Anticipation!

Next week Monday I will be flying out of Spokane airport on my way to Boston.  I'm getting a red-eye flight to save money.  I'll be making a connection in Portland, then off to Chicago overnight, and finally one last early morning leg to Logan Airport.

I'm excited because I'm finally getting to explore some great American history firsthand, and New England history fascinates me.  Secondly, I'm excited because I'll be exploring places where my family came from many years ago.  We've always been wanderers... itchy feet, I guess.  Just the locations show it:

Brian Huseland born 1973 Seattle, WA
My mom, born 1945 Seattle, WA
My grandpa Albert, born 1914 Chicago, IL
My g-grandpa Louis, born 1866 Westport, Ontario, CANADA
My g-g-grandma Jane, born 1828 Westport, Ontario, CANADA
My g-g-g-grandpa Lucas, born 1794 Middletown, CT*
My g-g-g-g-grandma Rhoda, born 1750 Middletown, CT
My g-g-g-g-g-grandma Asenath, born 1726 Eastham, MA
My g-g-g-g-g-g-grandma Dinah, born 1700 Eastham, MA
My g-g-g-g-g-g-g-grandpa Samuel, born 1673 Eastham, MA
My g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-grandpa John, born 1635 Plymouth, MA
My g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-grandpa Deacon John Doane, born abt. 1590 England

Can you tell my family never stayed long in one place?

So it'll be fun to learn more about the East Coast roots of this West Coast boy.

*This is one of those records that needs to be verified, so I'll be taking a day trip down to Connecticut to find that record.

The Promised Land

When I was growing up, I lived on a wooded hillside in rural Idaho.  I had lots of room to to play in.  I read books about pirates, cowboys, smugglers, giants and dragons and knights, and then imagined myself there.  I lived between two hills... just like the White Witch in Narnia.  In the winter I could easily pretend (with 3 feet of snow) that it was always winter, but never Christmas.  Thankfully Christmas DID come, no witches really lived nearby, and all the white stuff melted away the following spring, and I could reclaim all the childhood haunts.

Then something Terrible happened.  We moved away my 5th grade year.  Suddenly we were in a trailer court in a high desert town in Northern California.  New things to see, more friends to play with, but horrible homesickness.  I missed the woods.  I missed the lonely secret places.  As I moved on in life and adjusted, I would occasionally have a bad day--being picked on by the bully, or one of the other countless middle school crises--and I felt that longing wash over me.  This isn't my home.  If only I could get back to Idaho, I thought.  

I was like Bastian in the 80's movie, The Never-Ending Story.  I was insecure in the world I lived in.  I had a "Fantasia" of my own.  It was Idaho.  Or at least, it was my best memories of Idaho.

As I grew older, I finally had a chance to go back after high school.  The eyes of a nineteen-year-old saw an Idaho that was achingly familiar and yet disappointing at the same time.  I had thought this was a refuge, my own private Rivendell I could always return to.  But the elves had moved away.  There was no Last Homely House.  There was a river between two hills, and a few ruins.  Mostly there were trees growing up where my living room had been.  Cedars in the kitchen.  Pines where the porch used to be.

All this drove home to my adult eyes one thing:  this wasn't Home.  There's no place like Home, on this earth.  There is a home Somewhere, but all the best places I have ever loved and then lost were only green shadows of that First Shelter, the original pine needle paradise.  A Heavenly home.

Today my pastor preached on Genesis chapter 23.  His main point was that Abraham bought a piece of land in Canaan in faith to bury his wife Sarah, believing in God's promise that the whole land would go to his offspring one day.  The Promised Land of Canaan did go to his descendants 400 years later... but the ultimate fulfillment of this promise goes beyond a place you can walk over.  It's a future reality, a new world that the Lord will purify and present as a new Home for His people.  Heaven, our Home, will come down to Earth.  The perishable will clothe itself with the imperishable.  It will be Paradise Regained.  That is my Home.  My place of refuge is by God's side.

