"The Charter of Our Liberties"

The Declaration of Independence, that proclamation for the ages, that Abraham Lincoln called “the charter of our liberties,” is a document whose meaning, and function today are different from what they were in 1776. In fact, in the years following the end of the Revolutionary War, the Declaration of Independence was almost dismissed from the thoughts of early Americans, as if the document had accomplished its one and only purpose. 

But that all changed following the War of 1812. The Declaration of Independence took upon new meaning in a nation that had just been rudely reminded of the fragility of its republic. A new generation of Americans had come of age and they made preservation of the nation’s revolutionary history their mission. Those efforts, and their reverential attitude toward the revolutionaries and their works, helped establish the Declaration of Independence as an important icon of American identity.

Lee and Longstreet at Gettysburg

Growing up in the South in the 60's, the "Lost Cause" theory was generally treated as fact. To embrace the Southern mythology was to perceive the romantic and discard the reality. Though that is clearer now, back in my childhood, and seeing that General Robert E. Lee and I shared the same last name, my pride and affection rested in the shadow of my hero. Also, a major component of the "LC" theory was that if the Confederates had possessed anywhere near the resources and manpower of the Union, the war would have been over by 1863. The belief being that the South had superior military commanders, better soldiers, who fought with  passion and valor, (in great part because they were fighting on their home soil), and the majority of their citizens were embedded with the fire of the righteous. That is still up for debate. But what is not up for debate is the fact that the South could have won the war in 1863, if not for the horrific mistakes by Southern commanders at Gettysburg.  

Jeremiah 29 - The Promise

I have had a recurring dream throughout my life, I am grasping a rope that seems to have no beginning or end, it is totally dark, and slowly my fingers  start to lose their grip. I drop my backpack, and even wiggle off my shoes in the hope of jettisoning some of my weight, but to no avail. I'm eventually left clinging to the rope with just one hand, and then just three fingers, desperately trying to maintain my position and prevent my fall. The dream always mercifully ends before my grip gives way . . .

Over the years I've come to believe that in my dream my grip on that rope represents my belief about the character of God. And while there are a lot of things that I can jettison while still holding onto the rope, I cannot let go of the only thing that stands between me and death, my belief in the goodness of God. 

When so many of us find ourselves in that position, navigating waters that are getting deeper and deeper, who (or what) do we turn to? Or away from? (John 6:68)

Baseball Will Break Your Heart

It has been my experience that the game of baseball will break your heart. 

This heartbreak starts young with some baseball fans. The game of baseball was incorporated into their DNA when they were exposed to the game on television, or maybe by playing stickball in the street, or perhaps it happened when they gathered together with other neighborhood kids on a dusty piece of land that would yield memories for a lifetime. The point being that when you embrace something magical early in your life, you can count on a life of ebb and flow as you grapple with your passion. 

There is another path into the game of baseball, of course, and that is through our Fathers. If you were lucky, your dad taught you not only the basic skills of the game but the nuance details that separate the observer from the participant. He decoded the unwritten rules of the game and if you were really fortunate, passed on his love of the game till it also became your game, and the two became one. At that point, his favorite players became your favorite players and the eternity of the game took one giant step. I mean, is there a greater memory than having your dad lead you by the hand through a concrete labyrinth until suddenly, you glimpse a view of paradise, and perfection became personified in your mind? 

Whatever and whoever your dad loved with regard to baseball, chances are you too have been infused with that same passion, carrying with you the unquestioning, unblinking, dedication of a true believer. You have been indoctrinated into a mystical fellowship, with a passion that will not give you up, but mark my words, baseball will break your heart. 

There was a time, I’m ashamed to admit, when the love of baseball fled from my heart. 

I was never very good at playing the game myself, but it wasn’t for a lack of effort. Perfecting my skills in the heat and dust of summer was a ritual for me as a child and above all I yearned for the game to embrace me the way that I embraced her. Alas, it was not meant to be. 

So I gave her up.