WE ARE THE CHOSEN by Della M. Cumming ca 1943.-"In each family we are 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. Doing genealogy is not a cold gathering of facts but, instead, breathing life into all who have gone before. We are the story tellers of the tribe. We have been called as it were by our genes. Those who have gone before cry out to us: 'Tell our story.' So, we do. In finding them, we somehow find ourselves. How many graves have I stood before now and cried? 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? It goes to seeing a cemetery about to be lost forever to weeds and indifference and saying 'I can't let this happen'."… "So, as a scribe called, I tell the story of my family…

Those we love don't go away,
they walk beside us everyday,
unseen, unheard, but always there,
still loved, still missed, and very dear.

" He hideth my soul in the depth of his love,
and covers me there with his arms " song by Fanny Crosby

WE ARE THE CHOSEN by Della M. Cumming ca 1943.-"In each family we are 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. Doing genealogy is not a cold gathering of facts but, instead, breathing life into all who have gone before. We are the story tellers of the tribe. We have been called as it were by our genes. Those who have gone before cry out to us: 'Tell our story.' So, we do. In finding them, we somehow find ourselves. How many graves have I stood before now and cried? 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? It goes to seeing a cemetery about to be lost forever to weeds and indifference and saying 'I can't let this happen'."… "So, as a scribe called, I tell the story of my family…

Those we love don't go away,
they walk beside us everyday,
unseen, unheard, but always there,
still loved, still missed, and very dear.

" He hideth my soul in the depth of his love,
and covers me there with his arms " song by Fanny Crosby