Alone, Yet Not Alone: A Movie Review

A Guest Post by Joel

Brutal. That's perhaps the best adjective to describe living on the western frontier of the American colonies in 1755. And that's exactly the feel you get from the newly-released historical adventure film, Alone, Yet Not Alone. Filmmakers Ray Begnston and George Escobar pull no punches depicting the extreme brutality of frontier conflict between European settlers and the tribes of the American wilderness. Only 15 minutes into the film, the patriarch of the Leiningers, a German immigrant family freshly settled in rugged Pennsylvania, is murdered with his son in their family's cabin. And it doesn't get much prettier from there. Burnings of buildings (and of people), close-combat fighting with bayonet and tomahawk, and scalps (without the scalpings) are all part of the story, easily earning this film it's PG-13 rating. But the violence is tastefully portrayed, and is largely without gore.

Barbara comforts Regina

The strongest point of the film lies with the historical account it vividly depicts. The tale is incredible: two sisters (and some friends along the way) abducted by fierce Indian warriors manage to survive and adapt to the lives of their captors for several years, ultimately, in different locations. After a 10-year separation, the remaining Leininger family members are reunited by the film's end. This truly is a Providential event, marked by a family's deep faith in God, and commitment to one another in the face of tremendous adversity. 

A tender moment

But the story’s decade-long time frame becomes a hindrance for modern filmmakers. Attempting to capture such a lengthy historical sequence, complete with the political context of colonial America, is a tall order for a less than 2 hour production. As a result, the film tells a compelling story, but is short on character development. Many of the characters we hardly have a chance to get to know before they're either grown or dead. And in some ways, where the character development does happen, it ends up being a bit inverse to the storyline. For instance, the primary romantic element of the film is between Barbara (the older Leininger sister) and her Indian captor, Galasko, in whom we see a growing affection and tenderness for Barbara throughout her captivity. It is, however, ultimately the unthinkable marriage with her father and brother's killer that drives Barbara to flee her captivity. In her freedom, she is reunited with an old friend from the past, whom we hardly know, and they are engaged by film's end without any time for us to appreciate this rather abrupt courtship.

On the filming level, for a Christian, independent, lower budget movie, Alone, Yet Not Alone, has some great successes along with some notable stumbles. The numerous cast members delivered a mixed acting performance. Natalie Rascoosin excellently portrays the young Barbara. Kelly Greyson fairs alright in her portrayal as an older Barbara, though her appearance and mannerisms probably fit better in a modern chick-flick than a rugged historical piece. Ozzie Torres and Tony Wade made a very strong showing in their performances as the two main Indian characters. Portrayals of colonial military leaders such as Captain Armstrong, General Braddock, and George Washington are all solid, as is the rendering of Benjamin Franklin by Barry Bedwell.

Several minor roles are filled by individuals that many in the homeschooling community will recognize instantly. Victoria Edmonds, one of the stars of the pro-life film Come What May, plays the supporting role of Marie, one of Barbara’s fellow captives. Bret Harris, of the Harris

homeschooling dynasty, also plays a supporting role. The majority of the Doug Phillips family appears in the film, some members with somewhat substantial parts. One of Phillips’ daughters plays the role of an Indian girl who befriends Barbara, while the now disgraced Doug Phillips fills a cameo role as a British colonel. Phillips' noticeable presence in the film, along with that of the young woman now suing Phillips for sexual assault, Lourdes Torres (who appears as an Indian maiden), unfortunately hinders the film’s message, though the movie had been shot long before the Vision Forum scandal erupted late last fall.

Overall, the film’s cinematography and action sequences are impressive. A few blunders turn up (we see drops of water on the camera lens in one rapids scene, and in another, a man just slain breaths, making me wonder if he was going to revive in a few moments). Some sequences were surprisingly unpredictable; others became trite (by the third hunting sequence, we all knew that the camera wasn't actually going to show the animal being shot). The musical score by William Ross is simply beautiful, providing the film with a strong boost of excellence and authenticity. 

And that brings me to the hallmark of the film, the title song, "Alone, Yet Not Alone." Sung by the three Leininger women throughout the film (who each do a fantastic job), and ultimately performed by Joni Erickson Tada during the credits, this song captures the beauty of the story and will leave its message in the hearts of viewers, long after they've left the theater.

Alone, Yet Not Alone will be experienced by viewers differently. Some will be distracted because of how much they know about the recent turmoil in the homeschooling community; others will be critical of the mistakes and mediocrity of some aspects of the film. But others, and indeed, a good many, will be understandably moved and inspired by the story's message, and will recognize that this film shouldn't be scolded, but supported. It is a solid attempt in retelling tales that ought to be told, the true stories of our heritage as Americans and as Christians. And no matter what, each person will leave with the truth in their heart, that when we know Jesus--no matter what the circumstance--we're never alone. 

