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"The Chosen" |
We are the chosen.
In each family there is one (or more) who seems called to find the ancestors.
To put flesh on their bones and make them live again.
To tell the family story and to feel that somehow they know and approve.
Doing genealogy is not a cold gathering of facts but, instead, breathing life into all who have gone before.
We are the story tellers of the tribe. All tribes (hopefully) have at least one. We have been called, as it were, by our genes.
Those who have gone before cry out to us: Tell our story. So, we do. In finding them, we somehow find ourselves.
"If you could see your ancestors
All standing in a row,
There might be some of them, perhaps,
You wouldn't want to know.
But, here's another question, which
Requires another view,
If you could meet your ancestors,
Would they be proud of you?"
Strangers in the Box
By Pamela A. Harazim
Come, look with me inside this drawer,
In this box I've often seen,
At the pictures, black and white,
Faces proud, still, serene.
I wish I knew the people,
These strangers in the box,
Their names and all their memories
Are lost among my socks.
I wonder what their lives were like.
How did they spend their days?
What about their special times?
I'll never know their ways.
If only someone had taken time
To tell who, what, where, when,
These faces of my heritage
Would come to life again.
Could this become the fate
Of the pictures we take today?
The faces and the memories
Someday to be tossed away?
Make time to save your pictures,
Seize the opportunity when it knocks,
Or someday you and yours could be
The strangers in the box.
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