Jakob's Prayer

This past weekend my extended family on my dad’s side gathered at the Stuart Robinson School in Eastern Kentucky for our annual family reunion. SRS used to be a boarding school for students who were unable to navigate the mountainous roads and weather back in the day. Today it’s been modernized and is rented out to different kinds of church and scout groups. It’s actually perfect for our family, since it’s close to our original home place, has dorms for the whole family as well as a working, air-conditioned kitchen.

We’ve been getting together fairly regularly for the last 35 years, I think. At that time, I was only 14 or so and several of the grandchildren hadn’t even been born. We met at Boonesboro State Park back then. My dad and uncles played softball and basketball and someone always turned his ankle. We also dealt with the hot weather as we set up our food using an outdoor pavilion, without running water. Keep in mind, we were all younger and tougher back then.

These days, the uncles play horseshoes and cornhole, and the aunts require air conditioning in their kitchen as well as a clean bathroom to use. You know, it’s a kinder, gentler reunion, with auctions, talent shows, and scavenger hunts. Although, just like my popaw taught us, we like to win even if it means cheating. And, if someone should tell you they're not cheat, they’ve just taken a break from cheating to lie to you.

Anyway, I’m not sure if we’ve ever all been in attendance at any one reunion. (There’s a bunch of us. . . 11 children (and spouses), 18 grandchildren (and spouses), 22 greats and even one great-great as of this minute.)

I don’t think anyone takes roll or anything official, but I do know that my grandpa died before we ever had the first reunion, and he’s probably the one who would have enjoyed them most. We buried my granny ten plus years ago. Then, of course, soon after, we somehow let Wib, a beloved grandson, slip through our fingers – we don’t talk about it much – a tragedy too terrible for words. But our hugs to each other last a little longer and each of us is more aware of the preciousness of time. So, with those goodbyes, I guess we’ll never ALL really be together.

As with any family, especially a large one, we are as functionally dysfunctional as they come. Our different perceptions of the same experiences make for feelings and thoughts that leave us confused at the least and profoundly hurt on the other end. The thing you gotta love about us, though, is we keep coming back, showing up for each other.

We are diverse in our religious, political, social, and environmental beliefs. Our bumper stickers prove that point. Well, actually, we are diverse in everything, except the big brown eyes that tend to dominate our gene pool.

With each new flight from our collective “Collins nest” we seem to move further from these beloved mountains. Nate’s in New Mexico, Sherry’s family lives in Michigan, Jewell’s in North Carolina, and, for now, Sam hangs his hat in New Jersey, where they don’t even serve gravy on biscuits!

For me, though, all of our differences make it even more amazing how deeply we really do love one another. How we each carry this need to be part of this family, to be labeled as belonging to Charlie Collins. And when we find our way to Letcher County, we all feel that we’ve found our way home.

This year, I got the opportunity to hang out with my 2nd cousin Jakob. Jakob is four years old, and he convinced me to take a walk with him over the grounds. We found a robin’s egg shell, mushrooms, walnuts, and stick/guns. I couldn’t help but think how the two of us were connected. His mother and I are first cousins, his grandmother is my father’s sister. His great-grandfather was my grandfather. In other words, we probably don’t have the same blood type or anything.

Yet we found ourselves together on this beautiful summer day, delighting in the mere presence of each other. We trusted one another not because we knew the other – he probably still doesn’t know my name! – but because the circumstances of the gathering dictated we could – after all, we’re family. Somehow, we knew. . . Jakob as well as I.

After our first walk, the aunts called us in to eat the noon meal. We circled up holding hands to say a prayer. Even though we think we’re fairly modern, our mountain ancestors still come through as “one of the men” traditionally prays. This year Jakob volunteered.

His voice rang out sweet and strong as he sang. I think he sang for all of us, the living and the dead, those who chose to be present and those who did not. He sang for great-grandparents he never knew and for the second, third, maybe fourth cousins that have yet to be born.

God our Father, God our Father
We thank You, We thank You
For our many blessings, for our many blessings
Amen Amen

Jakob did not ask God to change anything about our family. He didn’t ask for safety, for healing, for forgiveness. He simply thanked God for the many gifts He had given to this great big family and, for that moment, we were finally all together. I think I even heard Popaw laugh.