One Decision

My children always loved a particular homework assignment.
Inevitably, in their elementary school years, they would be asked to draw a family tree.
Some children may groan about such an assignment.
My children did not groan because their family tree had only one side.

The only side of the family tree that was known to them was their father’s side.
Being adopted and not knowing my history, my side of the tree remained blank.
They only had to do half the work and half the writing.
Their family tree was a bit lopsided.

As the years went on, my husband’s father researched the genealogy of the family.
His research went on for many years, culminating with a rough draft in the early 1990s.
He found and compiled the research the old fashioned way.
He wrote many letters; one letter led to a person, which led to another person.

Photographs were collected.
Even a steerage ticket was found that showed the year of travel from Ireland to America.
The project was a true labor of love.
The rough draft was amended as more cousins were discovered.

One month after our youngest daughter was born, we each received a hard bound book.
The book is the genealogy of my husband’s family.
It is a priceless gift.
It is so important to my children that they know their roots.

This past weekend, our daughter and her husband were watching a historical series.
She had a question about when her ancestors came over to America.
That question was followed by a question from each of our sons.
There was a desire to have a connection with those who came before.

The next morning, my husband got out the book and found the answers to their questions.
He sent them a long text.
They are more interested in the genealogy now than when they were younger.
Grandchildren are arriving; their family history matters to them.

My husband wrote:

My great-grandfather arrived in Philadelphia on March 11, 1888. He was 21 years old when he arrived. He married at age 25. He died at 36 years old. He married his wife in Philadelphia on April 27, 1892. She arrived in America on August 20, 1888, by herself, at the age of nineteen. They were both from County Donegal, Ireland but it is not known if they knew each other before arriving in America. But perhaps because she was by herself on the trip across the ocean, my great-grandfather saved his money in Philadelphia, working as a milkman and a bartender and “sent” for his love.

The couple had six children but only three survived infancy. The youngest son was my grandfather. He looked just like my father (your Pop-Pop) but was a few inches shorter, as I remember. My grandfather was 11 months old when his father died, though it is not recorded in the family genealogy how he died.

In an interesting twist of fate, when my great-grandfather died and his son (my grandfather) was only one year old, relatives in Ireland asked my great-grandmother to send her young son back to them.  She was working as a housekeeper supporting three children. She refused because she feared that she would never see her baby again.

I had not known that part of the story.
I think my husband may have forgotten that part of the story as well.
I read that last paragraph over and over.
I was stunned when the reality hit me.

My husband wrote one more sentence in his long text to our children.

If she had done that, none of us would be here today.

One decision.
One choice made when another choice would have been far easier.
One woman refusing to send her young son back to Ireland.
Imagine the repercussions of that decision should she have chosen to send him back.

My husband’s grandfather would not have married his wife, my husband’s grandmother.
My husband’s father would never have been born.
My husband’s father would never have met or married my husband’s mother.
Eight children, one of whom was my husband, would never have been born from their union.

If my husband was not born, he and I would never have married.
If we were not married, our five children would never have been born.
If our five children were never born, our little granddaughter would never have been born.
One brave decision rippled through generations.

My people, hear my teaching; listen to the words of my mouth. I will open my mouth with a parable; I will utter hidden things, things from of old—things we have heard and known, things our ancestors have told us. We will not hide them from their descendants; we will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord, his power, and the wonders he has done. He decreed statutes for Jacob and established the law in Israel, which he commanded our ancestors to teach their children, so the next generation would know them, even the children yet to be born, and they in turn would tell their children. Then they would put their trust in God and would not forget his deeds but would keep his commands. (Psalm 78:1-7)

One decision changed the course of an entire family.
We think our decisions only affect us here and now.
We could not be more wrong.
Our decisions affect those who come after us; they can drastically change the course of events.

God is sovereign.
Nothing happens without His knowledge.
Nothing is a surprise to Him.
God intricately weaves the minutest details for His glory and honor.

I am grateful to my husband’s great-grandmother for her brave decision.
Sending a young child back to Ireland to be cared for would have lightened her load.
She refused.
He was her son and raising him herself mattered to her.

We do not live in a vacuum.
Our decisions ripple through the ages.
We have a story to tell our children so they can tell their children.
Our family tree may be lopsided on my side, but it has deep roots.

A strong woman chose to do the right thing.
I am so grateful that she did.
My children are grateful.
My grandchildren will be grateful as well.

Thank you, Mary.

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Christian music artist and author, Andrew Peterson, sings Matthew 1:1-16, the genealogy of Jesus. READ ALONG in your Bible as he sings.