Footsteps
"Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought." ~Matsuo Basho
We went to an amusement park this weekend. It was one of those places that has everything, the thrill rides, the gardens, the animal habitats and the shows. It is in the neighboring city, the one where Vic's Grandparents lived their last several years. For over five of those years, Grandpa and Grandma L. would have season tickets and spend time at this park. The story goes that they would come to the park weekly and walk around to enjoy the gardens. Grandma L used to call things Beautiful, with emphasis on the "u". This was something I used to love about her, when she would smile and tell me when the world was Beautiful. There is a place in the park where there is a habitat for flamingos and other birds and a flower display that is shaped like a butterfly. Every time we round the corner to this place, I am sure that Grandma and Grandpa L have lingered here. It is our daughter's favorite place, and it is mine too. When we walk through, I pause to stand in the footsteps of Vic's Grandparents and to hear the whisper of that Beautiful place.
There is a profound feeling when you stand where others have stood and consider their footsteps. We have done this on battlefields across the world. We stood in Bastogne and felt the magnitude of that place, having heard firsthand the story of the Battle of the Bulge from a dear friend who fought there. We stood in South Korea at the DMZ and looked around feeling the weight of that area and all that had transpired there. We stood at Brandenburg Gate and felt the history that has poured through it. We stood at Ground Zero on a rainy, cold day and felt the loss.
This weekend the footsteps were in a lighthearted place, but just as important. These footsteps were from generations ago and they are very much a part of who we will be. It was Beautiful.
We went to an amusement park this weekend. It was one of those places that has everything, the thrill rides, the gardens, the animal habitats and the shows. It is in the neighboring city, the one where Vic's Grandparents lived their last several years. For over five of those years, Grandpa and Grandma L. would have season tickets and spend time at this park. The story goes that they would come to the park weekly and walk around to enjoy the gardens. Grandma L used to call things Beautiful, with emphasis on the "u". This was something I used to love about her, when she would smile and tell me when the world was Beautiful. There is a place in the park where there is a habitat for flamingos and other birds and a flower display that is shaped like a butterfly. Every time we round the corner to this place, I am sure that Grandma and Grandpa L have lingered here. It is our daughter's favorite place, and it is mine too. When we walk through, I pause to stand in the footsteps of Vic's Grandparents and to hear the whisper of that Beautiful place.
There is a profound feeling when you stand where others have stood and consider their footsteps. We have done this on battlefields across the world. We stood in Bastogne and felt the magnitude of that place, having heard firsthand the story of the Battle of the Bulge from a dear friend who fought there. We stood in South Korea at the DMZ and looked around feeling the weight of that area and all that had transpired there. We stood at Brandenburg Gate and felt the history that has poured through it. We stood at Ground Zero on a rainy, cold day and felt the loss.
This weekend the footsteps were in a lighthearted place, but just as important. These footsteps were from generations ago and they are very much a part of who we will be. It was Beautiful.
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