Each A Place

I’m in the mood to tell a family story this morning.  Maybe it’s because of this emotional transition I’ve been through lately.  It has to do with a family name and a memory of a story told to me by a favorite great-uncle.  (I had a few favorite great-aunts and -uncles!)

Yesterday I did some more cleaning and purging, loading up four more bags of outgrown clothes and shoes to take to Goodwill.  Though I may have missed a few cobwebs, I did some organization and deep cleaning, and I’m very happy with the result.  I’m also happy to know in my heart that I’ll never truly be a minimalist.  That’s not to say that I have anything against those who are.  One of my best friends has a very clean and open living space, and I think she leans more towards minimalism.  I tell her every time I’m there that I want that openness and peaceful feeling that she has in her home.  She knows who she is.    Anyway, while I’m telling you the family story, I’ll share some pictures of my “organized clutter.”  Thanks for helping me not be lost in my mind anymore.

I had a great-uncle named Roy Shepherd.  I loved him and I loved his name.  Shepherd was his middle name, not his last name.  He was a good man and a good influence on me, and when it was time to name my firstborn son, I couldn’t think of anything prettier than Daniel Shepherd.  The only problem turned out to be that my great-aunt was a little forgetful at that point and she spelled the name Shephard with an A.  So I now have a Daniel Shephard.  But that’s okay.  It still evokes for me a mental picture of a shepherd and my beloved Great Uncle Roy. 

The more I studied the family history, the more I loved this name Shepherd.  I came to find out that my Uncle Roy was named after his Uncle Stacy Shepherd.  Oh my, another beautiful name!  And this Stacy was quite the cutie (I have a picture of him now) and they called him “Stace.”

As I studied more, I was told an even sweeter story.  My great-great-uncle Stace had 8 siblings.  There was Robert Franklin, Evander Jones (my great grandfather), John Kirkland, William Abner, Artemis, Oscar Thadeus, Jerome Corbett (Romie), and one girl, Julie Elizabeth (Lizzie–and she was a doll!).   According to the story, their mother, Foster (yes that was her name), was having a hard time delivering Uncle Stace.  The doctor was sent for and apparently was figured to be what saved the day.  The doctor’s name?  Dr. Sheppard. 

Great-great-uncle Stace was named after the doctor who delivered him.  As I studied more, lo and behold, I uncovered a census a few years back, and there on the list, four houses away from Charlie and Foster (however far that might have been), was Dr. Sheppard’s name.  It gave me chills.  I also noticed that the name had changed from Sheppard to Shepherd, and I always wondered how that came about.  Did Charlie and Foster take their spelling from the bible?  Did they just spell it the way they knew?  Whatever the reason, it always made me feel less bad that I, once again, had altered the spelling of this beautiful family name. 

I don’t like to think that all of these people are long gone, but I dearly love beyond words the family photos that are left behind and the gatherings that occur yearly to trade family stories and share more pictures and artifacts that have been uncovered.  I love the traits (most of them!) that I see of these men in my own sons. 

Uncle Roy told me a little story one time and I wrote it in my bible.  That was 23 years ago.  It’s called Each A Place.

Each A Place

God gives us each a place to fill.
May we be wise enough to know that I can’t fill yours  for you and you can’t fill mine for me.
There was a willow by a stream and a cactus in the desert.  Each glorified its maker because it grew where its maker put it.
One day the willow was put in the cactus’ place and the cactus in the willow’s.  The willow burned and the cactus drowned.  After that, the days of each were sad and few.

I’ve often thought of that story, especially when I look at the old picture hanging above of the old Thomas homeplace and those pictured in front of it:  my great-great-uncle Stace, my great-great-grandmother Foster, my great-great-grandfather Charlie, Stace’s wife Irene who (very sadly) died young, my great-great-aunt Lizze, and my great-great-uncle Romie.

It’s been good this morning to think again about having a place.