BRIEF. BRIEF. (a.k.a. The Only Reason Your Ancestors Ever Lived)

“It is appointed unto man once to die, and after this, the judgement.”

Ten years ago, I planned and conducted a gravemarking ceremony for my 3x great Grandfather Isham, a Scotsman who arrived in the port of Charleston, SC sometime after 1750, and who fought in the Revolutionary War.

Well, if I say so myself, it was one well-planned, well-attended ceremony. Representatives from the Sons of the American Revolution were there in colonial military uniforms. I had contracted with bagpipers for the obligatory “Amazing Grace.” I had commissioned a bugler to play “Taps.” A couple of family members laid a wretch next to old Isham’s headstone. And there were songs, poems and speeches.

I was “all decked out” in my Dress Blues uniform, as I am a U.S. Army retiree, and I was one of the two or three main speakers of the day. And as the commanding officer of the local chapter of the Sons of the American Revolution finished speaking, he introduced me with the words,

“Dr. Royce McDonald is coming now, and he will share a brief, brief biography of his ancestor, Isham McDonald, with you.”

And, as you might imagine, I thought, “brief, brief?” What in the world does that mean? I wasn’t sure if he was tired and bored and just wanted to go home, or whether his words were simply a Freudian Slip. (I tend to think it was the second of the two possibilities.

At any rate, I immediately said to myself,

“You ain’t seen ‘brief, brief’ ‘til you see my ‘brief, brief,” and I proceeded to take my sweet time, since I knew it was very likely the one and only gravemarking ceremony my dear ancestor would ever experience; (or at least the only one in his honor his descendants would ever experience).

Pt. 2

Ever since that day anytime my wife or I hear the word, “brief” we “cast a knowing eye” at one another, and can hardly contain a smile, and if one or the other of us uses that word in a sentence, our spouse will respond with the words, “brief, brief.”

I expect the elderly gentleman wearing the Revolutionary War uniform, and who originally admonished me with those words has, by now, “passed from the scene.”

However, (as I have implied) I have often thought of the phrase which he used that day, and those two words have not only invoked laughter, but a sense of somber reflection. For you see, our very lives are ever so “brief, brief.” (And perhaps it is fitting that this two word combination was uttered…in a cemetery).

Why, just yesterday I was a strapping 18 year old boy just out of high school and preparing for all that life had to offer. Now, as I write these words, I am a 70 year old man looking back over more than half a century of living life as an adult. And I can only wonder where all those years have gone; truly like “water under the bridge.”

Speaking of “water under the bridge,” my sister forwarded a photo of my dad to me recently; one which I don’t recall seeing before.

The picture depicts my dad at the age of perhaps 65 or 70; 15 to 20 years before our Lord called him home to Glory. When I asked her, Linda informed me that the photograph was snapped in Robbinsville, NC; along a river where my parents had purchased a cabin. It seems my dad was in the process of building a dock, though no structure, whatsoever, can be seen.

In the picture Daddy is wearing the most bedraggled clothes I have ever seen him wear. His jeans are replete with holes, and stains, and his upper body is clothed in a dirty t-shirt. In spite of the condition of his clothing, my father appears to be staring directly into the camera lens, wearing a smile which might easily compete with the sun, and with one hand raised in greeting, (or farewell).

Interestingly enough, as recently as I came into possession of this unique picture, it has become my all-time favorite of my dad.

And I think I like it so much because it so well characterizes the journey we know as life and death.

I think the river represents the threshold between this life and the next. That both literal and proverbial river we call Jordan.

My father’s torn and dirty clothing speaks to the trials, troubles and turmoil of life, and the manner in which it inflicts pain and suffering on all of us.

Whereas, the exuberant smile, and raised hand is all about the conclusion of such momentary symptoms, the joy which awaits the redeemed, and that one final opportunity to bid a fond “fare thee well,” but not goodbye.

Afterward

Earlier this year I saw a poignant caption beneath a photo of some early American pioneers seated at the dinner table, or plowing in a field.

“You are the only reason your ancestors ever lived.”

And since our ancestors have long since gone on to their reward, and since they now live, and move and breathe through us, and count on us to make a difference in our world, (since they no longer can) at this stage we truly are the only reason they ever lived.

Life truly is “brief, brief” and it is paramount that we make the most of it.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

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