for me, something was very different, and I didn’t understand why. For the next three days I was a jumbled up mass of  emotions, which made absolutely no sense to me. Sadness, confusion, great waves of grief, emptiness, anger, anxiety, and yet, more confusion. I felt as if something within me had also died.

Now I want to take a minute right here, and reassure you that I am not a crazed fan. I do not still have posters of Davy Jones plastering my walls. I have not dreamed of meeting him. He honestly wasn’t even my favorite Monkee - I liked Mike Nesmith. Which is why I could in no way understand, or explain my jumbled mass of emotions. I didn’t even dare speak of them to others, for fear they would say I was crazy.

I found myself visiting You-tube, watching old videos of Davy singing. I listened to interviews with him. Tears ran down my face as I watched this gentle, funny, adorable young man romping about, singing such wonderful songs, with his soft, sweet voice. And as I did so, my emotions became all the more jumbled. Why was this happening?

 Finally after three days of grieving and questioning, I knew I needed to talk to the Lord. I needed answers. Why did I feel as if I had lost my best friend, when I never met the man? And as always, our God was faithful and true. God, in His infinite wisdom, began gently bringing pieces of my mysterious, and painful puzzle together.

I stood in my kitchen, that morning, and I listened. Really listened.  What the Holy Spirit seemed to ask me was to think about Davy Jones, and what did I see in him. What about him had connected with me when I was a child? One word came to mind. Innocence. I then began to think about the other Monkees, and the other “teen idols,” and did I feel the same way about them. My answer was, No, not even Mike Nesmith. I knew if anything happened to them, Yes, I would feel sad, but No, I wouldn’t grieve as I was now. Then the pieces began coming together, and my questions were being answered.

1966, The Monkees had hit the scene. The show was funny, and the music infectious. Four young men, dreaming of becoming the next Beatles. And in the forefront was a very young Davy Jones. His sweet face, his joyous smile, his angelic voice, his innocence, all drew me in. (I discovered he was only nine years older than me.) 1966, was not a kind year for me. I was eleven years old, home-life was often frightening and painful. It was also the year, my innocence was stolen from me.

God, I believe, began to show me that somehow the little girl in me, grasped onto the innocence and joy I saw in the face, of the very young Davy Jones. As he sang, as he goofed around, an innocence flowed through him. And I, a hurting child, grabbed hold of this innocence, and held it tight all these years. My husband, when I told him my feelings,  also added to this, by telling me that Davy was a part of my past, and now he was gone. I had lost yet another part of my already dwindling history. With his passing came a very big hole in my heart. I couldn't believe he understood. But he did.

As these realizations came to my mind that morning, tears ran down my face. I could feel the little girl in me, the 11 year old Sandy, as she cried for the one person who had, in her fragile mind, held her innocence lost. I came to realize that my grief wasn’t necessarily for the 66 year old Davy Jones, although I feel very sad for his passing. But rather, I was grieving the young, sweet, joyous, innocent, Davy, that I as a girl,  was drawn to.

My next cry to God was to ask him what should I do now? His answer. Grieve. He told me that I needed to recognize and acknowledge, all that the passing of Davy Jones meant to me - to the little girl who still lives within me. Allow her to grieve.
 Allow her to feel all the jumbled emotions that she was feeling, and know that God would be with me through it all. That was hard. Because I had to allow the feelings from the past to once again come to the forefront. Anger, anxiety, fear, loss.  But, I also knew that it was yet another step to my on-going healing from the pain. And today as I sit at my computer, even through the tears, I feel another “J” word. JOY.

So let me ask my question again. Is there someone in your life who has impacted you, possibly even if you have never met them? Could you be one of the people who may have impacted someone else? With the social network being what it is today, the likely hood is very great. If it’s possible, maybe it’s time to tell that person what they mean to you, while there’s still time. I have learned this past week, through my jumbled mass of emotions, that God is always there, to answer our questions, no matter how foolish they may seem, and to bring renewed joy to our hearts.

Davy Jones said something that really touched me in a recent interview I listened toon You-Tube. He told the interviewer that he is not the same person he was. He hasn’t remained rooted in his past, as one of the Monkees. He said that he is so much more than that, and that “he is, who he is, today.”  His words grabbed my heart, because I too know I am not the person, the hurt little girl that I once was. I have not remained rooted in the past. I am, who I am today. The person God created me to be. Thank-you God and Thank-you Davy.

I had to include a video of Davy singing. I love this song and hope you do as well.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

I - It Can't Break The Spirit

It tears a path of chaos, destruction, and death. Its face hides amongst billows of gray, like a coward, but Its roar holds no cowardice within. Its voice thunders as a locomotive, shaking the heavens, and hearts of man. Its fury knows no bounds. It circles within the billows, growing in might, awaiting the time to strike. Its deadly tail grows and churns, begging to be unleashed. Longing to strike all within Its path.


 The time has come. Its voice screams. The gray billows roil. The foul dragon’s tail is unleashed. It dips and spins, growing longer with each breath. Its howl chases the earth, Its tail - massive - lashing all within Its path. No earthly force can stand against It. Great trees are shredded as kindling. Bricks meant to stand against time, are powerless against It. It bears offspring as deadly as Itself, sending them in Its greed for lives, to search out  even more vulnerable souls who cower upon the ravaged earth, or hide within shelters of deceptive frailty.

Its life is short, and It carries within Its heart the unquenchable taste of death, and destruction. It is no respecter of man, woman, or child, or animal. It cares not as to poverty or prosperity. It has no mind for good, but thirsts for evil. It can not be controlled, nor tamed by mere mortals. It answers to no one. Its shrill, cruel laugh can be heard as Its power weakens, and the billowing clouds travel their course. As Its lashing tail begins to roll back upon Itself, ascending unwillingly, into the billowing gray mass, as the earth heaves a tentative sigh of relief, Its voice grows more distant.

Though Its life is short, Its power is great. It has done as It intended. Yet, has failed in the bigger plan. For within Its wake, lay death and destruction. What was, is no longer. Rubble, has replaced homes, grief has grasped the human heart. But, It was powerless against the spirit of man. Through the rubble, in spite of great loss, in the midst of grief, man’s spirit lives on. Man will survive, they will grow, they will love and they will live - to see It again. They will reach out to others, they will not give up, or give in. And they will continue to look to the One, who promised to be with them always. Even in the midst of It.  God  will be with them as they heal. He will never leave them or forsake them, and great miracles shall each day overshadow Its fury.

May we take time to remember all those who lost so much due to the tornadoes.