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Joel is a man of vision, integrity, and loyalty who loves the Lord with all his heart. He's a home school graduate and an alumnus of Oak Brook College of Law and Government Policy, where he graduated magna cum laude. Born and raised in the Northwest, Joel now resides in Maryland where he works as a legal assistant and tries to keep his brilliant writing skills incognito. (He hasn't been successful at that or at keeping his speaking skills off the radio or at keeping his musical talent in the back row at church.) His writing ability, however, does not extend to composing bios, because his version of a bio leaves out all the aforementioned important details as well as other essentials like how amazing and smart he is. Good thing he has a fiancee to set the record straight!

Birth Announcement

He may have already stopped hoping by the time Hope was born.

Over 400 years of silence from God overshadowed this man’s ancestors.  It was a silence that rivaled the 430 years of Jewish slavery in Egypt.  And this Jew, born in the Egypt that had enslaved his ancestors, thought he may as well have been hoping for a resurrected Moses liberator as for a Messiah after all that silence. 

The way this man Philo saw it, it was time for God to step out from behind His curtain and once again declare “I AM.”  But Philo Judaeus wasn’t seeing even a rustling of the curtain, so he decided to yank it aside himself.  Moses was lost up on Mt. Sinai, and Philo took his cue from an impatient Aaron, building his own Messiah in one Greek word: logos.  

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This is just the beginning of a guest post I had the honor of writing for my friend Sarah's blog anniversary.  It goes up on Friday, but in the meantime, check out the other guest posters who will challenge your mindset and inspire your thinking.  The post today on Peter Pan is unmissable, and Sarah's even giving away two books that I've been longing to read!  

So what are you waiting for?  Sarah's door is just down the street from this corner, and if I know her, she's waiting with open arms and tea! 

Photo Credit: Chimpr

If I Could Bless You

"Mikaela, I heard the most amazing song at the conference in Texas!" Mama told me shortly after she had flown home. I couldn't have been more than twelve, and I don't remember anything she relayed to me about the content of the conference - except the amazing song she had heard. She ordered the music and a CD of it right away, and our family heard "The Blessing Song" by Dennis Jernigan for the first time.

May the Lord answer you in the day of your trouble;

May the name of the Lord be your strong mighty tower.

May He grant you your heart's deepest dreams and desires;

May He answer you each time you call.
 

Several years later, the young people of my church learned this song. We practiced and prepared. We knew the words, the melodies, the harmonies. Nevertheless, the spirit of the song I didn't understand until we were there on stage singing for 100 people. And suddenly, I was overwhelmed as I sang out a blessing with my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ to my brothers and sisters in Christ. There was nary a dry eye in the church - and the Holy Spirit was moving....

 

I had the privilege of guest posting over at Sarah's blog, The Lord's Lass, so hurry on over there to read the rest of this post!  

Photo Credit: Harold Lloyd

I'm Sorry

Photo Credit

~ a guest post by Jasmine Baucham~

 

“Now, say you’re sorry.”

 

We know the picture well: two petulant children at odds with each other, both in a full-on pout, arms crossed, angry tears threatening to spill from their eyes. Mom stands in the middle playing referee. She will make everything right by telling them exactly what to say: I’m sorry. I was wrong. And then we can breathe a sigh of relief as they go on their merry ways, free to steal each other’s toys, pull each other’s hair, and smack each other upside the head another day. Whew.

 

Closure.

 

We all have a certain idea of what it means to bring about the conclusion of an argument, or even a relationship. And, in most cases, it’s just a grown-up version of the petulant children: “I’m sorry.” “Me, too.” “I was wrong.” “Me, too.” “I love you.” “Me, too.” Whew.

 

Except, I’ve learned a hard lesson: sometimes, adults just don’t say I’m sorry.

 

And, even when they do, it just doesn’t make things... okay.

 

Gone are the days of half-hearted apologies and side-hugs that allow us to jump back into the world of Legos and finger-paints. Some hurts are just too deep, some wounds are just too searing, some lives are just too fragile for an apology to fix things.

 

And sometimes, apologies just don’t come.

 

The Lord has put forgiveness on my heart lately.

 

Colossians 3:12-13 says,

“Put on, then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you must also forgive.”

 As the Lord has forgiven you.

 

Have you ever heard that saying that bitterness is like you drinking poison in the hopes that someone else will die?

 

The seeds of bitterness grow from those little battles that don’t end in reconciliation. They grow when we feel we’ve been wronged without apology, when we feel that someone has acted without a compassionate heart, kindness, humility, meekness, patience, or forbearance towards us. At first, those seeds are sharp and cripplingly painful...but, after awhile, they settle into a dull, colorless ache that slowly siphons the joy from our hearts and our lives.

 

Maybe I’m the only one who’s ever been there before, in which case I freely admit that I have a wicked heart that constantly needs to be turned to the truths of God’s Word.

