Maggie of Scotland

I'm thankful for imagination and for family heritage, these two thing prompted this short story as part of a writing competition. My mother's family settled in South Carolina 250 years ago. I like to imagine what motivated them to leave their wild Scottish homeland for a new world. Who were they, how did they live, what did they feel, I've always wanted to know...

Once upon a time. Isn't that how all good stories begin? There was a girl with cascading auburn curls, emerald eyes, and a smile that flashed wild. Maggie had insighted the hearts of many a lad. But it had always been Alan who held her fancy.

Today she whistled as she made her way home; adventure sparkling in her heart. Maggie's bare feet had memorized the winding dirt path like a familiar friend from childhood. Her dark blue skirts swished around her thin ankles as she skipped up the grassy brae to the white cottage she shared with her little sister, brothers and Da'. After dinner she was meeting Alan by the stream beyond the cow pasture to say goodbye.

Banging into the snug cottage where crates stood ready she called out, "Da', where are ye?" No answer. He must be driving the cows home. Angus McKay was purchasing the lot this evening to add to his great herd. The cottage stood silent with a mantel of stillness draped over it's solid walls. Matthew, John, and Alice were most likely off saying goodbye to their playmates. 

Leaving Scottland was hard on the younger ones. They didn't understand the difficulties Da' faced nor the promise of hope in the new world. For many of her countrymen the promise of a better life in the American colonies stood in stark contrast to the economic hardship at home. The sorrow of leaving Scotland, where she and decades of Bankheads had lived in the same whitewashed cottage, was tempered by the fact that many of her towns people and relatives would be seeking their fortune in the colonies as well. Her father's cousins James and Matthew had promised to settle with Da'. Many farmer's leases from Lord Doneagal expired this summer and tenants would no longer be able to afford the increasing rent. It was a matter of survival. 

Maggie started a fire in the low hearth to cook her family's supper one last time. She had ladled piping hot stew into tin bowls and placed a large, round crusty bread in the center of the table by the time her siblings came tumbling through the door. A smile spread across her fair face at the racket of her younger brother's good natured argument and Alice's sing-song mocking of the two. 

"All right ye daft bunch, settle down! Why are ye carrying on so?"

"The foolish boys are fighting over who will get the top birth on the boat. I told them they will likely sleep on the floor," piped Alice.

"Ye will sleep where there's room for ye, that's what. Mind Da' boys and see yer no trouble to him." Maggie ruffled fifteen year old Matthew's ruddy head. He was growing as tall as their father but he still needed reminding of his responsibilities. The new world would hold a great deal of promise for a growing boy like Matthew. 

Maggie ate her stew listening to her sibling's chatter. Excitedly they talked about the ocean passage and what life would be like in their new home. Father and his two cousins had secured land grants in the Carolina's from the crown. Their Da' had been successful with his herd, expanding the barns and cottage. He had laid enough by to purchase passage to America. It was a good thing too because despite his success with the cows, and respect in the village, it still wouldn't be enough to pay the increased rent and taxes on their land.

As soon as dinner was done and the young ones were set to their chores Maggie went tripping down the brae to see Alan. She called out a soft cooey as she shimmied over the low rock wall and then picked her way across the stepping stones of the small brook. Alan emerge from behind the stand of alder. 

A lump rose in her throat as his tawny hair caught the late gleam of sunshine above his broad shoulders. Running to catch his hand she took off with Alan through the gloaming. One last chase through the heather of her homeland. As they laughed and ran past the hills of green, Maggie let the beauty sink into her soul, becoming a part of her very pulse. Flinging themselves breathless on the springy turf, the mist of the evening rolling in, she drank in Scotland as the evening wrapped them in a shroud of soft sorrow. 

Turning her head she looked into his eyes, blue as the sea that would take her from him. "I'll be coming for ye, Maggie lass. America is a braw land and good. Father says that in a year we'll have the passage. I'll come to ye then." 

Her hand reached out to touch his strong jaw, aching at the parting, thrilling in his nearness. How she hoped he would come. Her heart would cling to that hope and believe, it was the only way she could say goodbye. It was late when she crept to the cottage. She watched Alan melt away into the darkness, his hand stretched out in a last farewell. 

After two day's travel James, Maggie, Matthew, John and Alice Bankhead set foot on The Edinburgh bound for Cape Fear, North Carolina. As the ship pulled away from the quay and headed out to the open sea Maggie turned away from the green coastline of Scotland and set her face to America. Salty tears stung her eyes. The scent of adventure rose around her, bracing her heart.

