In The Middle of It All

Joab ambled Star down the dark street, pulling his jacket close for warmth. It was quiet in Oxford except for the wind that whistled and blew hard through the limbs of the oak trees. He turned his horse toward The University and slumped in the saddle while Star clopped along on the hard-packed dirt street.
The lamps were turned up to a high flame, standing vigil over the few students who were still out making their way to the dormitories. He rode up on the hill, the little cemetery for Confederate soldiers killed at Shiloh and Corinth. Just when Joab thought that Shiloh held the Balm in Gilead, he found the bitter gall of the tomb, the burial grounds of those who gave a full measure—then and now. He remembered the day he walked the wood planked bridge over the Tishomingo Stream at Brice's Crossroads, the ride up the ridge to Shiloh Hill. And now he was in Oxford where Whiskey Smith under the Union flag had tried to melt down the city. Joab thought Shiloh was his place of peace until he realized there would be no peace until yet a stronger measure of inner healing could take place.

And Joab had scarcely had time to mourn the death of Robert E. Lee, his father's commanding officer. T.G., Jonathan, and Albert Henry had loved Lee with a passion. Joab read it in the Oxford paper just a few days ago. On September 28, Lee suffered a stroke and died of pneumonia just a couple of weeks later in Lexington, Virginia. On October 12, 1870, to be precise. It was said his last words were "Strike the tent!" speaking to A.P. Hill, another hero. Come up and take the tent down, move on—Lee was moving on to better things. And what could be better for a man of faith than Heaven. "Strike the tent, indeed!" thought Joab. Rachel would be grieving along with Jonathan and Isaac. Even young Samuel would be touched by the loss of this great Confederate general. In the middle of it all, Joab wondered how on earth a southern boy could forget.

How could one forgive when it just kept coming?

Jane Bennett Gaddy

Excerpt from JOAB, A Novel of the Old South

Comments

Solitude

Likely we have never understood the truth of solitude until now, in the Year of our Lord 2020. A season of enigmatic suffering, seclusion, fear. We hear stories of the elderly dying alone. There can be no funeral, just burial. We hear of refrigeration trucks being used as morgues to hold the bodies until they can be disposed of. Sadness and loneliness hover over the epicenter of our once untouchable city where literally thousands are dying—Alone. At least, we thought it was invincible— Our Savior considered that and more when He cried, "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46). It makes perfect sense that God had to turn His back on Jesus at the Cross, because a Holy God cannot look upon sin, and in those moments on the Cross, Jesus "became" sin for us that we might be made righteous through His shed Blood. In all of that, of course, the God-Man was—Alone. For He (God) hath made Him (Jesus) to be sin for us, Who knew no sin...

It was Over... The South Was Defeated

Isaac Payne rode with the last of his company to Appomattox on April 10 with no inkling of what to expect. He waited outside the perimeter. Enlisted men were not allowed to be present on the streets of the Courthouse area. Only commanding officers. Isaac was emaciated, just like all the other southern patriots who leaned hard against the white picket fence that surrounded the township. Tired, empty, and disheartened, they waited to know the end of the story. One man could scarcely be identified from the next. They all looked the same. Withered and wasted. Isaac dismounted and patted Glory. She was his only earthly possession besides his weapons. His only connection to home. He gripped the bridle and pressed his face to her thin neck, unconsciously rubbing his hand over her protruding bones. If he looked up in the distance he might see his father and brother riding the dusty road to Appomattox to join him, but how could that be? They were dead. The thought of their absence and ...

A Treasure

We live in the incredible age of the Millennials . Notice I didn't say the Millennium, the Kingdom Age, the thousand year reign of Christ upon the earth (Revelation 20:4-6). That comes a little later. We must finish out the Age of Grace followed by the Rapture of the Church, and then there is the seven years of Tribulation, after which Satan is bound in the abyss, and the Church will rejoice for a thousand years with Jesus "seated upon the throne of His Father David." Inconceivable? Read it for yourself. There is so much to ponder between those lines. Back to the present, a little slice of time in this Dispensation of Grace when we have produced a generation of what the culture has dubbed Millennials . We who are of the Silent Generation sometimes find it difficult to "get" this concept. We grew up with party-line telephones, a three digit number, and a real live operator. I probably never heard of a passcode unless it was on the Chocolate Flavored Ovalt...

Search This Blog