 

 And here’s a truth that floored me the other day: I don’t need anyone to apologize to me, I don’t need to be vindicated in a temporal sense, I don’t need to be acknowledge as the victim, the wronged party, in order to experience closure. Because Christ either nailed the sins committed against me to the Cross, or he will exact judgment for them on that last day. Either way, it is finished. I am not bound to sorrow or bitterness until the chapter closes satisfactorily. Because it’s already done. And I’m free from it just like I’m free from the fetters of my own sin.

 

Free. Isn’t that an overwhelmingly beautiful thought: freedom in Christ? Free not to be offended or wounded or prideful! Free to bask in who he says I am! Free to prize reconciliation, because it’s a beautiful thing, but to realize that, even if it never comes, we are reconciled to the God of the universe through the sacrifice of Christ.

Those pouty children don’t even understand what a humble apology or tender forgiveness even is! But I’m learning the value of both these days, and it’s radical and revolutionary and humbling and joyful. And my heart is learning the beauty of closure that has nothing to do with someone saying the right words or doing the right things, and everything to do with who I am in Christ.





By Jasmine Baucham

  Jasmine is the oldest of Voddie and Bridget Baucham's eight children. She is a homeschool graduate, an English major, and a sixth grade teacher at a classical school in Houston. She is also a published author who currently lives at home where she continues to assist her father in his research, is currently pursuing her master's in liberal arts at Houston Baptist university, and enjoys spending spare time with family, friends, and plenty of books.

 

Photo Credit: micagoto

God's Hand in Hindsight

A Realization

 

During a normal family devotional time we were discussing contentment and discontentment. As I listened to the discussion I realized our discontentment was against God. No matter the situation, husband, children, family, job or where you live, the truth of discontentment is questioning a sovereign God. "Why, What, When..."

As I sat forgiving my family and as they forgave me for the discontentment toward one another, I realized God's hand in my life once again.

 

A Story

Earlier on this day my father had visited us. After he was there for a while he began to share with my older son about his life and choices that brought severe consequences. You see my father grew up in Hawaii, and the year he graduated high school his parents and siblings headed to the mainland. To be exact they moved to a small town in Washington (where I would be born and raise my children), but my father stayed behind with no intention of moving with his family.

He stated to my son that he was a delinquent as a teen who didn't listen to his parents. Long story short, as an adult he landed himself in jail with only one way to get out: a police escort to the airport to board a plane heading to the mainland to his parents in Washington. As I listened to my father's story, all the facts didn't matter. What I heard was "do you see My hand? I am your God: a sovereign God." You see, God brought my father to Washington...and I am here and my children are here because of that: "For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother's womb (Psa 139:13)."

 

Horrible Circumstances? Great God!

 

He, my Heavenly Father, has a plan for you and me that spans the generations. I will trust that He is sovereign and will work out that plan--even through troubling circumstances. Forcing this severe consequence upon my father's life of leaving Hawaii is where God's will in my life began.

"And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to [His] purpose. For whom He foreknew, He also predestined [to be] conformed to the image of His Son, that He might be the firstborn among many brethren. Moreover whom He predestined, these He also called; whom He called, these He also justified; and whom He justified, these He also glorified (Rom 8:28-30)."

God's supreme, preeminent and undisputable authority is seen all around us. Take the time to see His sovereignty in your own life.  "Thus says the LORD, your Redeemer, And He who formed you from the womb: "I [am] the LORD, who makes all [things], Who stretches out the heavens all alone, Who spreads abroad the earth by Myself (Isa 44:24)."

By Patty W.

Mrs. W. is the able helpmeet to her husband, Brad, and the joyful mother of four wonderful children: Uriah, Aidan, Iliana, and Olin. When she's not homeschooling or organizing (you should see her closets!) or encouraging the women around her or cooking (you're missing out!) or opening her house up for hospitality or nursing baby Olin, she's probably finding deals on Craigslist and at garage sales or coaching volleyball. The rest of us can only wonder when she sleeps...

 

Photo Credit: Jack Fussel

New King James Version, © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

 

Christmas, Western-Style

From l-r: Melanie, Mikaela, Micah, Mama, {Bentley}, Papa, Lauren, Jonah, Susanna

It was high noon on a chilly December day. I was perched on my office desk (a black, well-used bean bag), a chick’o’stick in one hand and a cup of joe in the other (tea, Trader Joe tea, to be precise). All of a sudden, she swept into my office.  Her face looked of trouble itself; her piercing eyes probed my forgotten reflections.  “Are you surprised to see me?” she asked as I tried in vain to mop up the spilled tea using my hideously patterned tie.

“Of course not,” I managed. “Don’t you usually visit this time of year?”

“Yes, but this time I really need your help.  I have some new suspects here on this paper,” she said, handing me a rumpled napkin. “I’m counting on you.” 

