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Saturday, April 11, 2009

Dare to Believe!

First of three articles by Patricia Thibodeau.

Fort Delaware; 3 December, 1864
Andrew was almost asleep when he heard a voice from the next bunk say "Jackson, what you aiming to do when you get paroled?" Andy raised his head and looked into the gloom. The boy who spoke was tall, and no doubt hearts broke quite regular over him at home, but the months in prison had made him gaunt, gray face bones sticking out in a permanently grim grin that did not extend to his eyes. Andrew shook his head, mentally correcting himself. No, not a boy. He was seventeen and had fought like a man. But at almost twenty-six, Andy felt a hundred years older than the youngster.
"Now, Jim, I told you over and over what I will do!" Andy wasn’t put out, just wanted to tease him a mite. God knew they had little enough to laugh about in that place, and took humor wherever they could find it.
Jim pulled himself up on his elbows a little, looked the other man up one side and down the other, and said, “Not like you had some place to go real quick, now is it? Talk to me, Jackson. It makes me forget where we are when you talk. Tell me again. Please."
Andy smiled at the boy. "Well, you know those mountains way over there, west of here?" Jim nodded his head a little, and now his eyes did smile. "Well, when I get out of here I will walk south 'til those mountains end. When I see Pulpit Rock, I will know I am home."
Jim sighed a little, lay down, and was quiet. Andy lay back on his own bunk, then, hoping to soon be lost in his own dreams. But he didn’t forget the conversation. Next day, when he had time, he took his pencil and added to the steadily growing stack of paper that contained his thoughts.
‘That is all we have to do in this place, remember and forget and dream. We do more dreaming than either of the other two. Our daytime dreams are, I suppose, a little easier to handle because of the daylight.
But when the dreams come at night, screams rip through the darkness, repeated a few minutes later from another raw throat, remembered hell using up the energy of men who can ill afford the loss.
We are, most of us, in bad physical condition. We need more than one good meal to put us back in order, but we survive on what we have each day.
That is the word. Survive. Most of us were hardy stock to begin with. We came from the mountains of Tennessee, the foothills of Alabama, the backwoods of Arkansas, and occasionally the muddy streets of cities. Most of us had worked hard all our lives.
Deprivation was nothing new to us, for none of us were wealthy. If we had been wealthy we would not have been here - we would either be at home with a substitute in our place or dead because we would have been well off enough to be an officer.
All us boys knew how to forage during the winter, and plant during the spring, and harvest the fruits of our labors. We could build houses and shoot squirrels and ride horses and love our families and pray to our God, but we cannot leave the hell we wake to each day.
Now our only harvest is when we collect the dead each morning and take them outside. They say the officer’s prison is even worse than ours. How that could be is hard to imagine. Best not to try.”

And so it was with great granddaddy. Even with the horrors of being a prisoner of war, he had a dream for a future; one that did not include death. A year after that conversation, when they turned him loose at the end of the war, he went out the gate with a glad heart and turned south. It was not an easy journey home, as you can imagine. Afraid to travel at night, because of unseen dangers on the road, and afraid to travel in the daylight, because all he had to wear was his uniform and some folks in the north were still smarting over the war, he walked early morning and late evening. What would take us, today, about 14 hours by car, took him three months by foot.

But the point is, he took that first step. He could have stood there at the gate, doubting his ability to walk; he could have sat down just over the hill, not believing that anyone wanted him to come home; he could have gone to the nearest town and become a stolen whiskey drunk. But he did none of those. He had made it through four years of war, two stays in prison (eight days shy of ten months the second time), and was determined to see the fields of home before he died. Eight hundred miles later, he arrived, unheralded. There were no marching bands, no crowds of people waving flags, only one old cow grazing in the meadow to greet him. But to him, that didn’t matter. His dream of seeing Pulpit Rock was realized. He married, fathered eleven children that lived, ran a successful business, taught school, wrote letters to the editor and was published several times in The Daily Hot Blast (forerunner to The Anniston Star), was a respected member of the community, and at 63, from his own bed and surrounded by the people he loved, said, “I just wanted you all to see how a man of God goes, and is not afraid, to meet his maker.” With his last breath, he tried to voice his favorite hymn. "Oh, sing to me of Heaven. When I am called to die, sing songs of Holy Ecstasy to waft my soul on high. When cold and sluggish drops roll off my marble brow, burst forth in strains of joyfulness, let Heaven begin below." And then he squeezed Merilza’s hand, smiled at his children, and left this world.

We can be like Andy. Despite trials and tribulations, despite prison walls either real or imagined, despite the lemons, we can live life to its fullest. But first we have to have a dream. Immediately after a layoff, or a divorce, or a death, going forward is the last thing we want to think about. Getting through one day at a time, five minutes at a time, is paramount. And the longer it takes, the worse it gets. Doubt and unbelief stand between us and total victory. But what God challenges us to do, we can do. If we want to. If we believe we can. If we will just take that first step.

You see, we have a promise, that we are armed with “incomparably great power for us who believe.” (Ep 1:19) I challenge you today to shake off the double conditions of life. Forget the if onlys. Take the word “fail” out of your vocabulary. We are the children of a great and awesome Father, who wants only the best in life for us. Do not forget the sorrows of the past, but learn from them, have hope for tomorrow, and resolve that the future will be better, brighter, more wonderful than even your wildest dreams. “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Rom. 15:13)

Blessings and hugs,
Patricia Thibodeau

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