Becca's school began as a Moravian Mission to the Cherokee Indians in the early 1800's.
On our way home last night we passed the old Moravian Cemetery, where the missionaries and many of their converts are buried in unmarked graves. It had just rained and the golden light of the sunset gave the entire area an ethereal air. Daisies and primroses and some sort of purple flower unfamiliar to me grew in profusion outside the old wooden fence surrounding the sacred place. I thought how different Heaven's economy is from ours....that the least truly will be the greatest some day and that the unknown will be names of renown in that land. I knew that I was standing on Holy Ground of great Saints.
Knowing that the Trail of Tears started about 10 miles from my home, I wondered how many of those exiled pilgrims from our own country's history found their true resting place with God due to the efforts and sacrifice of these missionaries.
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