“Sure,” I said, rubbing my chin, then looking up to discover she was gone. Seven suspects. OK, let’s start at the bottom. The sheriff (otherwise known as Jonah)? This will be interesting. See, whether you are good or bad folks, if you come a-visiting our town, you will probably be arrested at some point. Don’t let that stop you, though; it isn’t hard to break free (he’s allergic to tickling and kissing). And so I called him in for an interview (called down the hall, that is). “So sheriff, what’s on your record for this passing year?”

“Say what?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“What did you do?”

“Oh… well I got myself a spring-field bolt action WWI Sergeant York

rifle.”

“What?”

“I bought me a gun. I also did a fair amount of reading and writing and

fiddling.”

“And I’ve enjoyed some of your works of art.”

“Yeah. I like animals too,” he said salivating as he eyed my chick’o’stick sitting on its saucer. “And let’s see… well, back in May, I entered the double digits.”

Next I headed down to the diner where I expected to see the cowboy and some yummy grub. It took me a little longer to recognize him this time, ‘cause he never stays the same height for longer than a week anymore. He has now passed from the tenors to the basses, and he has just recently stolen my place in the town’s hall of fame for “the tallest westerner who is not the Mayor.” But I am OK with that now (counseling helps a lot). “Cowboy Micah, how’s it goin’?”

“Hey small.” See—it’s not that bad. “So you wanted to ask me some

questions.”

“Yeah, uh… the first one is: what did you do with your year?”

“Well um… I’ve done a lot of studying lately. I really enjoy history. I also

like to play the cello, and I am working on a Bach Cello Suite.”

“Sweet! Oh yeah, I mean—I’ve heard it. How has it been for your first

year as a teen?”

“I like it. I like being able to sit on the front seat of the wagon.”

“And I know you are always helping with stuff around town.” I closed, looking up at him as he nodded his head.

It was now time for a new approach, so I decided to stalk the person third up on my list. The Scientist. And in my investigation I found out that it is a very good idea to stay clear of the purple laboratory when the chemicals come out (my poor gummy bear), as well as the roads when she gets a hold of the reigns (she’s working on it). She also has become quite good in her piano-ing. And as for her Thursday nights? Well they are spent working for a Bible certificate, which she just completed! The Scientist (or Melanie to some) also taught a group of kids for a week long summer camp. All the kids walked away with a new understanding and love for science.

“O.K. Miss Teacher (To those of you who do not have her as your teacher, you either need to change that, or just call her Mikaela): how was your time used this year?”

 “I teach music to lots of great kids…”

“Hence the teacher part,” I said with a smile.

“Right. The Writer and I also just started serving on our symphony

board.”

“Y’all seem to love music…and speaking.”

“Yes, we do! Back in March, the Writer and I spoke at a girls’ conference

up in Gig Harbor. It was a lot of fun.”

The fifth suspect on my napkin is the Writer. She and the Teacher have always been pretty close to each other. “So Writer what have you been doing as of late?”

“Well we have been working on our columns (blogs). We just started one for Christian Heritage, and of course we’re still writing on One Bright Corner.”

“Yes—I was wondering how that’s going?”

“Good—it has been a phenomenal experience! Speaking of which, can you write another poem for me, detective? After your first one won that award, I’d love to post another one!

“Well, I’ll see what I can come up with, Writer.  Now haven’t you also been playing some concerts lately?”

“Yes!  We just did a benefit concert in November and a few more are

coming up!”

“Well, thank you for your time,” I said, straightening my tie over the brown stain in my shirt. Ma is the next suspect? Yeah, right! Ma wouldn’t offend a spider. But I’ll follow her around, since she was on the napkin list. First of all, she’s an amazing woman that the whole town looks up to and admires because she does it all. She’s a cook, waitress, counselor, activities organizer, maid…and the list goes on. She has also been through a number of surgeries, the last one being in mid-November in Georgia. It was amazing to see how God worked all that out, from free airline miles to the Doctor being a strong Christian. Also, we are very hopeful that this surgery will be a permanent solution to all her pain, so we have much for which to be grateful.

Last but not least, the seventh suspect (or first, since we started from the bottom): the Mayor. As I observed our Mayor, one thing mainly stood out to me… He is kinda sweet on Ma. But that is OK, ‘cause I am pretty sure he likes the whole town. He also stays busy with church stuff and work stuff. This year he and the Cowboy cut down a couple trees near the town, and they have a foundation all ready for a small house (they call it a tree house, but forget the detail that it’s not in a tree). I also got the impression that the Mayor doesn’t like me wearing his ties (or using them for washcloths for that matter).

After I got back to my Office to write a full report of my investigation, I realized I had forgotten the Posse. My very best friend who was at my side for as long as I could remember would not give up her fight to stay with us. So back in March, our beautiful curly red-haired Sadie had to be put down. We were privileged to have the best of all dogs for over 14 years.  In August, we finally found a new sheriff’s deputy named Bentley—a puppy with an adorable curly tail! 

