Showing posts with label genealogy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label genealogy. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Tuesday Tidbit: Are you a memoirist, a genealogist, or a scrapbooker?

Here’s your Tuesday Tidbit,
your 15 seconds of inspiration:

Are you a genealogist, memoirist, or scrapbooker? Or all three?

“Memoir writers, genealogists, scrapbookers,” writes Matilda Butler. “Most people interested in recording their family consider themselves as one of the three. But only one.”

If that’s you—if you think you’re involved in only one of those three—stretch your thinking. Get beyond that “only one” perspective because these three interests have lots of overlap.

Utilize all three to maximize the richness and impact of your finished works. You’ll really enjoy doing so, and your readers will thank you.






Thursday, January 9, 2014

Our dysfunctional families

Does your family tree include a few messed up people?

You probably answered “yes,” and that’s OKReally. Take heart: Jesus’ human genealogy included some messed up people, too. 

In a recent Sunday sermon, son-on-law Brian pointed out that Jesus’ family tree included a liar, a schemer, an adulterer, a murderer, a drunkard, a prostitute.…

We all have blemished families, in varying degrees.

But here's the good news: God used Jesus’ less-than-perfect human family and God can use yours and mine, too.

How can that be? It doesn’t seem possible that God could use defective, broken, scarred families and their stories.

How could God use OUR stories

“It’s purely because of grace,” said Brian.

God doesn’t make us submit an application listing our qualifications. “It’s not about qualifications,” he said. “We base our lives on God’s promises of faithfulness and grace.”

What would we be without God’s forgiveness and lavish grace?

I want to fall on my face in tears when I think what I’d be without God’s merciful grace.

Our lives matter
because
of God’s grace and forgiveness
and healing and faithfulness. 
Our lives matter
because
God reaches out to us
in our disasters and calamities
and gives us second chances:
He heals us spiritually,
mentally, emotionally,
physically, relationally.

That’s how we can go on with our lives. And that’s why we can, and should, tell what He has done in our families and daily activities.

In fact, we need to tell our stories. Jesus said, “Go back and tell your family all God has done for you” (Mark 5:19; Luke 8:39).

God uses stories. They are among His most powerful tools.

You are part of a story
much bigger than yourself.

Your story is important.
It’s part of God’s story,
and God’s story is part of your story.

Connect your story with God’s story—
not as a hobby, but as a ministry to your family.

Write your stories. Yes, acknowledge the problems, but instead of dwelling on wreckage and malfunctions, tell what God has done to turn lives around. 

Other dysfunctional people—that’s all of us—need to know how God helped you. Tell us your stories: We want to know how God can bring help and healing and hope into our own lives and families.

Related posts:  
Say it”  





Saturday, January 21, 2012

Lessons for you from Michele Norris’s “The Grace of Silence”


Whether you know it—or like it—your family and its history played a role in making you who you are today.


Even family secrets—secrets you could hardly imagine—shaped you into the person you are today.  


Imagine Michele Norris’s shock when she set out to write a book about racism in America and, in the process, stumbled upon layers of family secrets that, in their keeping, had a profound influence on her childhood, the person she became and, now, on the way she’s raising her children.  


Nationally recognized Norris, co-host of NPR’s All Things Considered, spoke this week at our university at a dinner honoring Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s life and legacy.


She spoke of learning from her uncle, in 2008—years after her father’s death—that police officers shot her father during the tumultuous years leading up to the Civil Rights Act. Her father had never told her.


After her uncle’s surprising disclosure, other relatives told more stories from that era, stories Norris had never heard.


That inspired Norris to research roles her family played, as a “non-confrontational family,” in America’s painful race-related issues. That investigation led to what she calls her “accidental family memoir,” The Grace of Silence.


She learned that the shooting occurred when her father, Belvin Norris, had just returned to Birmingham, Alabama, from World War II.


“He’d served in the Navy and he returned to a city full of black veterans who had fought for democracy overseas and were eager to get a taste of it on their home turf. What they faced, instead, was a wall of white resistance.… They still faced old rules about segregation and carefully defined roles.”


In that era, too many blacks were beaten, murdered, and denied voting rights.


Norris’s research revealed that only six days before her father’s shooting, another black veteran, Isaac Woodard, still in uniform, was beaten and blinded by Batesburg, S.C., police.


“The story, subsequent trial, and swift acquittal of the officers caused a national sensation,” writes Norris in an NPR article.”*


“The Woodard case had a direct impact on President Harry Truman’s decision to integrate the military.”


The events of that period led Belvin Norris to turn his back on his past, move north, raise his children in a white neighborhood, and keep earlier racial incidents a secret—even from his wife.


“Why would he hide it from his children?” asks Michele.


And why did her many relatives, all of whom knew the stories, keep them secret?


The questions haunted her.


“I’m pretty sure … that I would have ordered my steps in life differently had I known this,” Michele says in a radio interview.* “I might have been a different adult. I certainly would have been a different child.”


Over time, she came to understand that her father kept the secret “not with anger, but with hope.”


Her parents “wanted their children to soar, so they chose not to weigh down their pockets with personal tales of woe.”  


“Our parents tell us what they think we need to know,” she continues, “and my father didn’t think I needed to know that. He wanted to make sure that my path forward was uncluttered by his pain, so he chose not to tell me about this. And that explains the title of the book … The Grace of Silence. That is an incredibly graceful act.”*


Do you know your parents’ stories? Your grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ stories? Probably some of your ancestors, like Michele’s, made hard decisions and sacrifices to ensure that their pasts didn’t hold you back.


Their stories, their choices, their secrets, have profoundly shaped who you are today.


Michele concludes with something for all of us—especially memoirists—to think about:


“History is made in all kinds of little ways, a hiring decision, a school bus ride.… I bet that some of the elders who sit at your family table might be sitting on stories of their own.


“Those stories, those individual stories are so easily lost if we are not willing to … listen to those who might be willing to share their legacy if only someone is willing to take the time to ask.” *



*Resources and links:

NPR article, “Michele Norris’ Search for Her Family’s Hidden Past,” http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=129995444


NPR article, “Michele Norris on Race, and ‘The Grace of Silence,’ http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=129933195&ps=rs


NPR radio interview, “Michele Norris on Race, and ‘The Grace of Silence,’


NPR radio interview, “Michele Norris’ Search for Her Family’s Hidden Past,”
    


God used your family’s influence, culture, and DNA to mold you into the person you are today,


Your family and D-Day,


“All the folks who came ahead of us are like the brown roots of a big old vine….” http://spiritualmemoirs101.blogspot.com/2011/06/roots-of-big-old-vine-growing-close-to.html

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

“Roots of a big old vine growing close to the porch”




...All the folks who came ahead of us

are like the brown roots of a big old vine

growing close to the porch,

and even though those roots are way down

deep in the ground where we can’t see them,

they’re still there.



Always.



And we grow from them, our whole lives,

and then, if we’re lucky, others grow from us.


from Resting in the Bosom of the Lamb,
by Augusta Trobaugh