Thinking about Sam Houston

Happy Wednesday!

Yesterday I didn’t get a chance to upload my post so I trashed it altogether. I had a busy day, and it was really hard to get moving yesterday as I have caught my son’s awful head cold. Waking up at 5am is painful already, but to do so with a head that feels as heavy as a bowling ball, coughing and hacking and watery eyes make it extra special, let me tell you!

Nevertheless, I made it to work (which is more than I can say for myself  this morning, though I’m going in this afternoon) and took part in all of the Sam Houston birthday festivities. If you have read much of my blog, you know that I can get teary eyed over just about anything. I guess it goes without say then that yesterday I got all misty and emotional as I sat at the grave of Sam Houston on his 217th birthday and listened to countless speakers speak about this great man. His family came from all over the country, as they do every year, to honor the great General.

More than his accomplishments on the battlefield or in the political realm, I am struck by what an exceptionally honorable man Sam Houston was. He was not perfect, certainly. That actually makes him all the more likeable and real to me. He overcame a lack of formal education to be a brilliant mind; he overcame alcoholism; he even overcame some doubts he had about God and found religion. Sam Houston’s mother placed a ring on her son’s finger when he left home as a young man, inscribed with the word ‘Honor’ that he wore for the rest of his life. He truly upheld her hope that her son would lead an honorable life. He certainly did.

As the speakers talked yesterday about his triumphs at the Battle of San Jacinto, or about his run for President of the Republic of Texas, I was choked up thinking about how he stood up for his convictions even when faced with complete ruin. He knew Texas couldn’t survive as a Republic and worked tirelessly to become annexed into the U.S. He befriended the Native American Indians. He disagreed with the Civil War. He saw people for who they were on the inside, not the color of their skin.

Even though he personally owned slaves, it is hard to call Sam Houston a slave owner. Joshua Houston was the only person besides his wife, that he trusted. Joshua Houston, his manservant, was considered a part of the family and Joshua felt that. When he was freed, he took the name ‘Houston’ to honor Sam. Eliza, Margaret’s ‘slave’ was anything but. Called ‘Aunt Eliza’, this incredible woman did much more than keep house for Margaret Houston. She was her best friend. In fact, guess who is buried next to Margaret Houston in Independence, TX? Not her husband, but Eliza.

Sam Houston refused to sign a declaration to the Confederacy which is how he was removed from his post as the Governor of Texas during the Civil War. He could not and would not succumb to the belief that slavery should divide this great nation. Because he wouldn’t support the south, he was removed from office and shunned. He returned to Huntsville, TX and resided in the Steamboat House, where he fell ill and soon died of pneomonia, in relative obscurity.

I have posted before about how it is often the hardest option to do the right thing. It is often unpopular, it is often painful, and it can certainly be a lonely existence. Sam Houston certainly knew as much. But, he held fast to his honorable convictions and followed his heart about doing the right thing when it mattered most, not worrying about personal consequences.

Though being out in the cold and wind yesterday made me far sicker than I might be otherwise, I am so glad that I had a chance to take part in the graveside ceremony honoring General Houston. It gave me time to reflect on the great man and how much we owe him, not just as Texans, but as Americans. He was only one voice in opposition against the Civil War, and certainly one voice gets drowned out easily, but it doesn’t mean that it should go silent.