The Story Before Me

It’s silent here, standing on the edge of our field peering up into the heavens. I really like moments like this. It comforts my soul. Unfortunately, the season didn’t start out this way. Yet sometimes, ominous signs lead to brighter conclusions.

A month ago, it started with an eclipse, a darkened moon shadowing the sun like an omen. Then the storms rolled through with menacing gray clouds that brought clusters of tornados, lightning, and hail. These devils tore through our communities and ruined many homes. Now, a week later, above our backyard, I can see the mild hint of a gleaming aurora in the night sky. It’s a glorious treat and a very rare occurrence at this latitude. These Northern Lights hovering above our farmland are like a symbolic reminder, a hint of our heavenly home. But beyond my overly active imagination, in all actuality, it’s just the mesmerizing remnants of a distant solar storm as its charged particles resonate against Earth’s magnetic field. 

I think as we examine where we came from, it makes us appreciate where we are going so much more; like particles glowing brighter with every thought, then fully illuminating at our final destination.

As far back as I can tell, my family’s name started around the year 1741 at a sugar plantation in Barbados. At least that’s what the Department of Archives and Records says. Slaves, originally owned by Nathan Durant and a family of six. Slavery in the Caribbean was mild and benevolent compared to its American counterparts, and for that, I am relieved. The land is now a community called Durants, located within the parish of Christ Church, a historical region along the western coast of the island.

When the price of sugar plummeted, the plantation went out of business and my grandfather’s ancestors departed for Panama, where my grandparents eventually married.

Granddad, being a typical Durant, was a prominent civil rights activist along the canal zone. Imprisoned and then abused by the authorities, he was left for dead one dark night on the side of a lonely dirt road. Under the glare of a flashlight, he was warned to never return, or else. Physically broken, and now homeless, he called in a few favors with a government official and was granted a passport for the United States and asylum. So with great reluctance, and at the behest of friends and family, granddad left Panama with his wife and children in tow. He prospered financially in the States as a businessman and a writer, leaving his old life behind—but not the memories. He had so many stories.

Had such events not occurred, I would have never been born. I pondered such thoughts and others while seated on a stump along the edge of our large pasture. Whether the soil is destined for soy or corn, I do not know. We’ll have to see what blossoms. As my thoughts roam, there is that heavenly glow from above, still teasing the night. Its luminescence hovers over our heads and stretches towards all four horizons. I wonder what my ancestors would think of me. Was I worth the price they paid?

Jesus, my God, and greatest ancestor, paid the highest price of all. What would He think?

So “the story before me” is not so much about my past; it’s about the amazing future set before me. It is a tale of dependence on the lessons of old, and perseverance as I forge my path forward through the swamp. It’s about broken chains and freedom from slavery. It’s about an ancient saga containing the omen that blotted out the sun, and the heavenly glow of a future that brings light to the darkness. 

Now that I’m free, may I live up to His sacrifice and ascend with you to the City of God.

“Blessed and holy is he who has part in the first resurrection. Over such the second death has no power, but they shall be priests of God and of Christ, and shall reign with Him a thousand years.” Revelation 20:6.