ISLE OF HOPE. ISLE OF TEARS

 4276

Pt. 1

My wife and I just completed the most glorious vacation of our entire lives. 

We have traveled the highways and byways of Ireland, Northern Ireland and Scotland. We have gazed in wonder at the snow-capped mountains, we have marveled at the singular color of the lush grassy pastures; upon which sheep and cattle feed, we have listened to the mournful sound of the bagpipes, and watched Scottish and Irish dancers strut their stuff, we have sampled foods which baffle the taste buds, we have interacted with the loveliest people to grace the planet, we have walked the quaint lanes and admired the most colorful and interesting of flora and fauna.

Dublin and its massive cathedrals and ancient pubs. The stone ruins of a monastic village. Forty shades of green. 19th century remnants of the “Famine Houses.” Sea gulls and ocean waves. A Depression-era farm house. Dingle Bay. Massive castles. The Massacre of the MacDonald Clan. The English Occupation of Ireland, and the cruelty they exercised. The Potato Famine. The “Trouble” of Northern Ireland. Sharing “Danny Boy” and “Amazing Grace” with our amazing group of fellow travelers. The Titanic Museum. Drunken and aimless young adults. Street Beggars. Waterford Crystal. A mythical, but very real island. Greyfriar’s Bobby. Sheep shearing. Edinburgh’s pipers. Family roots.

One of the most poignant, and almost magical moments which I experienced during our trip to the Old Country occurred at a dinner theater in Dublin referred to as “Taylor’s Three Rock.” During the course of the evening my daughter and I were afforded some wonderful food, singing, dancing and comedy. However, as I have previously implied, one moment stood out from all the rest.

Pt. 2

Almost without warning, a video appeared on the overhead screen which featured numerous ancient photographs of 19th century men, women and children, immigrants all, ships, mountains, rivers, ocean waves, the Statue of Liberty, and Ellis Island, the proverbial (and literal) gateway to the golden door which was and continues to be America. 

But “what got me,” what really grabbed me and would not let me go, what struck a spine-tingling cord within me, and inspired my innate sensibilities was the music which accompanied the video.

Isle of Hope. Isle of Tears

On the first day of January 1892

They opened Ellis Island and they let the people through

And the first to cross the threshold of that isle of hope and tears

Was Annie Moore from Ireland who was all of 15 years

Isle of hope, isle of tears

Isle of freedom, isle of fears

But it’s not the isle you left behind

That isle of hunger, isle of pain

Isle you’ll never see again

But the isle of home is always on your mind

I’d never heard the song before, but I can so identify with it. While most or all of my immediate ancestors immigrated to the United States in the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries, before there was an Ellis Island, they came nonetheless; in most cases, leaving all they ever knew and held so dear. Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, friends, homes and land. And in most cases, those who boarded those old triple-masted ships were left with mental images of what was, and would never be again, and they never returned to the lands from whence they sprang.

As the video and its accompanying melody continued, tears sprang to my eyes, and, subsequently, rolled down my cheeks.

In a little bag, she carried all her past and history

And her dreams for the future in the land of liberty

And courage is the passport when your old world disappears

But there’s no future in the past when you’re 15 years

Isle of hope, isle of tears

Isle of freedom, isle of fears

But it’s not the isle you left behind

That isle of hunger, isle of pain

Isle you’ll never see again

But the isle of home is always on your mind

Pt. 3

I, as was my father before me, am an amateur genealogist, and I love and care deeply for those who have gone on before; though all they left to us were a few sundry bits of information, and fading celluloid photographs. There was a time when they lived, and moved and breathed and loved. They were here, and we were not. And we owe them our very existence, and our own ability to live and breathe and move, as they did before us. And having dared fate, braved the elements, and stared down fear, every man, woman and child among them grasped their providential destinies, and endured ‘til the end.

My 3x great Grandfather Isham McDonald, born in Ireland of Scottish parents, who left it all behind, including his dear papa and mama, “set up shop” in South Carolina, and served in the fledgling Continental Army throughout the American Revolution.

My 3x great Grandmother Mary Elizabeth Stewart, born on the Isle of Skye, Scotland in the 17th century, who as a young lass dared journey to a place she knew little or nothing about, and which lay across four thousand miles of turbulent ocean. Never to return to the island of her birth, nor to friends and family whom she held so dear. And on those rough-hewn wooden docks, she left a hundred kisses on their cheeks.

My 9x great Grandfather Daniel Mackhoe, of Edinburgh, a Jacobite; one of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s men. Old Dan fought at the Battle of Dunbar, and having been taken prisoner by the British was led on a forced march to a distant stockade; during which time thousands of his compatriots died. Ultimately, my ancient Grandfather was involuntary consigned to the ship, “John and Sara” and adopted, and was adopted by the most bless-ed country which ever graced this planet.

