The President and Three Kittens
Near the end of the Civil War and about three weeks before President Abraham Lincoln's assassination, the Lincoln family was invited to visit General Grant's headquarters in City Point, Virginia. While visiting Lincoln happened to be in the telegraph hut on the property. When Lincoln was inside the hut he happened upon three tiny kittens. The kittens seemed to be disoriented and wandering around. Lincoln stooped down and picked up one of the kittens and asked,
Where is your mother?’ A person standing nearby said, ‘The mother is dead.’ The President continued to pet the little kitten and said, ‘Then she can’t grieve as many a poor mother is grieving for a son lost in battle.’ Abraham picked up the other two kittens and now had all three in his lap. He stroked their fur and quietly told them, ‘Kitties, thank God you are cats, and can’t understand this terrible strife that is going on.’ The Chief Executive continued, ‘Poor little creatures, don’t cry; you’ll be taken good care of.’ He looked toward Colonel Bowers of Grant’s staff and said, ‘Colonel, I hope you will see that these poor little motherless waifs are given plenty of milk and treated kindly.’ Bowers promised that he would tell the cook to take good care of them. Colonel Horace Porter watched the President and recalled, ‘He would wipe their eyes tenderly with his handkerchief, stroke their smooth coats, and listen to them purring their gratitude to him.’ Quite a sight it was, thought Porter, ‘at an army headquarters, upon the eve of a great military crisis in the nation’s history, to see the hand which had affixed the signature to the Emancipation . . . tenderly caressing three stray kittens.’ i
It is amazing how God's little creatures can have such an impact on our feelings and emotions. Undoubtedly Lincoln was weary. He carried the weight of the Civil War upon his shoulders. He felt an overwhelming responsibility for the young men he had sent into battle. In a moment when Lincoln most needed an emotional outlet to express his feelings, he found three tiny kittens. The average age of a young soldier between 1861-1865 was 22. The romance of wearing a uniform and marching off to war was a luring alternative to a young man who was bored with life on the farm. It did not take long for soldiers north and south to realize that “war could be hell.” When the bullets started flying and soldiers were mortally wounded their thoughts turned toward mother and home. The three motherless kittens reminded President Lincoln of the young soldiers who often cried out for their own mothers when they were wounded in battle.
Cat lovers everywhere can relate to this story. There have been times when the purring of a kitten or the love of a family cat has helped us to cope with life. A cat has the special ability to sense when we are tense or worried. Could it be that three tiny kittens inspired Lincoln to bring a faster end to the Civil War?
i Norton, Roger, The Abraham Lincoln Research Site, home.att.net/~rjnorton/Lincoln35html.
Psalm 143: 10 says,
Teach me to do Your will,
for You are my God.
May Your gracious Spirit
lead me on level ground
Aunt Cortney & Gracie
Are you praying about God's will for college, a career, a life's mate, and other concerns? Seeking the unrevealed will of God is an important part of being a Christian. In contrast, we can spend so much time seeking the unknown that we neglect to do that which is already written in the Word. For instance, Paul the Apostle told us to obey our parents. We don't have to ask God if it is his will to obey our parents. God told us to do so in scripture. Doing God's revealed will is a matter of obedience and submission.
Psalm 143: 10 reveals that David placed himself in a position to know God's will. Look at his request: Teach me to do your will, for you are my God. David had a submissive attitude toward God. He said, ...you are my God. David gave the Lord veto power meaning he yielded the right for God to change his plans.
David followed the Lord's gracious Spirit. Isn't God good to us? He has given us His gracious Spirit to guide us. David's desire was to be led on level ground. Level ground in the Hebrew text means “a safe place.” Doing the will of God is the safest thing we can do in this life. Are you doing the revealed Will of God? Then be assured God will show you things unrevealed if you are willing to wait on Him.
Prayer: Lord, teach me to do your will as revealed to me in scripture and I will wait on your timing to show me the rest.
When the frost is on the pumpkin
And the fodder's in the shock
And you hear the Kyouck and gobble
of the struttin' turkey cock
And the cluckin' of the guineas
And the cluckin' of the hens
And the rooster's hallylooyer
As he tip toes on the fence;
O, its thens the times a feller
is feelin' at his best...
-James Whitcomb Riley
Hoosier Poet James Whitcomb Riley inspires nostalgic feelings in the hearts of all who have experienced rural America in a less stressful environment. Growing up in Southern Indiana had unique advantages for a ten year old boy searching for a passage to manhood. The rolling cornfields, woods and lakes around Warrick County yielded an endless supply of wholesome adventure.
Our home was directly across the road from a big red barn, corn crib, and silo. The corn crib supplied me and my friends with countless hours of hunting and killing rats for sport. Me and my friend Bobby sat in the rafters of the corn crib holding our pellet rifles. We waited for the chance to draw aim on a rat like a safari hunter on a Water Buffalo. One day Bobby challenged me to a rat killing contest. He said, “We'll shoot 'em, measure 'em and lay 'em across a beam, and at the end of the day, the largest rat wins.” At the end of the day we had a whole pile of rats. We didn't win a trophy, but we did earn the right to brag.
An old farmer named Ted made our adventures in the barnyard a reality. We were given the privilege because we helped Ted put up hay and corn in the summer and fall. Ted was a rough old coot with white hair and coke bottle lens glasses. He couldn't see well enough to drive a pick up truck around the block, but he could drive an international Harvester plowing his hundreds of acres of farmland.
Old Ted wore blue jean bibbed overalls in the heat of summer, and a white long sleeve shirt. He took a bath religiously every Saturday night. My grandmother told me the old folks used to do it that way. I am sure glad tradition has changed because it wasn't funny working near Old Ted on a hot summer day. Nevertheless, the times spent working for Old Ted helped to forge us into rugged young men. We transitioned into our teens with broad shoulders and farmer's tans from slinging hay bails in the Indiana sun.