The voyage passed slowly; adventure wore thin. After a few weeks at sea they were nearing America and a desperate fear had wound around Maggie's heart. The silent reality of meeting a new world with a new life growing inside of her cast a shadow of worry across her brow. Her cousin Bess had noticed the thin lines growing around Maggie's mouth and taut shoulders. 

Asking her about it on deck one evening Bess pressed her to confide. The truth slipped out in a gush of relief and a sob, "Bess, what shall I do? How can I face Da' and this new world with my shame."

"Oh, dear, hush yer fretting. Yer Da' loves ye and maybe this new world is the place for a fresh beginning. It's not the first time a sorrowful parting has born regret and it'll not be the last. Take the sorrow as a gift to remember yer Alan. A wee bairn is always welcome no matter the grief that has born it here."

"Thank ye Bess." A comforted Maggie set her face to a new life and adventure once more. Before she new it they were landing in America. Several weeks later they were settling in South Carolina, rolling and green, not unlike the home they had left behind. A crude cabin was quickly constructed and earth turned for planting. Home was taking shape. By spring little James Alan Bankead, born from a dream of love into a land of freedom, was in Maggie's arms. Bess had been right, there was always room in a family.

Many, many years later on a spring evening, after a continent had been tamed, a mother with emerald eyes tucks another Maggie into her bed. "Hush", she whispers as she smooths auburn curls back from her toddlers brow. And in the whoosh of her pulse and the beat of her heart the untamed whisper of Scotland echoes strong and brave. 

Has your family heritage ever inspired you? Tell us how!

Freedom's Cry

I wanted to share with you a short story I recently submitted to a writing contest at The Write Practice. The prompt was "America Is." Instead of a typical piece on fireworks and apple pie, I took another angle.


It's a hard story to read. It was hard to write. The story is fiction but it is based on research I have done on human trafficking in India. Girls, such as the one depicted in my story, are real. The greatest gift we can give them is to look full faced at their suffering and not turn away. To allow their need and our compassion to compel us to action. 

Nazeeya sat on her little cot looking at a patch of sky through the small window high above her head. It had been days since she had seen the whole expanse of that blue or smelled fresh air. It had been days since she had seen anything, except the walls of her prison, and men.

She imagined her younger sisters, her mother, her father all sitting under the same blue sky. Did they looking up as they tended the garden in their little village and think of her too? The ache in her chest grew tight, almost too tight to breathe, as she remembered the last day she had seen them.

Her father had brought a strange man to the house. He was at least twice Nazeeya's 15 years. A cold chill had shivered down her spine as he was introduced as her prospective husband. His name was Abhijay. “He will offer a home to you,” her father had said. “You know we have little to feed you with. Women in his village are scarce and he needs a wife.”

Her parents had little choice, and she knew it. There was no reason to argue. Had they known her fate they may have been less willing to part with her, even for the modest payment. Abhijay had taken her hundreds of miles away to a village in the province of Delhi. But a marriage had never taken place. She had lived with him as a wife for several weeks and then he had sold her
at a profit.

The new man had not bought her to be his wife either. She was taken to the outskirts of New Delhi and given into the custody of Avani. The old woman had charge of a house full of girls. They rarely saw one another but she could guess their stories. They were poor, with little hope, and now even less.

She pulled her blue sari around her and swatted away flies. Dressed in azure from head to toe she was the only bright spot in the drab, dirty room. The greyness had crept into her soul until she felt nothing. Except perhaps the faintest glimmer of irrational hope.

Reaching under the thin mattress of her cot she pulled out a magazine. Written in English she understood none of the articles or advertisements. She did understand the pictures. Images of well dressed, well fed people smiled at her. Pretty houses and pretty things, bright colors and unfamiliar landscapes spoke to her of beauty and wonder.

One page in particular captured her attention; a man in a uniform, his arm around a woman, children by their side. There were pictures of him getting off of a plane surrounded by his family all holding little flags. A picture of him
playing with a dog in front of a nice house, the same flag hanging from a pole. Red, white, and blue. She knew what that meant. America.

It was her one hope. Even more than returning home she longed for a new life in America. There was nothing for her here. If she went home would she be sold again? Her parents couldn't afford a dowry, or to keep her, which is why they had sold her in the first place.

She tore out the picture of the family standing happily together, flag waving proudly in the background. Folding it carefully into a square she tucked it into her dress beside her heart. Quickly she slid the magazine back to it's hiding
place. She never knew when the key would grate in the lock or who
would enter.

Several hours later Nazeeya was awoken by Avani storming into the room. Yelling at her. Hitting her with a heavy stick. She makes out from the woman's shrill screams that she has committed the ultimate sin. She's become pregnant. Apparently a customer has complained about her condition. Angry at the inconvenience and loss of income the old woman takes her anger out on Nazeeya's thin, already bruised body.

