The Past Matters

Every winter, I employ some form of creative avoidance to recharge my battery. Binge-watching some new-to-me TV series is always on the list. But this year, I got a little inquisitive and decided to do some genetic and family research.

I decided to be an over-achiever and order not just a 23andme spit test, but also one from ancestry.com. My friends on Facebook already know that I have a much higher percentage of Neanderthal blood than the average test taker.

But here’s some other intriguing things I found.

My Grandpa Mark Scherler’s mother, Lena May (Rubottom) Scherler was quite a soul. She died before I was born, but I hear she was quite a standard bearer when it came to pie baking, child raising, poetry writing and hospitality. She’s worthy of much more commentary, and I will say more about her another time. But, it’s through her that my great, great, great, great grandmother had a second cousin who was a famous, rich guy. His name was John D. Rockefeller. You may have heard of him. I would probably be living off a trust fund had I been a direct descendent of his, but I am not.

On a different note, I had a great, great, great grandpa named Enoch Morgan Lyness. You’ve probably never heard of him. I am related to him through my Grandma Mary Elizabeth (Hall) Scherler who was a God-fearing housewife who loved music and people, and her mother Bernice Drucella (Weddle) Hall Reeves who was a colorful character in her own right. Enoch was studying to become a Methodist minister when he volunteered to serve in the Union army during the Civil War.

There’s not an awful lot of commentary out there regarding my relatives, but there’s this jewel written about Grandpa Enoch.

“Furthermore, that I knew said Enoch Lyness while in the army, and that during the last year of the War he was afflicted with constipation, then chronic diarrhea, piles, rheumatism; and that I have lived near him from 1865 to 1890 (except from 1872 to 1878). And upon an average, I should say that at least one half of this time, he was unable to do a man’s work, mostly on account of his lame back and diarrhea, and that he has used electric battery, belts, pads, plasters, etc. without seeming to be benefited by their use.”

So, there you have it. On one hand, one of the richest men the world has over known. On the other: one who was known to suffer from hemorrhoids. Documented for posterity by a neighbor.

Earlier this year I started a blog post about the same medical topic, but figured that might just be too tricky of a topic to handle properly. Little did I know, there was a family precedent! My sister-in-law figures ol’ Enoch probably was celiac and his digestive system just could not handle gluten.

Enoch’s wife was Malinda Elizabeth Kuhn. Her grandmother came to America as an indentured servant to work at a vineyard in South Carolina.

My mom’s side of the family is German, and ventured to Russia. They established prosperous farms and made lives for themselves. Until it became evident that they had no future there, and hopped on some boats and made their way here.

It seems that most all of my family were free when they stepped foot on North American soil, except for that brief indentured servanthood. They were free to roam wherever they wanted, and to try to make a living. It was not easy, and many sacrifices were made. But, they were free.

Obviously, not every family came to our country of their own free will. Some were forced here, and required to work hard labor, and have their families divided up to the highest bidder. They were told who they would have children with. They were wronged. They were beaten and abused. They were treated as less than.

Others were here long before us. And their land was encroached upon, and conquered. Some were killed. Others were forced onto a small, designated piece of land to learn a new way of life.

Our American history is not perfect. Our founding fathers took some liberties that were not full of liberty. They did a lot of things right, but they did some major things wrong.

As we read and watch the news of what is happening in our cities across America, we are struggling to make sense of it all. And who knows where to even start.

But, last night, I decided I could start to pray. For my friends and family who have darker skin than me. I can start asking questions. I can learn. I can ask how I can help make our country a better, and more just place for everyone who lives here. We cannot change the past, but we can learn from it. We can look with fresh eyes at what we can and should do better. We can change our perspective, and admit when we, or the systems we have allowed to continue, have contributed to the problem.

We can give value to each and every fellow countryman. The same value we give to ourselves, and our children. We can have difficult, uncomfortable conversations. We can wade into the mess. We can admit when and where we have been wrong. We can ask for forgiveness.

We can make a new way. Together, we can call out racial inequity in our families, our communities, our country. It is up to us. To change. To adapt. To see truth, to recognize it, and affirm it. When things need changed, we can gather up the courage to make it happen. And we ask God to help us. And to show us the way.