I’ve always taken a metaphysical delight in written language. Language itself is fascinating, but written language is, WOW KAPOW!

When you read words, it causes your brain to think the thoughts another person thought at some time in the past. Even if the words comprise a lie, a fantasy, a law, an argument, they represent an actual thought from another human’s brain.

The other human may have thought the thoughts five minutes ago, a note scribbled by your spouse while you were in the shower, “Sweetheart, I ran to the store. Love you.” Or the thoughts could have been thought by Homer nearly 3000 years ago: “Two friends, two bodies with one soul inspired.”

I just made your brain think Homer’s thought. A bridge through time and space now connects you to an ancient Greek male.

It is an everyday miracle.
Earlier generations of my family made an annual practice of reading aloud a letter written on November 2, 1864 by my great, great, great grandfather, Jobie Redmon.

Making his thoughts their thoughts was how they honored him. They had no grave to visit.

I re-read the letter on Veteran’s Day last week.

On November 9, 1864, a firing squad executed Jobie and buried him in an unmarked grave 350 miles from his home. A military court had found him guilty of desertion from the 6th Cavalry of the Confederate Army near the end of the U.S. Civil War.

I know that sounds like ancient history. But look at it another way.

I am only one person away from someone deeply affected by that event. When looked at from that family perspective, this history is not ancient.

I grew up loving my granny, Daisy. Granny was raised, not by her parents, but by her grandparents Susannah & James Redmon.

James, Jobie’s son, was nine when his father was executed. He was the eldest of five living children.

Granny grew up in a home where each year, Jobie’s farewell letter was read aloud.

The well-worn letter was in the hands of the North Carolina State Archives by the time my mother was growing up. She didn’t know its contents until shortly before her death when a cousin published it in a family tree booklet.

But Mother grew up with a sentiment she passed down to us, “It wasn’t our war. It was the war of the rich plantation owners.”

Whether Jobie had actually deserted or was the victim of a misunderstanding was the subject of much speculation through the years. My mother recollected he had returned home to attend to a family emergency, then returned to his unit voluntarily. We will never know.

What we can know are the thoughts he shared when he wrote to wife, Malinda, and their children. We feel his distress when our brains process the words he used to convey those thoughts.

*Kinston, N.C.*

*November the 2, 1864*
*My Dear Wife and Children,*
I seat myself this morning with a troubled heart and a distressed mind to try to write a few lines to let you know that I heard my sentence read yesterday and it was very bad. I am very sorry to let you know, as I know you are in a great deal of trouble already.
I have to be shot the 9th of this month. I am sorry to inform you that I have but 7 days to live, but I hope and trust in God when they have slain my body that God will take my soul to rest where I will meet my little baby that is gone before

My dear wife, I think I could die better satisfied if I could see you and the children one more time on earth and talk with you, but my time is so short I don’t expect to ever see you and my dear little children any more on earth.

I can inform you that I received 2 letters from you yesterday which I read with pleasure which gave me some satisfaction to hear that you are all well and doing well. I received the clothes that you sent to me by S.T. Smith. I expect they will be my burying clothes. I received a canteen of brandy but I am in too much trouble to drink it.

My dear wife, I want you to come to see me if you can get Abner Brooks to come with you. If you can my days may be prolonged.

My dear wife, if I see you no more on earth don’t grieve for me neither lament nor mourn. I hope I shall be with my Jesus while you are left alone. I pray that God will be with you and help you raise your children up in the knowledge of the truth and the Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

My dear sister, Laura Teague, I want you to stay with Malinda and live in peace and harmony together and prepare to meet me in heaven where parting will be no more.

A word to my children which is near my heart in truth seems to bind. James, I want you to be a good boy and obey your mother and keep out of bad company, and be good to the little children. Billy, you must be a smart boy and obey your mother also. Sissey, you must be a smart little girl and be good to the baby and call it Jobey. I hope that God will be with you all, say farewell children you can’t see your papa no more on earth.

My dear wife, the time has been sweet I have spent with you. But know I must depart from you and never more return, but let this not grieve your heart. I pray that the Lord will be with you and help you out in all your troubles and trials here below so farewell, dear wife.

J.R. Redmond, condemned to die

We don’t know if the newspaper erred in saying Jobie died on the 10th rather than the set date of the 9th, or if that signifies that Abner was able to bring Malinda to see Jobie one last time and he was granted an extra day of life. I like to believe the latter is the case.

I hope this will inspire you as you write your holiday correspondence this year, knowing that your thoughts—written in a card, letter, email, or blog —will become thoughts in the minds of humans, perhaps some of them not yet living, your own time-space miracle.

Special thanks to Patsy Ellinger, a distant cousin whom I’ve never met, who made Jobie’s letter available on Ancestry.com.

Thoughts Across Time and Space

Through a Mirror, Darkly

Portraits in Creativity