My mother was born on this day in 1906. I “see” her when I walk into my bedroom; I “see” her when I look in the mirror (because this old lady looks like her eighty-eight-year-old mother). If my mother was still alive, I could show her DNA proof that I am her daughter. She believed “they mixed up the babies in the hospital.” She raised me but there was no love or affection. She, in turn, was raised without love and affection; her father was abandoned at an early age. Beyond DNA, our “environment” plays a major role in our lives. There’s a scripture that reads “visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children to the third and the fourth generations.” My sons bear the scars–and my grandchildren.
My father rejected the community he grew up in. At age fourteen he turned his back on family and faith. Growing up, I did not know my grandparents, aunts, uncles, or cousins. Dad deliberately chose to live “out of state” so visiting was virtually impossible. As mentioned in earlier blog messages, I knew absolutely nothing about my ancestry and (to me) the precious Old German Baptist Brethren church and community. But, about age four or five, “my Heavenly Father” introduced me to Jesus and I’ve loved Jesus my entire life. To her credit, on Sunday mornings, my mother would dress me appropriately and I’d walk (alone) several blocks and attend Sunday School. “My Heavenly Father” has never failed me!! He provided for me and my sons after their father deserted us. (Oh, the stories I could tell.)
I believe my “Frantz” grandmother was praying for me–and her son and his family. My journey into genealogy started when I sat on the grass beside my grandparent’s grave–in LaVerne, California. From that day (in 1987?) until now there has been a remarkable abundance of family history showered on me. More than any other genealogist I know, volumes of information just waiting to be compiled.