The View From High Ridge

 I walked up the empty road and paused when I got to the bridge. My eyes clouded with tears that weren't mine. Suddenly my arms felt empty and I closed my eyes as I listened to the stream flowing beneath my feet. The birds sang in the trees and "It is Well" rang in the background of my thoughts as I imagined my great-grandmother travelling this road nearly 100 years ago. Did she also pause at this stream? What did she feel? Did she sob inconsolably? Or, was she numb and cold? Was she angry, like I would be? Or, was she patient like Job?

"I was content!" I spoke aloud, imagining what I would have felt if I had walked her path:

     I didn't even want to get married! I submitted to Your will and I was happy. You gave me a Godly husband; a home of our own; and then, our very own dear little firstborn son. I never asked for any of those. All I wanted to do was make music. I was content playing my violin. I finally said, "Yes!" to Your plan for my life, and now I am here, carrying my firstborn son to his resting place. -only two days old. 

I hate this place, this town!

I wondered if those were her thoughts. That's how I would feel. If she was too pious to feel hate, or anger, I would feel them for her.

My heart was heavy as I continued my journey to the cemetery on the hill. Dark storm clouds were on the horizon. As I came up over the hill the tombstones came into view. I wondered what she had thought when she came to this spot in her journey. I crossed my arms across my chest. Was she carrying him, or following?

I quickened my pace, even though part of me wanted to run the other way.

    We haven't forgotten! Three generations later, and I still remember: I remember the doctor finally arriving, just when the pain was the worst. He was drunk. I remember him sitting on her legs and telling her not to push because he wasn't ready. I remember the sweet neighbor lady who had held John Paul, after he was born. I remember her saying, "...that baby never did cry right." -the pain. -the 48 hours of crying and convulsions. -the odd peace and quiet as he breathed his last and was no longer in pain. 

Of course, I didn't really "remember". How could I? This all happened generations before my time. But, I DID remember the elderly neighbor's tender face as she told us of each babe born in the tiny house next door all those years ago, including the first one. I remembered my Grandma telling the story that her mother had told her about an older brother she never met. I remembered my mother's face as she talked about the doctor who came drunk and unprepared. A doctor she also had never met. 

I stopped walking and looked up. I had come all this way, but I didn't know where I was going. Silly me, the tombstones aren't in alphabetical order! How would I ever find him? I began to cry -just a little. I made a phone call and a kind man with a map of graves soon arrived. I apologized for my silly tears. He understood and soon led me to an empty area of grass. No stone. No marker. The dates on the nearby stones were after his death of 1926. The loneliness of laying the body of a tiny babe in this isolated spot washed over me and I wanted to sit on that grass and have a good cry, but huge rain drops began to fall from the sky urging me to leave.

The stranger offered me a ride back to my cousins' house. 

Of course he knew who they were. 

Of course he knew where they lived. 

He was kind and polite. I thanked him for the ride and ran into the house, not sure if the dampness on my cheeks was rain or tears.

"I found his grave!" I whispered to myself.

A couple days later tears welled up in my throat again as a helpful librarian handed me a death certificate.

 John Paul Dugger... 2 days old... trauma at birth...convulsions...

My heart hurt. 

I was angry at the doctor. How could he?! 

I knew more than the cold words on the death certificate admitted. Yet, it seemed so final to read those words. It was true, I realized.

"I know what you did and why the babe had convulsions!" I spoke to the other side of this piece of paper, right into the doctor's eyes, red with wine. ...right into my great-grandfather's eyes who forgave a murderer! "I know the truth!" I told those men. But, of course, they were long dead and this paper was only a copy and these emotions weren't real. My great-grandmother might have felt something completely different. 

It's just jet lag. Only me, being a silly, emotional woman. I'm sure Grandma Effie was a better woman than I. Babies often died in those days. I stuffed the paper in my bag and messaged a cousin who lived far away, "I found John Paul's death certificate." I told her. "Who was John Paul?" she replied. I told her, with fire in my eyes, determined to not let his memory be erased. I would tell everyone I could. "Yes... they had an older brother...the doctor killed him."

The next days brought other activities in other places, but the paper stayed in a pocket in my suitcase- waiting. Occasionally, I peeked to make sure it was still there. Then, the day came when I was again walking up that hill. This time with little children, 4 generations removed from the babe in the unmarked grave. I had learned, and heard, a lot in the previous week. Was that why my perspective changed?

The story I told them as we sat in the sunshine on the green grass still contained some sadness and anger, but somehow I forgot to mention the doctor. I told about a young couple who loved God and loved each other. They had said, "Yes!" to Him and His plan for their lives. Andrew gave up his career as a teacher. Effie gave up her career as a musician. The villain: Satan himself, tried to discourage them by killing their firstborn son. Guess what? That didn't stop them. They didn't get angry at God. They didn't get offended and walk away. They drew closer to God. They loved people even more! And, guess what? I wanted to shout! We are still here, four generations later, living for God! 

Suddenly, as we placed flowers on the empty spot of grass, it felt like a place of victory. My eyes lit up with joy as we spoke of that day when the trumpet of God will sound and the graves will be opened. -including this little unmarked grave. 

"Do you think your great-great uncle will still be a baby when Jesus waked him up?" I asked as they ran and played in the sunshine. I don't know if they heard me, or if they will remember. But, I do know someone who will never forget, and that is my Lord and Savior. The last enemy to be destroyed is death. That is the enemy: Death. -not the doctor, -not God.

But, someday, death will be swallowed up in victory! And, I hope, on that great day, the doctor and some of his descendants will be there too. For the enemy of our souls is also the enemy of that doctor's soul. And, the war we are in is the same one he had to fight. I hope he was victorious in Jesus. I hope alcohol and guilt and shame didn't destroy him. I hope I can meet him someday and tell him that what Satan meant for evil, God used for good.

I'm not absolutely sure what the good is, but maybe it has something to do with a dear lady who has a heart for teaching babies the Word of God. And, maybe it has something to do with why the area around that unmarked grave is empty, and this child's siblings and parents are buried in far away places, including Israel. Or, why my Great-Grandparents talked so much about that coming Great Day!

As I walked down the hill, my own son by my side, we again reached the bridge. "I was thinking" he said, breaking the stillness, "I'm kind of gonna miss this place, but it's gonna be good to be home."

"Me too." I whispered as I squeezed his hand. "This is a nice little town!" 

I wonder if Effie grew to love this little town. This is where her children were born, including my grandma. I will love this place too, I decided.

I apologized to my son for calling this place: "misery". It is where my roots are and where part of me will always belong. This little town I love.

I'll end with a phrase from a song Effie Dugger wrote about the New Jerusalem:

"The saints shall come to Zion then with singing, and everlasting joy upon their face. Our God shall come and take away all sadness. Sorrow and sighing, shall flee away."