Now we are at the end. Where did the time go? In answer to this question that has been the theme of my investigation, I can proudly say it was spent…carefully. In love, laughter, sometimes tears, but it was always shared together. Oh, and if Miss Ghost-of-Memories- Past happens to come rushing in on you as you’re enjoying  a peaceful cup of tea, would you mind telling her my conclusion? (And hold on to that cup!) I only ever see her once a year. Wishing you all the best for Christmas, this is Susanna, Private I. Signing off.                                

All Our Love,

From Our Family to Yours

Fairy Tales

A Guest Post By Susanna

I yearn to be in lands of magical lights.

I belong where there are fairies and knights;

Where there is not only one moon that gleams so bright,

But two or three to chase away all fright.

I dream of centaurs, who study skies untold;

Trees that whisper enchanting songs of old;

Of castles and battles,

Pirates and princes;

Of hay spun to gold,

Dragon tales ages-old.

I wish to see the magic pumpkin carriage,

Or the Beast's love, ending in his marriage.

I want to be captured by a unicorn.

And rest my hand upon his brilliant horn:

We will fly. Up to the golden sun,

Down to the sea. Oh now, we have just begun!

Dreams belong to naiads,

And mine with dryads,

To the bearded dwarves,

And lop-eared Minotaurs.

Though I fear only one door to Never Land

Is found, in pages fastened by a band.

Mind you open them often, for only here

May we slip through its ink ... and disappear.

Susanna is a fifteen-year-old homeschooler and the fourth daughter in a family of six children. She loves God, animals, and gourmet cooking and plays violin and piano. Oh yes--and she just happens to be our beloved younger sister who always has a special gift for us, whether that be her entertaining tales, her beautiful music, or her behind-the-scenes service. She recently took first place in a poetry contest for this original work of art, and we could not be more proud of her achievement!

Photo Credits:
#1: ToNToN CoPT
#2: Raquel of God's Daughter

The Night of Noble Men, Part II

A Guest Post by Susanna

Read Part I here.

Just then the iceberg gashed the starboard bow, brushing along side of the ship. Everyone was hurled forward. The ship’s forcing angle pinned me against the icy rail. “Dear God in heaven: please help us!” The words carried by the bitter cold wind echoed in everyone’s ears the moment they heard the pleading cry. I could tell by the astonished comprehending looks: we were all thinking the same thing. How could we have thought of God so diminutively? And now we were all being punished. I felt so helpless.    

“Water’s rising quickly—look!” A man gripping the corner wall whimpered. Westin shot me a quick glance that asked if I was alright. As I clung to the rail, I was only relieved to still be breathing.

“We must go to the Captain for fresh orders, quickly.” We cautiously walked up the increasingly slanted deck to find the Captain.

“Water has risen 14 feet from the bow. The first five compartments are begin’in to take on water.”

“Are we going to live to see sunrise?” someone in the crowd called.

“As soon as I can find… Oh there he is—Thomas!” The Captain beckoned to a rather nervous looking fellow, speedily heading toward the middle of the crowd. “Thomas is the ship's designer. How long do we have Thomas?”

 “I have calculated that the ship can stay afloat for no more than 1 to 1½ hours.”

“The ship is doomed,” something inside me whimpered. Nearby, Captain Smith shouted out many instructions. "C.Q.D." was sent out as a distress call. It was now 5 minutes past Sunday.

“Holman. Don’t fall apart now; we need your help with the life boats.”

I looked up at Westin. “The boat already has.”

“No it hasn’t, man—what are ye talkin’ about? Stay strong for all the woman and children. Alright?”

“Yes the woman… and children.”

“Woman and children first!” The Captain called. Many men didn’t even bat an eye at the thought of being left behind. I helped uncover the few boats we had as I tried to take it all in. Rockets were sent to the sky in hopes that a ship not 14 miles away would see our distress signal. Boats were being hoisted down with the first few passengers.

“The Carpathia, has received our distress call and is immediately heading our way,” The Captain announced.

Westin grunted under his breath, “She won’t reach us in time. ’Tis about some 58 miles away.”

I lifted crying children and helped frightened woman into the boats. Thinking I knew more because of the sailor outfit I wore, many asked questions that I could no more answer than they could. Nevertheless, I tried answering them calmly and giving the children dull reassuring smiles. But under my strong façade, I had crumbled. I glanced over to another boat where Turvey was forcing an older woman to stay seated, while others lowered it down from him, into the darkness.

“Good bye mama! I will be alright—Jesus will take care of me. I love you! Don’t forget that.” he called after her. In between sobbing cries, she tried telling Turvey the same. I came over to attempt convincing him to leave with the next boat, but then I realized there was no trace of fear in his tear-streaked face. “We must hurry to get all the other woman and children! Come!” He said. I looked at him with a puzzled gaze.

We searched room after room. I entered a gloomy, deserted room and was about to leave, when I heard what sounded like a small cry. When I walked further in, I discovered a small, abandoned baby wrapped in a wool sheet, crying for anyone who would listen. I picked her up and cradled her in my arms as I slowly walked back to the boat docks.

