The Eternal

When I was a little girl, I was afraid of storms. The reason for that was I could tell my mother was afraid, even though I was only three or four. What better reason to take on her fears than this: the person I loved and trusted most was afraid. That was cause enough for me.

When I was with my grandma and it stormed, she taught me a little saying, a prayer really, that I always found comforting:

“God works in a mysterious way His wonders to perform, He plants His footsteps on the sea and rides upon the storm.”

I still find it a good reminder that God has the situation in hand.

When I was twelve, I saw my first tornado. Much like the one last Tuesday, it could have destroyed New London as we have always known it, with just a little change in its trajectory, but it didn’t. People lost replaceables but not their lives. Terrible, yes, but if you are alive, there’s always tomorrow and starting over.

Tuesday’s storm was the same. Terrible for those that lost homes or are looking at thousands of dollars of repairs, but no loss of life. On this day, the most damage was done to those lost to us long ago as the tornado took a rural route.

Burge Cemetery, that beautiful tranquil resting place for so many New Londoners, was decimated. Trees gone, tombstones overturned, the shed built in 1921 in pieces in an adjoining field, and the cemetery’s tractor destroyed.

For me, Burge is like stepping into my own personal “Our Town” production, as the individual stories of New London run throughout.

“There’s J.E. Peterson, a solid citizen. He promoted New London by starting businesses, the mitten factory for one. He died too young.

“There’s James Ireton. His wife and child were killed. Train hit ‘em. Just a shame, a terrible shame.

“There’s John McKinnon. His boy, John Jr., was a big-shot lawyer in New York in 1916 or thereabouts. He rescued a drowning girl and then dropped dead of a heart attack. He’s there with his parents, was only 30. So much promise…

“There’s Gordon Reese, the realtor.

“Don Bell, you remember, the lawyer?

“Earl Petzinger, he ran a grocery store. Jim Carmon bought it from Earl when he retired.

“You remember Judge Walters? He took the kids on a Mississippi cruise every year.

“Then there’s Civil War graves over here… And these graves, New London boys killed while serving in the military. Wayne Eckles, Wayne Ritchey, Jeremy Fulk, all so young. And Forrest and Millie Burkhart… still miss them.”

Thornton Wilder, the playwright who published “Our Town” in 1938, put it best in the very script of that three-act production.

“We all know that something is eternal. And it ain’t houses and it ain’t names, and it ain’t earth, and it ain’t even the stars … everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you’d be surprised how people are always losing hold of it. There’s something way down deep that’s eternal about every human being.”

We celebrate The Eternal by remembering, and cemeteries are where we keep those memories. While we cry with those that lost something tangible on Tuesday and help them as best as we can, Burge’s destruction must be repaired. It is the repository for The Eternal, a place where memories are kept.

I’m still a little afraid of storms, especially ones that come with three sirens blaring. As this latest one played itself out, a rainbow appeared, God’s reminder of an eternal promise.

So be thankful for what the storm didn’t do. Be grateful if you were spared. Help your neighbors but help with your time, your money, or both to repair Burge as well. It’s important. It’s Eternal.