Pondering Freedom

This past week I have been indexing records of slave owners in the US in the 1800's. The work has gone relatively quickly this time. The handwriting is somewhat more easy to read than most and the facts are brief. But I have felt sad as I have typed these records for submission. I guess what made me most sorrowful as I read was the fact that the slaves themselves are not listed by name. It was as if they were things, not people. The form required the name of the slave owner, then one by one, each slave he owned was listed by age, sex and race. One particularly touching entry sent my imagination into a story line. This particular man had a female slave, age 27 who had three children, the oldest 13. So she was 14 when that child was born. There is no male slave listed who was of an age to be her husband. On the line for race for the children, there was the letter M. I believe that stood for mulatto. My dictionary says the definition of the word is "the first generation offspring of a Negro and a white person." So I am left to my own thoughts and imaginings as to the truth behind the statistics. This is real history at my fingertips.
I finish the record hoping that somehow the descendants of these people are able to trace them. I can see that it will take miracles for this to happen. And now I understand, more than ever, what a tragic time this was in the history of my country.
There are many ways to be a slave. I am grateful that I am not involved with the slavery of those times. Yet I know for myself that it is an awesome responsibility to have moral agency. And it is not easy. Today I am recognizing that I too am a slave to my own unwise choices when I am not careful (and prayerful). It takes a lot of effort to resist those things which drag me down. I hope I can remember the wonderful feeling it is to be truly free.