With Charity for All

The past has been on my mind lately, no doubt because of the 4th of July holiday. Independence Day, Veteran's Day, and Memorial Day bring up thoughts of my paternal grandfather who fought in WWII; my father's two decades of military service on the seas; and cousins, coworkers, and good friends who have served in more recent times. They all have my admiration and respect. More importantly, they have my gratitude.

I'm lucky to be an American. My mother's people came here from Spain and settled in Texas. My father's people came here from Scotland and England and settled in the Eastern Shore areas of Maryland and Delaware. Of all of us, only my paternal ancestors descended from the Nanticoke tribe could claim to be Americans. The rest of us are immigrants.

The current brouhaha over immigration confounds and saddens me. Yes, I understand that we have waaaay too many people who came into this country without the proper legal documentation and without going through the proper process. I understand that from a population standpoint, our infrastructure is strained to accommodate everyone who needs health care, housing, education. I understand that there's friction about assimilation, about learning English, about being loyal to this country. There are lots of issues and problems, lots of talk, lots of finger-pointing. I get it.

I also get that a lot of these immigrants came here for a chance at a better life.

Which is what some brave folks did 232 years ago.


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I recently read a fascinating article about Abraham Lincoln. What I knew about him before I read the article was the standard stuff of history classes. I didn't know he struggled with what's now known as depression. Or that he really didn't know his purpose in life until middle age. He taught himself trigonometry so he could work as a surveyor, then read Blackstone so he could practice law. He memorized large parts of the Bible and Shakespeare. He learned Euclidean geometry for fun. He's described in the article as a "compulsive scribbler, forever jotting down phrases, notes, and ideas on scraps of paper, then squirreling the notes away in a coat pocket, a desk drawer---or sometimes his hat---where they would collect until he found a use for them in a letter, a speech, or a document." I love that little bit of trivia because it means that I have something---however small---in common with Abraham Lincoln: a love for words.

And then there's this: "Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are equal." I can't read that without getting goosebumps.

And this: "With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan---to do all which may achieve and cherish a just, and a lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations."

'A lasting peace.' I could go for that.