“Is my baby going to be this precious?” I wondered. She didn’t cry anymore, but only seemed content. And then I had an idea.

“Westin—hold the baby for a moment will you?” He looked nervous as I placed her in his rough arms. Then after scrambling for pencil and paper, I quickly leaned over one of the upright barrels and scribbled out a letter:

My darling Louisa, I’m so very sorry I cannot return to you.  I was wrong; never doubt God’s might. I can’t tell you how much I will miss not seeing you every morning or never being able to meet our baby, but God has sent me a small glimpse of her. I have loved you and will continue to love you until my last seconds. -Harry               

            

Then I folded it neatly and wrote my address. When I took the baby back,  I placed her in one of the opened bags of mail and slipped the letter inside the blanket. I carefully set the bag in the boat and gave her a small kiss on the forehead. Then, helping many other men lower her away, I noticed Reverend Harper.

He was kissing the cheeks of his daughter, and setting her in the boat. The tears in her eyes pained me—to think she would never see him again. And I would never again in this life lay eyes on Louisa! I melted right there, slumping down on the wooden deck into a desperate cry. It was like someone had taken my heart out and squeezed it for all it was worth.

“It’s too much! I can take no more!” My  chest ached as I sat there, tears rolling down my whiskered cheeks into the now moonless nightmare.

“Man ye have no vest... Take mine.” I looked up from my place on the cold deck floor to see Harper.

“We’re going down anyway. I don’t need it.” I said, turning my head in hopes he wouldn’t be able to notice the pathetic tears sliding down my face, like one of the other little children.  

“But that’s just it, I’m not going down. I’m going up.” He smiled as I took the vest and then he walked over to the singing band. He encouraged everyone to join in prayer with him for the unsaved upon the ship, and for the life boats to be rescued. I just sat there and gazed through the veil of my blurry, wet eyes.      

The last boat left at 1:40 a.m. We could sink any moment. The sea was now only 10 feet below Promenade deck. I watched as the Reverend led many in a prayer meeting. I pondered what I should do. Slowly standing, I managed a wobbly walk toward the praying group, and I was reminded of how cold I was when the cool breeze made my drying tears freeze and my body shiver. I knelt down next to Charles.

“I need help. Can you help me?” I looked up at Reverend Harper.

“No man,” he said coming toward me. “But God can. He’s the only one who can save our souls.”

“I’m a sinner dear Lord! I need your compassionate forgiveness. Please, please forgive me…” I cried.

“He already has,” The Reverend couldn’t help but smile.

Captain Smith interrupted us. “Crew, Phillips just has sent the last C.Q.D. and S.O.S’s by radio. The ship’s forecastle deck has sunk underwater. It is now 2:17 a.m. and the tilt still grows steeper. It's every man for himself.” Dejected, he then returned to the bridge to await his watery grave.

Turvey looked up at me and smiled. “I’m so glad you have answered God’s beckoning call.”

“Yes, I can’t help but be joyful! It’s astonishing; God has taken my burdening cares. He has made them all disappear like a vapor. I only hope He will save my dear wife and baby too.”

We then started singing, as huge roars were heard all around. Every movable object crashed towards the submerged bow. The ship's lights flickered once, then turned off, for good. We still kept right on singing, all one-thousand-five-hundred-twenty-two voices getting louder like the choirs of angels we would soon see. 

As I could no longer feel my numb arms or legs in the icy water,  I thought of two final things: how I love my Louisa so much, but how God loves me and her much, much more.     

After the Titanic sank seconds later, Westin had yet another visit with Reverend Harper in the water where the minister quoted Acts 16:31: “So they said, ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and you will be saved, you and your household.’”

About 4:10 a.m the Carpathia picked up the 705 survivors, including Mr. Westin and the baby, and brought them on to New York City where they arrived April 18^th to over one hundred thousand spectators. The baby lived to become one of the last Titanic survivors of the 21^st century. Mr. Westin continued Reverend Harper’s ministry in spreading the Gospel and frequently thought of him and Mr. Holman. He would often tell people one of the most important lessons he had learned that horrid night was of the wonders of God Who cannot be compared the R.M.S. Titanic.

Susanna is a fourteen-year-old homeschooler and the fourth daughter in a family of six children. She loves God, animals, and gourmet cooking and plays violin and piano. Oh yes--and she just happens to be our beloved younger sister who always has a special gift for us, whether that be her entertaining tales, her thoughtful questions, or her behind-the-scenes service.

