We are the chosen. My feelings are, in each family, there is one who seems called to find the ancestors. To put flesh on their bones and make them live again, to tell the family story and to feel that somehow they know and approve. To me, doing genealogy is not a cold gathering of facts but, instead, breathing life into all who have gone before. I am the storyteller. All families have one. We have been called by those who have gone before us to tell our story. So, we do.

In finding them, we somehow find ourselves. How many graves have I stood before ? I have lost count. How many times have I told the ancestors you have a wonderful family you would be proud of us ? How many times have I walked up to a grave and felt somehow there was love there for me ? I cannot say. It goes beyond just documenting facts. It goes to who I am and why I do the things I do.

The bones here are bones of my bone and flesh of my flesh. It goes to doing something about it. It goes to pride in what our ancestors were able to accomplish. How they contributed to what we are today. It goes to respecting their hardships, their losses and building a life for their family. It goes to deep pride that they fought to make and keep us a family. It goes to a deep and immense never giving in or giving up, their resoluteness to go on understanding that they were doing it for us. That they might be born who we are. That we might remember them. So we do. With love and caring and scribing each fact of their existence, because we are them and they are us. So, as a scribe called, I tell the story of my family. It is up to that one called in the next generation to answer the call and take their place in the long line of family storytellers. That is why I do my family genealogy.