History is a subject I never relished in school. It seemed boring and inapplicable to my present-day life. How wrong I was! History helps determine who we are…as an individual, as a family, and as a nation.
So much of who we are, where we are, and what we are is because of what has happened before us in history. It gives us wisdom and identity. It gives us purpose and determination. It gives us hope and faith.
We are each part of a larger story. History affects not only our individual story, but our family’s story, our forefather’s story, and our nation’s story.
I believe we are all a part of God’s big story. He is weaving it to create a masterpiece tapestry. I am but a tiny, yet important thread. Unfortunately, sometimes it is easy to lose sight of the larger tapestry.
History helps us gain a perspective that we can otherwise lose. It extends to us a sense of the meaning of life. It gives us a key to who we are and can render a sense of belonging.
Most people, including me, probably haven’t thought much about how history affects their lives. Children today rarely remember a lot of history and often think it boring to learn.
Yet, if they don’t know the history of the Beatles, how could they possibly understand the baby boom generation? If they don’t understand the history of the Vietnam War, how could they understand the reluctance of Americans to get involved in foreign wars? If they don’t understand the Holocaust and Jewish history, how can they understand the impact of what is happening in the Middle East today?
When visiting Israel, I was envious of how very young children could recite facts of Jewish history. I’m not sure my daughter could remember many major facts within the last few hundred years that have shaped our nation into what it is today. For that matter, I’m not sure many adults could!
There may be many Americans who are not even aware our nation was founded primarily due to individuals seeking religious freedom. Much of our constitution and founding principles were based on the hunger for this freedom.
My history
I am who I am, in part, because I was born in America, into a southern culture, into a low-income household to parents who divorced during a time when divorce was frowned upon. I am who I am partly because I grew up without a father and with a mother who had many physical and mental health problems. I am who I am partly because I had grandparents and aunts and uncles who cared. I am who I am because I had a pastor, teachers, and coaches who took an interest in me and mentored me.
My personality was influenced by the many colloquialisms with which I grew up. “Whistling girls and cackling hens always come to some bad end.” “Good girls don’t drink, smoke, or dance, and don’t date boys who do.” “Dirty laundry stays in the family. We don’t discuss those things.” “God helps those who help themselves, and God honors modesty.” “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a person healthy, wealthy, and wise.” “Cracking your knuckles, burping, and passing gas are unladylike.” “You don’t talk back to adults, and you don’t curse.” “Don’t let others see you cry.” “Don’t hang around with people from divorced homes. They are a bad influence.” “Pretty is as pretty does.”
So, I didn’t whistle, drink, smoke, burp, pass gas, or crack my knuckles (except when my brother tortured me with it). I didn’t talk back to adults, curse, discuss family laundry, or cry in public. I didn’t have to worry about dating guys who did these things since I didn’t date until I left home for college.
I didn’t have to worry about who I hung around with since most people avoided me because I was from a divorced family. I did dance, however, and rarely went to bed early. I’m sure that is the major reason why I am not particularly healthy, wealthy, or wise.
I grew up in the late baby boomer age, Beatles, rock and roll, and drugs. I grew up during a time when sirens went off at various times during the week, and all the children at school were required to get under their desks to practice for a nuclear attack. (As if that would help!)
My mother worked for the Government in the area of special warfare and was very secretive. She knew about the Bay of Pigs plan and couldn’t tell us. She sent us off to school that morning with tears in her eyes, telling us, “If the warning siren goes off today, do everything the teacher says to do.”
Somehow, I associated her secretiveness with a deep distrust for the government. It probably didn’t help that my grandmother swore we never really sent a man to space. She was certain it was all just a publicity stunt with special effects.
Growing up, we ate mostly what we grew. Thus, I had never set eyes on broccoli, asparagus, cauliflower, Brussel sprouts, spinach, papaya, mango, and other “exotic” foods until I went to college.
I had never tasted alcohol, never even seen or smelled illegal drugs, and had never viewed a picture of a naked man or woman. How often does a girl go to college these days and not realize that men have pubic hair?
How different I might have turned out if I had been French, drank wine with my meals, and went to nude beaches in the summer on the Riviera! Or, what if I had grown up in South Africa and experienced Apartheid? What if I had been born on a remote island and never knew the joy of rock and roll?
Indeed, our history helps determine much of who we are and what we become. It helps us explain and comprehend our biases, our fears, and our insecurities.
The one thing I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was that I wanted my daughter’s history to be different than mine. I did not want history to repeat itself, as it often tends to do. I wanted her to know unconditional love. I wanted her to have me there when she needed me. I wanted her to grow up knowing and loving God, feeling secure in who and what she was in her environment. Little did I know that by seeking to provide those things for her, I would change and grow so very much myself.
History can certainly change the meaning of things. “911” used to mean nine hundred and eleven when I was a child. But circumstances and history changed its meaning. As a young adult “911” was a number to call when there was an emergency. And then the meaning changed once again when I was as an adult to mean nine eleven, an act of terror.
And history changed me. So it was that I evolved, and the meaning of so many things changed when viewed through the eyes of parenthood. Little did I know that providing unconditional love to my child would, in return, bless me with an incredible healing of reciprocal unconditional love.
How could I have known that sacrificing for my child would bring peace, pleasure, and fulfillment to so many dreams? How could I have known that a tiny hand placed in mine could make me feel more secure than I had ever felt in my life? Parenthood was a burst of unexpected grace!
Going Forward
As I look back on my life, I am so very grateful. I see a glimpse of the role I am playing in history. I have a purpose. I make an impact.
God wired me specifically with certain talents, abilities, and personality traits when He knit me together in my mother’s womb. And I long to fulfill my role in His plan for history.
I have discovered I can make a difference, one person at a time, beginning with me. I have learned that God is indeed in control, even when the world seems out of control.
And although there are still many times I still want to be in control, I have learned when I give in to that desire, I forfeit faith. There is great danger and risk in relinquishing faith.
As time passes, I often see past experiences take on a new meaning. What was once devastating and difficult to understand created a blessing. What was once shameful is now a strength and a tool. What was once a crushing disappointment is now clearly viewed as a protection.
And most importantly, I have learned I get to choose how I want to view history. I can choose to be a victim. I can choose to be angry. Or I can choose to be a victor. It’s all part of life’s great adventure!
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