Summer time in Indiana was full of activities for country folks. My dad and uncle had a passion for camping and fishing. Our families could be found camped on remote areas of coal mine property most any weekend. The spring fed mine pit water was clear, deep and cool. Bluegill and largemouth bass were plentiful. We usually caught enough fish to have a fish fry on campsite. There is nothing quite like a crispy fried fillet of bluegill or bass along with some corn bread, beans and slaw.
My mom and aunt brought enough food to feed a regiment and we all loved their grilled hamburgers. The girls patted them thick, and placed them over a hot charcoal grill. The smoke from the burgers drifted over the lake where we were fishing like a fog. No dinner bell was needed when it was time to eat. We followed our noses back to camp. There was always plenty of dessert to follow and the men took a nap afterwards in the shade of the trees.
After a delicious evening meal it was time to prepare the fire pit. My dad and uncle knew how to stack the wood like a tepee with the right amount of kindling to get the fire roaring. After dark we encircled the fire with our lawn chairs. The burning wood crackled and popped as the sparks flew upward. The fire had a hypnotic effect as we gazed upon it and talked about the good old days.
There was a small folding table near the camping trailers with a butane stove on top. A dimly lit Coleman lantern hung from a nail on the tree above casting light on the table. An old fashioned percolator blooped in succession. The smell of fresh coffee filled the air while we roasted marshmallows over the camp fire. Later on, the night was black with millions of stars twinkling in the sky. We kept entertained by looking for zooming meteors as they streaked across the sky. A few yawns later it was time for bed. As we lay in our campers, the sounds of whippoorwills, frogs and crickets lulled us to sleep.
As the “dog days” of summer evolved into fall, the air gradually turned cool and crisp with the arrival of late October. Smoke rose from chimneys in our neighborhood with the distinct smell of fall. An instinctive awareness possessed our beagle dogs. Their bugled cries indicated they knew rabbit season was near. The restlessness of the dogs stirred our anticipation as we prepared for the first rabbit hunt of the season.
My dad always provided us with beagles for hunting, but the pair he provided in our teenage years was special. Joe was black, white and brown in color and John was a black saddle back colored beagle. Together, Joe and John made a well-oiled rabbit running machine. Joe was a jump dog. Put little Joe under a brier patch and he pushed out a cottontail every time. John was just the opposite. John stood on the edge of the brier patch letting Joe do all the work. If you observed John for the first time, you would swear he was a good for nothing, no account dog. When Joe bounced a rabbit out of the briers John transformed into Super Dog. Something clicked in his little brain and he got on the trail of the rabbit in hot pursuit with Joe bringing up the rear. If one lost the trail the other found it. We very seldom returned home empty handed rabbit hunting with Joe and John.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.
—PSALM 40:2
IN THE FIFTY-THIRD Indiana Regiment’s march to Corinth, Mississippi, the soldiers suffered many hardships, yet moved steadily forward through the rain, muck, and mire:
We were ordered to be ready at 8 o’clock Sunday morning with four days’ cooked rations in our haversacks. The time arrived and the Fiftythird was ready in line to march, but we were delayed by other divisions till nearly 11 o’clock, at which time it had commenced to rain. Such another day I never saw. The heavens seemed to have opened and the water descended in torrents. You can imagine what condition the roads in a swampy country would be in after thousands of wagons and horse and heavy artillery had passed over them. We tramped along all day. Sometimes the mud was so deep that my line would mire. I let the men select the best ground they could, but they were mostly in mud from half leg to knee deep.
We camped about dark . . . we bivouacked for the night, without tents or anything else, and took the rain. It rained incessantly all night, or more properly speaking, poured down all night. I took it for twenty hours without any covering, not even a gum blanket. I was just as wet as one could be made and continued so until my clothes dried on my back.
When I was a boy in southern Indiana, I hunted rabbits with my beagle dogs. One mild winter day, as I crossed a cornfield, I found that the further I went the heavier my feet became. The more I walked, the more the mud clung to my boots. This is so indicative of life. Sometimes our burdens pile up, and we become weary. But God is able to take us out of the mud and put us on the solid Rock of Jesus Christ.
For a personally signed copy of the book, please send 15.00 + 5.00 shipping & handling to:
Terry R. Tuley
1300 Paces Lane, apt 103
Woodstock, GA, 30189
Blessings: Stories of Faith and Courage from the Civil War, by Terry Tuley. Published by Living Ink Books (An imprint of AMG Publishers). middot; 2006. ISBN 13: 978-089957043-3.
“For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” -2 Corinthians 4:17
It was early morning. The sun had not peeked over the horizon on a February morning in Woodstock, Georgia. Tired and feeling frustrated from working two jobs, I searched for a place to park in our crowded apartment complex. As I squeezed into an inconvenient space my frustration intensified. Now I would have to walk an extra 25 yards to our apartment building.
As I stepped on the sidewalk leading to our front entrance, I noticed a white van parked in a handicapped space, engine running, doors open and windows frosted with ice. Then something caught my attention. A petite lady was bending over to pick up something in front of the side door of her van. When I realized what she was doing, my heart broke. When she stood up, there was a young teenage girl in her arms. It was apparent the teen was paralyzed from the waist down.
I surmised the woman was a single mom helping her crippled daughter to school. Undoubtedly she went through the same routine every morning. As I witnessed this mother's early morning sacrifice of love, I counted my blessings and felt ashamed that I had whined and complained. My problems now seemed minuscule in comparison.
Prayer: Lord, please forgive when I complain. Help me to look outside myself and realize that I could be carrying a much heavier burden.
