Choosing a school

To the majority of people in America, and around the world for the most part, choosing a college is an extremely important and difficult decision. Months and years are put into research and statistics. Trying to find which “home of learning” is right for them ends up consuming every thought and every moment of free time. If it isn’t the applications essays, it’s then the financial aid and scholarship applications. Some people are trained from birth and told that this is the most decision they will have to make; where to spend all that money borrowed from the government. I guess this makes me a little different, taking my decision seriously only a month before I graduated. Many people told me to choose which college was best for you, which college had the most to offer, where you would fit in better. So my decision was choice to attend North Greenville University was made based on the following facts: good view, interesting history degree, and a big cafeteria. It also didn’t hurt that they kept giving me free t-shirts and stickers, the true way to my heart.

Telling The Story From Both Ways

Bonjour Monsieur, Madame. Comment allez-vous? Bien? Bien. Et toi? Tresbien? Bien. Comment vous appelez-vous? Et toi? Je m'appelle Guilliam. Vous etes d'ou? Paris? Ah... Moi? No, je ne suis pas de Paris, Je suis de Montreal.

This semester I began learning French....the language of artists and monarchs, revolutions and explorers. After studying Spanish for two years (and not getting very far) I turned my attention in a more "Gallic" direction. Being a French & Indian War, or Seven Years War, reenactor makes you really see and appreciate the difficulties faced by such men as the members of the Troup de la Marine. These brave soldiers were usually sent to America from France and served in the armies of that same nation. What sets these men apart from other foot soldiers is that these men were sent to a completely alien environment, completely outnumbered, and told to protect and hold this vast wilderness filled with strange beasts and vicious native tribes who practiced savage forms of warfare. Stretching from the shores of the Atlantic to the deep interior of Canada, and from Hudson Bay to New Orleans, standing guard against the English was no easy task. Hopefully by learning their own tounge, I can learn more and show others who these men really were.

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This was either quoted from or inspired by a favorite song of mine.






I'm clinging loosely to prayers that lately, I feel as if have fallen upon deaf ears.
Where are You?
Where are You as my Faith waivers?
Where are You in this blinding haze?
And where were You?
Where were You when I would seek to find Joy in my trials and found no Peace?
Where were You when I did not doubt Your Love, but could not feel it.
And why won't You answer me?
Why won't You answer me?
Why won't You answer me?
Why won't You answer me?
Why won't Your presence pierce this deafening silence I've been screaming through for so long?
For so long my voice has grown weary in Your absence.
The way Your voice once spoke so clearly, there are no words.
The cup you once filled so abundantly has run dry.
And where Your light once led so assuredly, I feel so unguided.
Still I press on.
For I felt You in my paths guiding me in my desire to change,
Finding a path through fallen tears.
Seems I've turned my back and walked away,
Seeing my reflection and not recognizing my own face,
Not knowing why You allowed me to get here.
Though there was a time when the weight of Your reality brought me to my knees.
My shame and my convictions found a Heart crying out for change,
And trying times gave way to white seasons.
My fears would flee the resounding sound of Your Heart beating within my chest,
Your Blood coursing through my veins,
Purifying and breathing Life into this lifeless body.
And now it seems as though I have let the Sun set on that season.
The road you freed me from, now crushes me under it's heel.
This Flesh Your Spirit once cleansed is now crawling,
Festering,
Rotting from the inside,
Numb to Your touch,
Calloused,
Closed off.
I feel alone and overlooked...
I don't know if I will ever find my way back.


And then, You were there.
At the time when I was sure my future was lost,
Your hand reached down and grabbed ahold of mine.
My hand.
My hand that had done so much harm and had become twisted,
A tormentor,
A tool of the flesh,
Evil.
It was that same hand that reached forth and accepted Your Grace.
My path had been winding, hoping to lose You, but it only seemed to help You find me.
For Your Love knows no bounds, and cannot be lost in Darkness.
My voice that had been so strained and weak, was drowned by the sound of Your name.
I now am with You.
My path has reached it's destination;
Your open arms.
You are Joy.
You are Peace.
You are Love.
You are Life.
Your Heart and Blood replace mine, and give new Life to this tattered and burnt body,
This memorial to Confusion and Corruption.
It is torn down once and for all eternity.
Replaced by a shining beacon for others, eminatting a new Light and Hope.
Your Light that once showed me the path, now resides inside of me.
The weight of Your reality that once brought me to my knees,
Now serves as a platform to raise me up so I may embrace You again.
The Sun that had set on my seasons now rises again as the Son and warms me with it's light.
The tears that once clouded my mind and flooded my paths are shed with joy, filling back my cup.
Forevermore will I trust You.
Forevermore will I rely on You.
Forevermore, will I stay by Your side.

That was a lot of 3rd Graders....

       Today was a very crazy day, even compared to my usual schedule. My employer, the Spartanburg County Historical Association, specializes in giving guided tours of historic homes to school children. Back in Spring of 2010 we were contracted to go all the way to COLUMBIA to do a presentation for a school there. My normal group size .....15-30 kids. Today I woke up at 4 A.M. to go teach a group of 108. Thankfully they were broken up into 6 groups, so it was not the crazy riot it sounds like it would be.


Listening to my story, and why I had come there

       A strange feeling that few people experience is walking into a school carrying a flintlock musket while wearing colonial clothing. Only a handful of people know why you are at the school, but everyone watches you walk by and puts all other thoughts on hold. Even if they are makng announcements over a PA system, they will stop talking to focus on you. That was the situation I walked into today at 7:25. Now the best feeling is teaching a group of people, and seeing that they understand and are interested in what you're talking about. I think that every one of the children in my groups today not only had a good time, but they learned about the American Revolution and the role that militias played in that conflict.



When the groups came in, the first activity they was to pick out what items I (a colonial messenger) would need to survive the long journey back to Spartanburg County. This sounds pretty straightforward, but the things they were looking for were placed on a table with dozens of other objects that were either useless to me or modern inventions. Being in first-person, I did not know what plastic or styrofoam was and the kids had to explain to me the meaning of "tennis ball", "football", and "CD player".



Choosing the items needed

My "Corporal" wearing the waistcoat and hat of a Loyalist
militia member

 Once all my equipment was chosen, we disussed the difference between militias; how to tell the difference between friend and foe. Since the miltia wore whatever clothes they had, insignia on the hats had to provide the distinction between Patriot or Loyalist. I dressed up one child from each group, making them my "corporal", and they assisted in the next activity. They got to choose if they wore the "Patriot" hat with the paper in it, or the "Loyalist" hat with the leaves on the side.

      

The next activiy was a militia drill. Each issued a wooden gun, the children were split into two companies and competed to see who could perform the arms drill quietest and keep the straightest line. The girl in the picture on the left wearing the red vest was probably the best "Corporal" of the day. She would actually walk up and down her line inspecting her "troops", being sure they were in a straight line and performing the movements properly. And she was not afraid to push or pull them into line if they were out of place.

         

The last part of the activity was to practice firing their "muskets". The two "companies" would face each other and fire, making the loudest gunfire sound they could. It got a bit noisy at times, but they had to be sure to stay in their lines. Their teacher would then choose who had performed the drill the best, and the winning company would give a loud "HUZZAH!" in celebration. If a tie breaker was needed, a bayonet drill was performed to see who was most proficient in keeping their lines while charging the enemy (the other company).

I really can't think of another job that would give me near as much satisfaction as this. By being able to share my passion for history with these kids, hopefully there will be a future generation of historians who care enough to preserve their past. I think that a good impression was made, and I wouldn't have changed any of it...... but that was a lot of 3rd Graders.