As we approach Oct. 31–Nov. 2, the days of Halloween or All Hallows Eve, Day of the Dead, All Saints Day, All Souls Day and Celtic Samhain, I am thinking of my ancestors. I feel a deep curiosity, a sense of wonderment and gratitude. When I ponder the mystery of my ancestors, as I often do, I always land on this thought: it is a sheer miracle that all of our ancestors found each other and that we were given the chance to be born, to live on this beautiful earth, to grow and experience joy. What a gift life is. What a miracle.
I was blessed to have known five of my great-grandparents, and even though I was a small child, I knew they loved me. I loved them (and still love them) back. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve read the genealogies that my great aunts so lovingly gathered and recorded. I’ve looked and looked at photographs of people I recognize but never met in life, I’ve listened to stories, and I’ve done some of my own searching to know my ancestors. Each ancestor remains both a mystery and a miracle, and I love each of them dearly.
Mark Nepo writes in The Book of Awakening, “When I think of those who’ve taught me how to love, moments come to mind,” and he shares a memory of a special moment with his Grandmother, of “Grandma holding my little hands open on her basement steps, saying, ‘These are the oldest things you own.’” We carry our ancestors with us, we hold them in our bodies, in our hands. Surely we carry the old ancient love of our ancestors and the care they gave to the generations before us, so that we carry love exponentially. So that we can give love exponentially.
Bless our ancestors with love. Bless those who loved us and gave us life. Bless our hands and all we carry in this beloved moment. Bless the long memory. Bless each and every soul. Bless the whole holy mystery.
—Angie Pierce Jennings, Prairiewoods hosted groups and hospitality coordinator