| The Search For Self It seems no matter how many generations we go back, what we find is that we are all just folks. Folks who tried, failed, succeeded, and tried again. It points out to me how much we are all alike, all so much in need of God's love. The generational search seems to me to be like putting together a jig saw puzzle. One where the lid to the box is missing so we can't see what the picture is suppose to look like. Diligently we set to work matching this piece with another until a picture begins to emerge. The picture that emerges is of a single face and that face is our own. It takes all the pieces to complete that face. Along the way of sorting and arranging those pieces we begin to see who we are, where we came from, who we belong to, and maybe learn a little about why we are the way we are. It leaves us with a good feeling, a sense of belonging, and the knowledge that we are not alone. It is a confirmation to me that we are all a part of God's big picture. We can't always find the piece he's talking about. And we can't always see how it all fits together. But if we trust Him, all the pieces will fall into place to form the picture He wanted us to see. The picture of how good we look to Him, in the glow from His proud Father's eyes. No matter how we put the pieces together or why we have chosen to do so, the message is the same for each of us. God really does love us! And He is very glad we belong to Him! Many people have left a lasting and positive impression on me over the years but two stand out in my memory. They are my dad, Cyrus Harrison, and my aunt, Amelia Harrison. They have both passed away, but as you read about them I think you will see why I wanted you to get to know them. My Dad - A Man of Faith When I was age three I contracted tuberculosis of the spine. The TB ate away most of the cartilage between the vertebrae, some of the bone, and lung tissue. The cure in those days was to strap me immobile to a Bradford frame, the early version of the modern day Stricker bed without the ability to flip over. I laid strapped down unable to move anything but my arms for four and a half years. Much of that time was spent in the hospital. Through all the years of confinement and recovery my dad, Cy Harrison, was my guardian angel. I was not expected to live and my dad said, ' yes she will, she will be fine'. My parents were told I would never walk again and my dad said, 'yes she will, just give her time to heal'. The doctors wanted to do a surgery that would take a bone from my leg and use it to support my spine. They told my parents they would have the choice of my standing or sitting for the rest of my life. My dad said no to the surgery because he believed there was a chance I would get better without it. From the arc position I was held in with head and feet down and middle raised, my ankles began to fall and the doctors said there was nothing they could do and I just wouldn't be able to walk. My dad said yes there is something we can do and nailed two boards together at a 90 degree angle, slid one side under my feet and rested the bottoms of my feet on the other. My ankles quit falling. The doctors said she needs sunshine but they had no solution. Again, my dad had the solution. He bought an old antique wicker tea cart with large wheels. He would pick me up frame and all, lay me on top of the tea cart and roll me outside into the sunshine. My dad worked hard to help conquer my medical problems but he also made sure I received the sense of being held and comforted that every young child needs. His solution was to pick me up, again frame and all, and carry me into the living room and sit us both down in the big green chair. He sat in the chair and laid my frame across the arms. Then he would tell me I was sitting on his lap. All along my dad maintained that I would get better and that I would walk. It wasn't my dad's way to say God would heal me but he believed it just the same. And he was right. When I was age seven and a half the doctors decided that maybe my spine was strong enough to support me and I was allowed to get off the frame and taught to walk. I hadn't worn shoes since age three and my dad said I was more excited about having a pair of shoes than of being able to walk again. I was put in a full body brace from neck to thighs and lived that way until I was age twelve. My mother had taught me to read and write and my dad taught me math by first teaching me to play cards and then transferring that knowledge into math problems. So at age seven and a half I was given a test at school, passed it with flying colors and entered first grade. The years were difficult. I had rarely been around normal kids, only sick ones. I didn't know how to function in a group. I had never had a friend. I was restricted in my movements which kept me from being like the other kids and doing what they could do. I excelled in learning because of a high IQ but mastering life and relationships took much longer to learn. What I strived for most in life was to not be different, to not be singled out, or publicly made fun of. It was my dad who understood all that I had to overcome and remained my solid support. At age twelve I was finally rid of the body brace and the high top shoes. I still ran a little cock-eyed but otherwise looked like everyone else. From that point I taught myself how to survive by improvising to make up for what my body was lacking. I had learned that from my dad also as I watched him excel in his field even though he had to quit school in the fourth grade to help support his family in hard times. The doctors said my rigid lower spine, because the vertebrae had fused, would prevent me from carrying a pregnancy full term. But I had learned to be like my dad. I believed I would have a child and after three miscarriages I had a son. What I learned from my dad is that there are no limits with God, no matter what the doctors say. What it has given me is compassion for anyone who is mistreated, or made to feel different or lesser in anyway. I learned that from my dad too as I watched him many times over the years champion the underdog and open his door to anyone in need. The picture of me and my dad was taken just a few weeks before I was diagnosed with tuberculosis. It was the last picture taken of me when I was still able to stand up. The reason it's my favorite picture is because the man in the picture, my dad, is the one who really saved my life. He not only made it possible for me to walk again; he taught me to live with compassion for others and to trust God in all things.    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