dam and I had a blast in Washington DC. I was woried to leave Damon and Ashton for a whole week and even more worried for my parents who would have to chase the kids around; but mom and dad assured us they'd be fine and we took off with hopes that we'd have a good time...and we did!
I've always wanted to visit amish country. I am completely intrigued by the simple life. Part of me even desires their kind of simplicity in my own life. So, Dustin lent us his car for the day and we drove up to Lancaster County and then over to Gettysburg. I was all smiles that morning. Of course it was more me that wanted to go to Lancaster than Adam, but he was a good sport about it, letting me do whatever I wanted and stopping where and whenever I had a whim to do so. I kept thanking him all day for taking me to see the Amish. I know, I know, I'm refering to them as if they were a tourist attraction (and they kind of are--just not of their choosing); yet, I do it with the greatest respect.
I was simply amazed at how beautifully manacured their homes, gardens, and yards are. I loved seeing the children and adolescents walking down the street barefoot and having foot races without shoes (and may I include that the girls were winning the boys in their race in the school yard). It did my heart good to see them working as families in the gardens together, young and old alike, as well as see them riding together in their little buggies and pony-drawn carts--young girls holding tightly to the little ones' hands and small boys sitting straight up holding the ranes as if to prove they were well on their way to manhood. It made me happy to see such wonderful things, and it also made me feel a tinge of sadness. Part of me felt as if I'd lost something, as if we'd lost something. How often do we stop to appreciate the bounties of the land, or walk down the street clasping eachothers' hands? We live in such a fast paced world that's full of modern distractions such as the tellevision, ipod, or computer that we forget to take time to build relationships and feel the satisfaction of working with the land. It is really sad, and such a tragic loss. These good people who have become the objects of thousands of people's facination, people who go about their lives despite the interuptions touristy people like me put in their way, are able to remain focused in their faith, their traditions, and withstand the weathering hand society places upon them.
They are the ultimate example of "living in the world, but not of the world." I'm afraid we've follen somewhat short of that mark. I'm referring to me, my family, Utahns, the LDS people. We've listened so calmly to the people of the world that we've let them soften our convictions, interest us in unimportant persuits, and make us feel the need for things with no eternal consequences. By listening to people's "feelings" we've opened ourselves up to confuse the differences between loving the sinner and hating the sin.
However, I do recognize the advantages we've received from our willingness to comunicate with those outside our own societal structure. Compassion is our greatest asset. While the Amish are known for shunning their loved one in an attempt to protect their way of life (I don't claim to know the details about the shunning process), we believe in the principles found in the prodigal son--welcoming back those who have strayed with open arms, not judging them for their past mistakes, giving all of us a chance to change and become better. By knowing what happens in the world, we are better able to serve, to participate in humanitarian efforts accross the globe and to welcomes those who are searching for the truth. Yes, we too are striving to be in the world but not of the world. Perhaps our route is the harder route, the one with more heartache since we see more of the world's failings, but the better route none-the-less. It is one paved with freedom of choice, where we can be inspired more for love of our Savior than having an ultimatum hanging over our heads.
I realize as I write this that I am where I want to be and I'm grateful to be a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the one true church. But, I am also greatful for the example I witnessed in Lancaster county and because saw how they live their lives, I renew my conviction to live my life better, to more fully enjoy the simple pleasures in life and to strive to simplify all the many distractions my family and I have to deal with on a daily basis. God Bless those good people, for they are an example to us all.
Gettysburg was a more somber experience. I kept looking over cemetery hill, trying to comprehend the full extent of the tragedy that took place on the soil I was standing on. From the Battle of Gettysburg, over 7,000 men died and the surrounding homes, churches, and barns were filled with approximately 30,000 wounded. I envisioned the women who had stayed behind, working in their homes over bloodied men they didn't know. Many, I was sure, had men of their own who had fought--all the while taking care of strangers hoping someone was doing the same for their loved one. A poem was posted around the perimeter, near the place which Abraham gave his famous Gettysburg address:
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate—we cannot consecrate—we cannot hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom— and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
A plaque said President Lincoln delivered the address after a minister by the name of Edward Everett gave a two-hour oration. The speach took a total of two or two-and-a-half minutes for the President to recite. At its completion, there was total silence. The entire audience was held in stunned awe at his words. Lincoln mistook the silence as an indication that they were disappointed. Little did he know that the Gettysburg Address (as it is now known) would find its place in history as one of the greatest speaches ever given in the history of our great nation.
This poem has been quoted at our nations greatest
cemeteryies. I feel it appropriate to quote it now.
THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD
by Theodore O'Hara
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo;
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory guards, with solemn round,
The bivouac of the dead.
No rumor of the foe's advance
Now swells upon the wind;
No troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind;
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dream alarms;
No braying horn, nor screaming fife,
At dawn shall call to arms.
Their shivered swords are red with rust,
Their plumèd heads are bowed;
Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,
Is now their martial shroud.
And plenteous funeral tears have washed
The red stains from each brow,
And the proud forms, by battle gashed,
Are free from anguish now.
The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout are past;
Nor war's wild note nor glory's peal
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that never more may feel
The rapture of the fight.
Like the fierce northern hurricane
That sweeps his great plateau,
Flushed with the triumph yet to gain,
Came down the serried foe.
Who heard the thunder of the fray
Break o'er the field beneath,
Knew well the watchword of that day
Was "Victory or death."
Long had the doubtful conflict raged
O'er all that stricken plain,
For never fiercer fight had waged
The vengeful blood of Spain;
And still the storm of battle blew,
Still swelled the gory tide;
Not long, our stout old chieftain knew,
Such odds his strength could bide.
'T was in that hour his stern command
Called to a martyr's grave
The flower of his beloved land,
The nation's flag to save.
By rivers of their father's gore
His first-born laurels grew,
And well he deemed the sons would pour
Their lives for glory too.
Full many a norther's breath has swept
O'er Angostura's plain
And long the pitying sky has wept
Above the mouldering slain.
The raven's scream, or eagle's flight,
Or shepherd's pensive lay,
Alone awakes each sullen height
That frowned o'er that dread fray.
Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground,
Ye must not slumber there,
Where stranger steps and tongues resound
Along the heedless air;
Your own proud land's heroic soil
Shall be your fitter grave;
She claims from war his richest spoil
The ashes of her brave.
So, 'neath their parent turf they rest,
Far from the gory field,
Borne to a Spartan mother's breast,
On many a bloody shield;
The sunshine of their native sky
Smiles sadly on them here,
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by
The heroes' sepulchre.
Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead,
Dear as the blood ye gave;
No impious footstep here shall tread
The herbage of your grave;
Nor shall your glory be forgot
While Fame her record keeps,
Or Honor points the hallowed spot
Where Valor proudly sleeps.
Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone,
In deathless song shall tell,
When many a vanished age hath flown
The story how ye fell;
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight,
Nor Time's remorseless doom,
Shall dim one ray of glory's light
That gilds your deathless tomb.
Despite the fact that O'Hara fought for the South during the Civil War, his words have become a type of eulogy for those who have paid the ultimate price to preserve the freedoms America stands for.
This is an old barn much like the ones turned into hospitals. In fact, it mi
ght even be one of the barns that was converted into a makeshift hospital after the battle.
These are a few pictures from the monument.
