Knowing Where We Come From

I'm addicted to genealogy and family history work. Finding out about the roots of your family tree is like going on your own personal treasure hunt except you don't get any money at the end of the hunt.

Unless you discover a fortune from a long ago relative that you suddenly have some claim on, but I'm not holding my breath.

Most importantly, you begin to understand the legacy that those long ago ancestors have left for you. You find your heritage.

I grew up in Oklahoma. Little Oklahoma children are taught to love their state. Consequently, all the little Oklahoma children grow up not liking Texas so much. I'll bet you can guess what happens with the Texas children.

So I loved Oklahoma. I thought I'd live there for the rest of my life. I actually cry a little every time I see the Oklahoma flag. Seriously.

And then I married a Texan and moved to Texas. Love makes you crazy, kids. Remember that.

It was while we lived in Texas that I first got involved in genealogy work. And I'll give you one guess where the bulk of my ancestors lived...

It ain't Oklahoma.

That's right...I'm a descendant of a ton o' Texans. Not just Texans, but pioneer Texans. Some Texans that were early members of the Texas Rangers. Texans that fought the Comanches. Texans that traveled to new colonies in what was then Mexico by covered wagons.

Gun-toting, cotton growing, bull riding, cattle roping Texans.

One of the Texas ancestors that I feel especially close to is my great great great Grandmother Julia Rachel Smith Mickey.

Talk about your amazing women. She was born in 1866 in Mississippi. Her father was a school teacher who fought in the Civil War and moved to Texas in 1871. Her mother died in the same year, while the father was away on a trip. Julia grew up and married Zephaniah Evveritt Mickey in Bosque County, Texas. She lived a full life and is buried in a small cemetery in New Mexico that I hope to someday visit.

I'm proud to claim her as an ancestor. I think about her often as I go about my mundane tasks.

I don't complain nearly as much about washing dishes and vacumming when I think of Julia hauling water to wash, or sweeping the dirt floor of a dugout.

I thought of her on Saturday when my two year old caught the kitchen on fire. Julia's little son, Zeph Jr. (pictured above in Julia's arms) died from burns from a log that rolled out of the kitchen fireplace. As I cleaned soot and ash from a kitchen that was mostly intact, knowing my entire family was safe, I wondered how she could bear the pain of losing her son in such a horrible accident.

One of the most heartbreaking chapters in her life occurred when she and her family were some of the first settlers in what is now Floyd County Texas. At least three of her children were buried in a lonely little graveyard in a town called Della Plain. After the death of her third child, a small daughter named Mary, Julia wrote a poem which included the words...

"A life that is filled with joy.

Without one care or pain.

Let us live, so we can meet her

When the Savior comes again.

She has gone to meet her brothers

Two dear little ones were they.

And we pray to meet all three of them

In a land of perfect day.

But we'll beg him to help us

Bare it and every burden here.

And when our time has ended

Take us to our darling there."

Mary was buried on August 17, 1898

Learning about courageous and faithful ancestors like Julia Rachel Smith Mickey allows me to connect myself to a lineage of strength that I'm so grateful to be a part of. I walk in a different day than Julia did. But I battle for my family every day, just as she did. I try desperately to hold fast to the faith that she had. It gives me strength to know that she and other ancestors have handed down a legacy that reminds me...I can accomplish so much with steadfastness and faith.

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