Photograph Credits:
#1: ISD 191 Performing Arts Program. Used by permission under the Creative Commons License
#2: Barker, J. W. TITANIC Life Boats on Way to CARPATHIA. April 1912. Photograph. George Grantham Bain Collection, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division, Washington, D.C. Library of Congress. Web. http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/ggb2005011317/. No known copyright restrictions.
#3: Harold Bride, Surviving Wireless Operator of the TITANIC, with Feet Bandaged, Being Carried up Ramp of Ship. May 27, 1912. Photograph. Miscellaneous Items in High Demand, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division, Washington, D.C. Library of Congress. Web. http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2002714434/. No known copyright restrictions.
#4: Crowd Awaiting Survivors from the Titanic. April 18, 1912. Photograph. George Grantham Bain Collection, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division, Washington, D.C. Library of Congress. Web. http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2001704324/. No known copyright restrictions.
#5: Raquel from God's Daughter. Used by permission.



The Night of Noble Men

A Guest Post By Susanna

Many stories have had their chance at the telling of this fateful night, 100 years ago, April 14. I know this one doesn’t give it justice, but here’s yet one more, out of the 2,227 true stories that have almost been forgotten.

The ship’s forcing angle pinned me against the icy rail. “Dear God in heaven please help us!” The words carried by the bitter cold wind echoed in everyone’s ears the moment they heard the pleading cry. I could tell by the astonished comprehending looks: we were all thinking the same thing.

It had only been 8 days earlier—that day which I had proclaimed to my beloved wife, Louisa Josephine, to be one of the most exciting days of my life—that all this had commenced. At the Southampton docks, Captain Smith, a proud but kind man, looked over my earlier background with ships.

Harry Holman, ca 1910

“What’s ye name lad?”

“Harry… Harry Holman.”

Then he extended his rough worn hand to me with a smile, “Welcome ab’ard the Titanic laddy. We’a pleased to have such an able seaman atops the Royal Mail Ship.”

My face burst out from its nervous desperate state into instantaneous joy. “Thank you sir, so much.” I was shaking from the tops of my head down to the soles of my boots as I entered our one-room apartment above a small Hampshire shoe shop, to tell my wife the most wonderful news. We had been expecting our baby any day now. Oh how welcoming it was to see her so round yet so joyful. Stunned tears sprang to her eyes when she heard the news. Happiness was written all over her beautiful face. 5£ a month would be enough to keep us going.

 

 “We will only be apart for a short while until you have had the baby. Then you can come with me.”

“But Harry The sea is an untamed creature, you have told me before of the terrible…?”

Fear swept to her face until she heard my calming but stern reply, “Darling Louisa, God Himself cannot sink that grand ship.” 

The Olympic and Titanic under construction

Only a few short days later—the tenth—it was time to weigh anchor. I could see tears once again stinging Louisa’s eyes as she tried with all her might to keep them back. The blast of the horn bellowed  its final goodbye. I watched as my sister, brother in-law and wife stood on the dry docks waving along with the other thousands of excited Englishmen there to see the Titanic off, on its first voyage to New York.

It felt so good to be back where the salty wind wrestled with my sandy hair. I had never seen such wealthy people before nor so fancy a boat. All other boats I had sailed with before were like dwarfs compared to this one, with the many elegant rooms and exquisite chandeliers.

“The captain isn’t pay’n you to be a day drim’in.”  I quickly turned about, and there was a tall muscular man standing not one foot away from me, with a stern scowl on his face.

“Ah yes dreadfully sorry, and to whom do I have this pleasure?”

“I’ount know about pleasures but my name is Westin.”

“Well Mr. Westin—glad to have met you. I’m Holman.”

“Are ye a deck man?”

“Yes sir. Though I haven’t had much time to get familiar with the boat yet.”

 “Come on then, I shall show you around our fine lady.”

As Mr. Westin led me around, I was simply amazed at the extravagant bed chambers and dining halls—there was even a pool! The floors’ marble tiles and the ceiling’s golden light fixtures decorated each room like jewelry. 

The Titanic, to be launched.

The next days were fairly smooth sailing and full speed ahead, covering 386 miles of fine, calm, clear sea. But those who had not tamed their sea stomachs yet found it hard to keep the cook’s gourmet meals down in a secure spot. Many of the woman helped with the poor sickly people. I knew that would be exactly where Louisa would be spending all her time. I was enjoying my job, yes, but oh how I longed so much to hear my wife’s joyful voice. It was comforting though to know that she was being well taken care of by my sister and brother in-law until I could come back. We had made a stop in Queenstown Harbor to pick up many mail bags and passengers, but now it was non-stop through the Atlantic Ocean, on to New York. I was quite surprised of the record speeds we were making: 519 miles headway on the 12^th–13^th alone. We did, however, receive various ice warnings which meant nothing for a normal April crossings.

Early the next morning, on the 14^th, the thermometer proved it to be quite cold out. It was my turn to be on the full day’s deck watch; this usually meant I would have to make sure passengers weren’t prowling around the top deck. It was a lonely job more often than not.

“Good morning sir,” a kind man with twinkling eyes said in the cloud of his foggy breath.

“And a good morning to you too.”

“I’m on my way to the conference foyer and have lost my way. Would ye be so kind as to show me were it’tis?”

