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When is all said and done,
we are left with the words of those who have preceded us in this life, and whom
we could have never hoped to have otherwise known.
Virtually every other
method of communication, information or revelation between ourselves and
ancient, and not so ancient generations which have gone before us will,
ultimately, come to naught, and will, as it were, “fall to the earth.”
With the passage of time
photographs fade, cloth tatters, iron rusts, wood rots, bricks crumble,
keepsakes are lost or put out for the trash man.
The pyramids of Egypt,
which have seemingly withstood the test of time, but even these great
colossuses have begun to shed the outer covering which they possessed in their
formerly pristine condition, and the great blocks of which they are constructed
are broken down, and betray their age.
From a distance, Leonardo
Da’ Vinci’s “Mona Lisa” is as lovely and whimsical as ever. However, upon
closer examination, the best-known painting in history reveals minute cracking
about her eyes and lips; despite the controlled environment in which she is
stored.
Tintype family photos which
were created by the multiplied millions in the 19th century have
been lost to time, or are, at this juncture, faded or scratched beyond
recognition.
An 1860 recording of a
woman singing, “Au Clair De La Lune,” the earliest recording of the human
voice, which was originally intended as an object of study, and which could
not, at the time, be replayed, but which has, in modern times, been made
decipherable and is capable of being replayed. However, in spite of the
innovative technique which the passage of time afforded to the recording, the
voice is tremulous and difficult to understand. A contemporaneous recording of
Abraham Lincoln’s voice has been lost to time and apparent neglect.
The century plus year old
wreck of the HMS Titanic, only recently discovered, and which lies at the depth
of 12,500 feet. In spite of the extreme cold of the Atlantic waters which
surround it, the most famous ship of all time continues to deteriorate. It is
expected that in the next century, it will fall into a great pile of rust.
Pt. 2
Outside of the written
word, virtually every other method of communication, information or revelation
between ancient generations and ourselves will, ultimately, come to naught, and
will, as it were, “fall to the earth."
When it is all said and done, we are left with the words of those who have
preceded us in this life, and whom we could have never hoped to have otherwise
known.
God, Himself set the
standard, having appointed forty men who lived over the length and breadth of
several thousand years, and who left their anointed and inspired words to stand
in the place where they once stood.
The philosophers, the
poets, the authors, the actors, the chancellors, the champions, the presidents,
the preachers. Our friends and family.
Speaking of the power and
endurance of words, my father always wanted me to write a biography about his
great great Grandfather. The two or three times he suggested I “put pen to
paper,” I made him aware that everything we knew about Isham McDonald would
fill up one paragraph, and, as a result, how could I write a full- length
biography about the man? I finally told him I would write the volume, but I
would be forced to fabricate the majority of it. (Of course, he wasn’t keen on
this idea, and the book was never written).
And speaking of my father,
while he had all of an eighth-grade education, he was keenly aware of the
brevity of life, and the comparative power and expansiveness of words. As a
result, he did something I refer to as “leaving something behind.”
Beginning about ten years
before his eventual demise, he sat down in the wee hours of the morning with a
tape recorder, and began to recount the story of his childhood, and young adult
life during WWII. I suppose the final tape was dictated a year or two before
his death. And while I was aware of the presence of several of the tapes, I
discovered two or three more in a box of stuff which was about to be left by
the roadside for the trashman.
Pt. 3
After my father’s death,
one of my chief priorities was to convert his audio tapes to cassette disks,
and to, subsequently, move the soundtracks to attachable hard drives. And
speaking of the written word, I also made a decision to convert my father’s spoken
words into print.
I can tell you the
transcription of his words took time, and lots of it. I found myself listening
to the audio, pecking away at my keyboard, backing it up, and doing it all over
again. How poignant it was to listen to the voice of my recently departed father.
How thrilling it was to help him leave a written legacy.
And whereas, I felt badly
about having to inform my father that I was unable to write his ancestor’s
biography, it occurred to me that I had, in essence, managed to write his own.
The written word has the
wherewithal to outlive us, and speak to generations which literally would have
never known we existed.
A few years ago, I chanced
upon an amazing manuscript; one which I never knew existed. One of my relatives
fought under the Confederate flag during the American Civil War. Thirty years
after the war, he devoted time and effort to writing his military memoirs. The
original is housed in the Florida Archives.
Had my
great uncle not “left something behind” of the written variety, I would have
never known that Lewis Paine, one of the Lincoln Assassination conspirators,
had been one of his childhood friends. Nor would I have known a myriad of
things about his family, his life and wartime experiences.
Were it
not for the written word I would not have been privy to my 9x great uncle’s
audacious testimony in the Salem Witch Trials, nor had any knowledge or
understanding of my ancient Scottish grandfather’s involvement with the
Jacobean uprising, and his subsequent exile to America.
Were it not for the written
word I would have been unable to pass on my self-styled mentoring program to
someone who is in the same business of making a difference in lives as myself,
nor left my biography, devotionals, sermons, and countless other writings to my
unborn descendants.
There is something almost
magical about the written word for it allows us to, in essence, outlive our few
short years of joy and sorrow, and to go on informing, inspiring and impacting
those whom we could have never, otherwise, hoped or expected to impact.
by Bill McDonald, PhD
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