What Truly Matters

Now, be honest with me.

Whenever you hear the words "Family History" or "Genealogy" what are you first thoughts? Do you groan and think something along the lines of, "Gee wiz! Not this again! How many times do I have to hear about the importance of this stuff?! It's not for me. Really. I wouldn't know where to start even if I decided to try. I don't have that big of an interest in it, anyway. Besides, my {insert family member here} has done it all already."

What about when you hear someone comment on how there lives have been blessed and the windows of heaven opened to them as they tried to piece together their ancestry? Same thing? The tell-tale eye roll of "whatever, weirdie"?

I've been there.

It's not that I didn't like my ancestors or had no respect for them. Deep in my heart, I did have the desire to search out my family and know my lines. It's just that I always felt inadequate whenever I tried logging on to search them out. And on top of all that, I didn't have the time. I was too busy doing other stuff.

Well, for whatever reason, I had the burning desire the past week or so to start indexing.

In case you're unfamiliar with that term, indexing is basically where you view scanned images {for example, death certificates from Georgia in 1935} and you type in corresponding information into the computer. It helps those who are searching for their ancestors know when and were they died. Make sense?

It's addicting, ya'll.

It can also be frustrating and you may or may not find yourself pointing a haggard finger at the sky, addressing the individual who filled out the form, saying, "Dude. Really? That squiggly line is the best you could do for their name? Is that a T or a P? Or an S? This is so not helpful. Who invented cursive anyway?!"

But for all the frustrating parts, there are also extremely rewarding moments.

I don't want to sound all preachy or crazy or anything, but there was a moment a few days ago when I was absolutely stumped on reading someone's name. There was no way I was going to get it. I had checked other reference points in the document for clues and came up dry. I was about to give up when, out of nowhere, the name popped into my head; clear as a bell. Once I knew what to look for, I could tell that's what the writing said. I know for a fact that it wasn't MY brain that figured it out.

Things to ponder.

It was so fascinating thinking about who these people were and what happened to them in their lives, it opened up the door for me to try again with family history research. My grandpa {yo, Grandpa Hansen!} has done an amazing job tracking our ancestors and filling in the information online. Braced for the worst, I logged in to the Family Search site {HERE} and found that most all the 'heavy lifting' had already been done for me!



{photo source}
I can't tell you how many hours I spent reading about my great-great grandparents last night. My brain ended up resembling a pretzel when I was finished, but it was worth it.

Family history really is important, ya'll. And it can be done. If you feel overwhelmed, start with yourself. Pretty sure you know your name and when you were born. If you're married or have kids, write in their stuff. Ask your parents about themselves and about their parents. I'll betcha they'd be pleased as punch to tell you stories from their lives and point you in the right direction for more information.

I promise that once you start, you won't be sorry. You won't think, "Wow. I could have spent that time doing so many other more rewarding things." Sure, you could have eaten half a dozen cookies while watching TV in the same amount of time, but it wouldn't have left you with such a feeling of peace. And trust me on that because I'm basically a professional cookie-eater and time-waster.

. . . .

Hannah and I usually take a walk down to the mailbox everyday to, you know, get the mail. Alone, it's about a 3 or 4 minute walk but with Nanny's short little legs, you can bet it'll be about 10 minutes. Every time we go, she has to stop and step on random piles of dirt; lick whatever rock she can get her hands on; stick her hand through the chain-link fence; walk in the neighbors grass to feel it tickle her toes; watch the birds fly by; and her most recent favorite: stop and stare up at the leaves in the trees blowing in the breeze.

For every distraction, she gets this amazed look on her face and starts telling me something incredibly important albeit undecipherable.

For Hannah, going to get the mail isn't about going to get the mail. She couldn't care less about making it to that tiny gray box. She just loves walking, touching, tasting, and skinning her knees on the sidewalk. Okay, so maybe not that last one. But she really does know what's important. She doesn't understand why I'm so determined to get to the bills and junk mail when there are so many cool things to enjoy on the way.

It's a lesson for me to slow down and breathe. The things that truly matter aren't, I'm sorry to say, in the mailbox.



. . . .

Spend time doing what you love to do. Spend time enjoying the little things, even though you may feel like you could be doing so many other "more important" things. It's a reminder that we all need to hear; and often.

Search out your family, people. You might be amazed at what you find.