My iced-up finger tips were peeking out from the blue muffatees my dear wife had knitted me. They seemed to be pleading with me saying, “Oh please can we get out of the cold just for a minute?”

“Alright I only have but a moment; follow me,” I told the man as I led him through a pair of doors into a warm hallway that wound down to the main staircase. I was beginning to know my way around the ship rather well. The man carried on a friendly conversation until we reached the entry door to the conference room.

“Thank you dearly man. But perhaps I could ask yet another favor of ye. My name is Harper and I am holding a morning church service in this room. Would ye be able to spare just an hour of your time to worship our Lord?”

I tried to think of a reasonably polite excuse why I didn’t want to waste my time with the lot of praying Christians. Thus occupied, I failed to notice Mr. Westin had come up behind me.

“Um… excuse me preacher…” he uttered breaking the silence.

 “Mr. Holman has more important things to busy his time with than sini’n a lot of those religious songs to a God who is weaker than this ship.” I just stood there with a guilty expression sinking deep into my reddened face. The gentleman had now lost most of the sparkle in his eyes which had earlier brightened my morning.

“But not even on a Sunday?”

“No. Now if you may excuse us.”

Reverend Harper then laid his hands on my shoulder as his eyes met mine. “Very well, but I will be praying for ye both.”

While we headed back up to the top deck, Westin revealed he had a purpose in finding me greater than just to embarrass me.

“Master Turvey, the messenger boy, has just picked up a wireless message from the R.M.S. Caronia warning us of a field of ice about 42`N from 49` to 51`W. Captain Smith says as a precaution to avoid the ice; he might have to ‘alter ship's course later this evening. Slightly to the south and west. Not ‘uge, but Captain wants a few more men to be on the alert.”

“Well if he decreases speed we probably won’t have need.”

“20 ½ knots is the slowest the Captain ‘el go. He’s determined to break every record in the book.”

After twilight, I was trying to stay warm while remaining alert. Charles Turvey, the 16-year-old messenger boy, helped pass the time by keeping me company.

“It’s a mighty clear night. Wouldn’t you say? Look at all the many stars.” I said, briskly rubbing my hands together.

“Yes that most likely means we’re to have a fairly cool day tomorrow, with no cloud cover for tonight.”

“There ya are boy I was lookin’ fer you.”

“Mr. Westin we were just admiring the night sky. Isn’t it lovely?” His eyes didn’t even shift upward at my question.

“Holman have you seen that there moon.”

“Why of course…” I answered.

“That sliver my dear friend is a sign of bad luck.” I could tell this really bothered Westin, but Charles, not being a superstitious boy, debated the matter. 

 “But if anything it should be a sign of good luck. Coming just before the new moon, I…”

“Listen to me boy I ain’t goina argue this with ya. My father always told me that it is never good luck to be on a journey when there’s barley a moon to guide you. Now… I need your help…”  

"Ding, Ding, Ding!"

“Is that the warning bell?” I asked.

“Aye Holman.” Then Mr. Westin turned away and shouted to the lookout man.

“Frederick. What is it?”

 "Iceberg dead ahead Sir. 500 yards!" Our stunned eyes met. We dashed to the front of the ship. There above the water rested a mighty iceberg towering 55 to 60 feet above the water. My heart sunk as I stood motionless, gawking at the giant ice block.

“Hard a starboard.” Alarming calls and bells were going off all around us.

Westin grabbed my arm rushing toads the rear of the boat. 

“Veer to port!”

“Holman. Brace for impact!” I vaguely heard him shout into my ear, as we crouched down next to the dozens of barrels huddled against the wall. It was chaos as we waited there for mere seconds, but it seemed much longer. Men scrambled to help, as some ran only for a safe place to be. I sat there wondering if my life was going to be over any moment. I knew I wasn’t ready to die.

~To Be Continued Tomorrow~

Susanna is a fourteen-year-old homeschooler and the fourth daughter in a family of six children. She loves God, animals, and gourmet cooking and plays violin and piano. Oh yes--and she just happens to be our beloved younger sister who always has a special gift for us, whether that be her entertaining tales, her thoughtful questions, or her behind-the-scenes service.

Photograph Credits:

#1: Harry Holman about 1910; Encyclopedia Titanica (ref: #5519, accessed 23^rd February 2012) http://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/harry-holman-about-1910.html. No copyright restrictions. 

#2: OLYMPIC and TITANIC. 1909 -1911. Photograph. George Grantham Bain Collection, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division, Washington, D.C. Library of Congress. Web. http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2002721382/. No copyright restrictions.

#3: TITANIC, to Be Launched. 1911. Photograph. George Grantham Bain Collection, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division, Washington, D.C. Library of Congress. Web. http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2001704329/. No copyright restrictions.

#4: brizzle born and bred Used by permission under the Creative Commons License

#5: Raquel from God's Daughter. Used by permission.