When they closed down Ellis Island in 1943

17 million people had come there for sanctuary

And in springtime when I came here and I stepped onto its piers

I thought of how it must have been when you’re 15 years

Isle of hope, isle of tears

Isle of freedom, isle of fears

But it’s not the isle you left behind

That isle of hunger, isle of pain

Isle you’ll never see again

But the isle of home is always on your mind

But the isle of home is always on your mind

Pt. 4

I brought up the “Celtic Woman” version of, “Isle of Hope. Isle of Tears” today, and without notice tears sprang to my eyes, and I could not contain the sobs which rose in my throat! My wife was standing nearby and uttered an “ahhhh,” and bent down to hug me. And before she was close enough to extend her sympathetic arms, my little pooch drew near, and gazed at me like she’d lost her dearest friend. She just knew I was experiencing one of the most singular moments of my life.

While we were in Ireland, and Northern Ireland and Scotland my mind was taken up with my known and unknown grandfathers and grandmothers, as it never was before.

I left a tribute to each of them in the form of a simple note on the face of a dollar bill; which recounted their names and lives, and whatever else to which I was privy; along with my name and relationship to them. 

And with this, I secreted the bill beneath a desk, or bureau, or bedstead in the room to which we were assigned, and in the applicable country with which my forefathers were most and best acquainted.

And whereas, I left a piece of my heart, and a paltry bit of cash behind, my dear grandfathers and grandmothers surrendered all their heart, and the losses they sustained cannot be calculated.

And whereas, these never returned to the peoples and homes and lands they knew and loved so well, I think, in essence, I have returned in their place.

Isle of hope, isle of tears

Isle of freedom, isle of fears

But it’s not the isle you left behind

That isle of hunger, isle of pain

Isle you’ll never see again

But the isle of home is always on your mind

But the isle of home is always on your mind

by Bill McDonald, PhD

THE SHOT MUST CHOOSE YOU

 4275

In the movie, “Bagger Vance,” Will Smith, (Bagger) plays what amounts to a Golf Angel. For you see, he has been sent to assist a character played by Matt Damon, (Ranolph Junah) with his golf game.

But it is not just any game, it is THE game of his life, for this former amateur golfer finds himself in a match with perhaps the most notable and adept golfers of his time.

Captain Junah has just come back from “The War to end all wars,” (WWI) and he has come back a changed man. For during one especially ferocious battle, every man in his unit has been killed or severely wounded, and only he has been left unscathed. And as the result of his heroic actions during the battle, the captain has been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor.

Ranolph’s emotions are raw, and he lacks confidence, and he suffers from what we refer to today as PTSD, but what was referred to in that day and time as “shell shock.” And it was only the result of the pleas of the town’s people, and his former sweetheart, (who is attempting to save the family fortune, and the golf course on which he finds himself) that he has consented to play the game.

Bagger, who has agreed to caddy for the captain, had been giving him pointers throughout the game, but to no avail. But the young man finds himself falling further and further behind the leader.

As Ranolph steps up to take his next shot, Bagger interrupts his swing, and says, “Mr. Junah, there’s only one authentic shot, one that is truly yours, and you can’t choose it.”

The captain is miffed to have had his swing interrupted, and angrily replies, “What do you mean? Of course I can choose my shot. I must choose my shot!”

Bagger smiles a whimsical smile, and responds, “Oh no suh, the shot must choose you.”

Now, in terms of the movie, Bagger’s implication was that for any given hole, on any given course, there is one best club, one best swing, one best solution.

And I think we can learn a valuable lesson from our golf angel’s admonition. The first time I ever viewed the movie, and listened to Bagger’s words, well, it just came to me. There is a valuable spiritual lesson to be gleaned here.

THE SHOT MUST CHOOSE YOU

You see, I am convinced, and scriptures assures us, “My times are in His hands,” (Psalms 31:15) and “The Lord will accomplish that which concerns me,” (Psalms 138:8) and “Before I ever took my first breath, You planned every day of my life.” (Psalms 139:16)

If we believe and embrace the truth of scripture, it is apparent that God knew us by name, and planned all our days, before we were a twinkle, and even before He made the twinkling stars. (And we can be sure that He loves us so much more than those magnificent, astronomical creations.)

Indeed, the shot must choose us. For any given decision, among any set of options which we encounter throughout the course of our lives, there is one best choice, one best action, which has the ultimate capacity to help complete our destiny, and which agrees with our Lord’s perfect plan for us as individuals.

Now, I’m not talking about what loaf of bread we decide to purchase, or whether we check our mail at 1PM or 5AM. No, I’m referring to those crucial, “have to get it right” type of decisions which have the wherewithal to complete our Heavenly Father’s plans for our lives, (or if we are oblivious to the best shot, bring us to ruin.)

Indeed, I believe the shot must choose us, and it is paramount that we get it right. Our very destiny is at stake. I believe it would be pleasing to God that every one of His children pray the following simple prayer, and pray it on a daily basis.

“Oh Father, great Ruler of the universe. You Who knew me before I was formed or ever took my first breath,… let the shot choose me.”