In Search of ...
A certain gentleman was approaching retirement from the work that he loved doing for more than twenty-seven years. He was pondering what would occupy his time during retirement. There were hobbies, sports, and all kinds of recreational things on his list.
One day he heard a story about one of his ancestors which left him intrigued of how such a story was left untold. The story was about one of his paternal great grandfather. Soon after hearing the story there was a meeting with relatives and he pursued the story and asked if anyone else had heard about it. And to his surprise there were some who had heard. So, he requested if there was any other information about that great grandfather. And there was but not enough to satisfy his curiosity. He felt challenged to research for information about this great grandfather. And started a genealogical search.
He searched high and low for this great grandfather. The main obstacle was the fact that he had died, and all his children and grandchildren had also died. During all his search he did find the grave site of great grandfather. All that was available document wise where death, marriage records of him and his wife, church baptismal records of his children. There was even an historical account of his tenure as mayor of the town where he lived. But there was no trace of his birth record giving credence to the story that he was born onboard a ship traveling from the Canary Islands to Puerto Rico, and that upon arrival they changed their surname because they were fleeing persecution. This story took place in the middle of the 19th century while Puerto Rico was a Spanish Colony.
Upon hearing the anecdote it reminded me of an anecdote of my own. One day my son wanted to know about Papillo (nickname), my maternal grandfather, since I spoke often of him. So, I took my son to the grave site of Papillo and Mamilla. We arrived at the cemetery and for the life of me I could not remember where in the cemetery was the grave site. After a long time, sweaty and frustrated I said sorry son I don’t remember where the grave is. My son looked up to me and said, “Papi it is ok, because they are not here, they are in heaven”. Truth from the mouth of babes.
Forgiven
Not far from New York, in a cemetery lone,
Close guarding its grave, stands a simple headstone,
And all the inscription is one word alone—
Forgiven.
No sculptor’s fine art hath embellish’d its form,
But constantly there, through the calm and the storm,
It beareth this word from a poor fallen worm—
Forgiven.
It shows not the date of the silent one’s birth,
Reveals not his frailties, nor lies of his worth,
But speaks out the tale from his few feet of earth—
Forgiven.
The death is unmention’d, the name is untold,
Beneath lies the body, corrupted and cold,
Above rests his spirit, at home in the fold—
Forgiven.
This stranger shall rise and a glorious end,
Well-known and befriended to sing without end—
Forgiven.
Act 1:9-11 And when he had spoken these things, while they beheld, he was taken up; and a cloud received him out of their sight. And while they looked stedfastly toward heaven as he went up, behold, two men stood by them in white apparel; which also said, Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven.
Do you know Jesus as your Redeemer?
See posting titled The Bridge Gospel Illustration by Save Sterrett
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