It's dusk and Avani's blows drive Nazeeya from the room and into the courtyard where the man waits for her in an dirty black jeep. The old woman throws her into the back and shuts the door. Huddling in the floor Nazeeya glances up at the strong back and bald head of her owner. Trembling she rides in silence as the houses slip away and fields flash by in the twilight.

She knows she will never make it to the land of promise as he roughly drags her from the backseat into the empty field. Fumbling for the page tucked into her clothes as she's dragged along, she reaches for hope even now. Her eyes fall on the smiling faces and bright flag as the man shoves her to the ground, planting her face in the dirt with his boot.

Nazeeya's heart races to the sound of steel as he unsheathes his Gurkha knife. Freedom comes in many forms. She closes her eyes against the harsh world. With a whoosh of his blade her red blood stains the brilliant blue of her sari and splatters her crumpled hope.

***
Freedom shouldn't be a commodity we posses but a way in which we live. I think it's important, and a gift, to use our freedom for the good of others. If you're interested in responding to the need, here is a website that sells jewelry made by young women rescued from the horrors of human trafficking, offering them dignity and hope, setting them free. http://www.isanctuary.org/home

Set Free

Freedom...

Love of self kills our freedom in Christ.

"Do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh ; rather, serve one another humbly in love." Galatians 5:13

Conforming to the image others have for us, out of fear, leaves us prisoners.

"It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery." Galatians 5:1

 

Laws; self imposed, government imposed, church imposed, never lead to freedom.

"I will walk about in freedom, for I have sought out your precepts." Psalm 119:45

 Searching for freedom in the face of another love is dangerous.

"He has sent me [Jesus] to proclaim freedom for the prisoners... to set the oppressed free." Luke 4:18b-19a

 Freedom on earth is a temporary truce, anything else is surrender.

"Creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God." Romans 8:21

 Pride tears down freedom. Man never authors freedom he enters into it.

"Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom." 

2 Corinthians 3:17

 We don't fight for freedom, as something to win, we live in it. 

"In him we may approach God with freedom and confidence." Ephesians 3:12

 Freedom without responsibility, love, or self-sacrifice  is not freedom, it is petulant self-indulgence.

"Live as free people, but do not use your freedom as a cover-up for evil." 1 Peter 2:16

Freedom is everywhere, if we're looking for it. It takes eyes focused, not on ourselves, or others, but on the crucified and risen Christ Jesus. 

"For these rules are only shadows of the reality yet to come. And Christ himself is that reality... Since you have been raised to new life with Christ, set your sights on the realities of heaven, where Christ sits in the place of honor at God’s right hand. Think about the things of heaven, not the things of earth. For you died to this life, and your real life is hidden with Christ in God. And when Christ, who is your life, is revealed to the whole world, you will share in all his glory." Colossians 2:17, 3:1-4

That is the ultimate freedom!

 

 Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains or slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take but as for me, give me liberty or give me death! - Patrick Henry

Can we resonate in our spirits with Patrick Henry's sentiment. Is there any sin, or law, or pleasure that binds us to anything other than true freedom in Christ? This week of celebrated liberty do you live set free, liberated in joy? What's holding you back from living in freedom today? 

 

{The content of this post has been recycled from an archived post dated August 31, 2011.}

A Basket Full of Thanks {Mondays}

And the count to 1,000 gifts continues. I'm amazed and thankful at the change of perspective the little Basket of Thanks has made in our family's hearts. My 7 year old, Max, is always looking for something to be thankful for, when you look you always find. When I'm overwhelmed or disappointed, I start numbering the gifts and my heart lightens.

So today, on this day of remembering, I want to number gifts of a more patriotic nature. I find my perspective of America has at times been negative and critical, but I want that to change too, so I will look and I know I will find gifts to be thankful for.


21. Freedom birthed from passion, forged in conflict, written in blood.
22. Amazing creativity, ingenuity and artistry, pursued in these states of opportunity.
24. I'm thankful for the soldiers that fought before and the soldiers who are fighting now (Max).
25. Variety, sometimes a challenge. Always a chance for deepening our character into ones of compassion, courage, humility.
26. Apple pie, hot dogs, grits, hamburgers, sweet tea (they make me feel patriotic!).
27. Beauty; purple mountains, lush forests, sparkling beaches, rock formations, country roads, home.
28. Knowledge available for everyone, uncensored, free.
29. Leaders who have led with conviction, fortitude and often great sacrifice; some famous, others obscure.
30. Freedom to pursue the ultimate freedom in Christ. John 8:31b-32 Jesus said, “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”

Go here to read my patriotic tribute.