So as I travel to New England next week, there will be a strong attraction for me to focus on the place where the Pilgrims lived, worshipped God, and died, and I might reverence these places too much.  No place on earth is hallowed more than the heart of Him who stays committed to the Lord.  The Bible calls Christians temples of the living God. (1 Corinthians 6:19)  What a privilege to walk by faith wherever I go.  It is a Person I long for, not a Place in this present world.  I am free to enjoy all, but worship no national treasure or historical shrine.  I am bound for the Promised Land, and one day I will cross over the Jordan River of death and take possession of it, and see Jesus.  Then I will know I am truly, forever, Home.

Thinking

I had breakfast with my pastor today. We talked about raising kids. Three things they need: affection, example, discipline. Build a bridge from your heart to your child's heart.

Baby

From Matt Hammitt's song, All of Me:

Afraid to love
Something that could break
Could I move on
If you were torn away?
And I'm so close to what I can't control
I can't give you half my heart
And pray He makes you whole

(Chorus)
You're gonna have all of me
You're gonna have all of me
'Cause you're worth every falling tear
You're worth facing any fear
You're gonna know all my love
Even if it's not enough
Enough to mend our broken hearts
But giving you all of me is where I'll start

I won't let sadness steal you from my arms
I won't let pain keep you from my heart
I'll trade the fear of all that I could lose
For every moment I share with you

Chorus

Heaven brought you to this moment, it's too wonderful to speak
You're worth all of me, you're worth all of me
So let me recklessly love you, even if I bleed
You're worth all of me, you're worth all of me

Chorus (X2)

It's where I'll start

This song means a lot to me.  Jennifer and I are expecting a baby again, and after we got over the joyful shock, I was excited.  Then my fears kicked in, as we remembered our miscarriage 3 years ago.  Jennifer had a little bleeding  in the last 2 weeks.  In all of this I had dscovered that I  was wrapping my emotions in cotton, trying to not let my heart get too involved this time, trying to protect myelf from pain.  I wasn't thinking about names, I wasn't thinking about the baby's development.  Suddenly I saw that in my anxiety I had become sinfully self-absorbed.  This child, whether it makes it or not, needs my father's love!  Oh God, help me unwind the bandages off of my heart, and emerge Lazarus-like from the tomb of my own hopes.  I am alive, for however long the Lord chooses.  This child will live as long as the Lord chooses.  I can trust Him forever and can love this kid recklessly because Jesus delivered me from fear and sin.

A trip to Plymouth, Massachusetts

This month I look forward to flying out to Boston and driving down to Plymouth for a historical, genealogical and spiritual return to American colonial roots in my family. I'll be attending the Doane Family Association Reunion at the John Carver Inn in Plymouth. There's a lot planned. I hope to go see the Mayflower ship replica, Burial Hill, Pilgrim Hall, and Cape Cod. I'm going because of my admiration for and intense interest in my New England forefathers, and their pattern of faith in Christ which has been neglected for so long in my family. These old pioneers were tough, yet humble for the most part. I will try to journal every day to record my thoughts, starting the next two weeks before I leave.

Bittersweet Leaves

"Turkey in the Straw" notes
Tumble through the air
Past crabapple branches
And summon child's memories
Of summertime bliss,
Green-leaved and red-tongued.
The ice cream truck passes
A peeling paper-white garage
Where a man with empty eyes
Leaves his family hanging.
My heart folds like origami,
Resembling a crane
With only one wing.
I buy my daughters snow-cones.

On the trail of Lucas Tryon

Lucas was my great-great-great-grandfather.  He was born in Connecticut, moved to Canada before 1820, and began the branch of Tryons from which I am descended.  The only evidence I have found so far for his birth (February 25, 1794) is in Wes Tryon's book on the Tryon Family.
This can be seen on http://www.gratisbooks.com/pchapdet.php?chapter_id=39 where Lucas is #5.84l.  He is said to be the son of Rhoda Lucas and John Tryon of Middletown, Connecticut.

I have stumbled across a reference to John in an online source on the Church History of Berlin, CT, where John died about 1815.