Last weekend I took my dad and 12-year-old sons to Gettysburg to do some Man Maker Project type-stuff. We camped, walked battlegrounds, and perused museums. I had heard of Gettysburg, but after 2 days, I could almost write a book on it. It was like drinking from a firehose, and thats after hearing only a tiny fraction of what we could have learned.

One particular day, I had my oldest, Eli, with me. He is a strong and tender-hearted young man. He listened genuinely to everything I had to say as I was sharing with him some stories and manhood characteristics from the battle at Culp's Hill. 

Near that hilltop is a small monument do a place called Spangler's Spring. We rode our bikes right by it and dozens of other monuments on our way to the top of the hill. 

As we listened to a tour guide later, we found out a small detail about the spring. While largely viewed as unlikely if not entirely made up, legend has it that on the night of July 2nd, through out the duration of the most heated and sustained part of the battle there was a truce between confederate and union soldiers to be able to get water at the spring. The guide brushed this off as legend and said that it was more likely that there was too much confusion in the darkness, but did say that is was recorded that both sides did use the spring for filling canteens that night.

For some reason, Eli picked up on this and wanted to go back and see the spring. As we rode our bikes back to a rendezvous point, I forgot to swing by and later he was visibly upset that we didn't stop to see the spring. He had his heart set on it. 

I think he was envisioning a bubbling stream of clear, cool water coming up from the ground. He wanted to put his feet in it, or drink from it or something. In my head I was thinking, "Buddy, its a hole in the ground. I don't even think there is actual water there now."

But he was set on it. Towards the end of our time on the last day of our trip, we had half an hour to kill. You know what he suggested. I rolled my eyes, but decided that he would never let it go and I'd be giving him some scar that he would need counseling for or something if I didn't make the 40-minute round trip to see Spangler's Spring. With everyone in the truck, we headed in that direction.

As we rolled up to the monument with stone all around it, he was hopeful. We got out of the truck and walked over. We walked down the two steps into the bowl shaped monument. We reached down and touched the dry-as-a-bone stone floor. I wasn't wrong. It was literally just a decorated hole in the ground. We all cracked a smile and looked at Eli. 

He cringed inside. He had been carrying high hopes- an idealized picture of what the spring would hold. And upon arriving, he suddenly realized his error and felt a wave of shame. He groaned.

And then he did something I haven't seen him do yet. He half-laughed at himself. Not in a self-deprecating sort of way, but in a mature way that recognized that while he could hold his disappointment, he could also lighten up, relieve himself of the shame, and laugh at the situation. Apparently he is getting old enough to be able to poke some fun at himself a bit. It has since been fun to hear him recount the story to others (at the bidding of his twin brother, of course). 

Where have you held hope in something and been disappointed? Where have you learned to relieve yourself of that shame?

Cody Buriff, Director of Resource Initiatives