So for my first post, I have been pondering what piece I would leave the reader with on this blog. What sort of quip, gripe, tangent, and/or tripe would I leave for any sort of visitor to happen upon and read? In all frankness, it should be me; not some pedantic piece of dribble, reminiscent of the majority. This is what I have come up with…
A drive through the country to old parts of Port Huron, to visit the sanctuary and stroll through the legacy of those who came before and now are gone from this place. Figuratively speaking, the family went to visit the resting place of my grandparents, which turned out to be trek into the history and heritage of my family. Little did I know the rich heritage that grew so deep within my bones; such thick Scottish blood that coursed its way through me. How intermingled and intertwined my family was with so many others in the town; cousins and distant relatives that were as far as the eye could see. To realize the impact that my family played in this city, how they helped build it from a small migrant farming town to an industrial city with such ties to the automobile industry, it would make you sick. Yet for all the politics and lobbying, even frustrations, pride and nationalism were found. At that moment in time, I felt closer to my heritage, my “Scottish” roots than I ever knew was possible. I’ve also clung very, close to my German heritage since it is so ever present in my personality. I love German food, cheer on Germany football, even though the loss at the World Cup this year; and enjoy trying to speak its harsh sound vowels and bittersweet consonants in its language. Yet here I am, reveling in something that I had previously overlooked. A sort of nostalgia fell on me. Pride came forth and I realized how much I cared from my roots. Not necessarily the where, though that is pretty awesome, but the “how.”
The “how” is so important. To look at a group of people, “the salt of the earth,” if you will, who came to a country with very little in their pockets, apart from the overwhelming amount of hope that lifted their spirits. Hope carried them to a city of individuals who found themselves in the very same predicament, yet these people, my family, strove for something. A desire to better their lives and the lives affected by the city. A desire to leave their children with more than they could ever have, could have afforded.
In those very moments of hope, the presence of God can be felt so strongly. Places where “man-sized” dreams will never do and when it is time for dreams to become bigger, “God-sized,” are much more desired. It is if God coaxes us step by step to make the dreams of our hearts so much bigger. If it could be done simply and by a single individual, what would be accomplished, what sort of pride and honor would be bestowed? Yet here, larger than life dreams take flight and where there was one, becomes a multitude and where it would be impossible without God. For a immigrant family from Scotland, that larger than life dream was to make an inheritance for their ancestors, me being one of them. They did what they could, so that now I can push forward in the desires of my heart, the things God has placed on my heart to accomplish.
So for that very reason, I am very nostalgic about my heritage; to which I say to those who came before me, thank you.
