Memorial Day reminds us that war is real life and there are heroes out there. Real heroes.

And it reminds me of America’s complicated history.

There are two men in my family tree who lost their lives in military service, and only one of them is meant to be honored today.

My great uncle, Billy, was shot by enemy fire in Vietnam. I never met him, of course, but heard about the event of his death several times growing up. I am deeply grateful — unspeakably grateful — for those like Billy who have died for our country. It is amazing.

And then there is Alsey. My great-grandaddy’s name was Leslie. Leslie’s daddy was Eddie Brice. Eddie’s daddy was Ruffin, and his daddy was Alsey.

Alsey died from disease on September 30, 1861 outside of Pennsylvania. He was 30 years old and left an estate worth only $20. But perhaps most confusing — and just plain weird — is that he died as an enemy to the country that celebrates Memorial Day. He died in service, at war, but it wasn’t for this country; it was against it.

Alsey was a member of the 24th Infantry Regiment from North Carolina, a state of the Confederate States of America. He had taken up arms against the U. S. A., my country, the one for whose defense many have fallen — ones for whom today I give thanks, including my great uncle.

See, it’s complicated.

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For some summer reading on the American Civil War, see Religion and the American Civil War — a book of really good essays, including Paul Harvey’s fascinating piece, “Yankee Faith” and Southern Redemption: White Southern Baptist Ministers, 1850-1890.

Also, The Civil War by Bruce Catton; and For Cause and Comrades: Why Men Fought in the Civil War by James McPherson.

My dad loves history, especially the Civil War era. Some of the most memorable trips that I have growing up were to old battlefields: Gettysburg once; Petersburg; Manassas; the place where Stonewall Jackson’s left arm was buried; the house Jackson died in; and of course Bentonville.

It was all interesting (I’ve written before about how this sad time in America’s story still affects Southern culture today). What fascinated me most about the war, encouraged by my dad, was the proximity. We lived all around the history. Growing up in North Carolina, the same could be said about the Revolutionary War. But apart from this geographical nearness, it’s just a page in a history textbook.

My dad had researched before about any family in the war, never finding anything. We assumed that our folks might not even have been in America.  The trail always went cold.

Well, until today.

Today my dad discovered Alsey Parnell, a member of the 24th Infantry Regiment from North Carolina. He died from disease on September 30, 1861 at 30 years old. Alsey was my great-great-great-great grandfather. With an estate worth only $20, he left a widow and three children. The youngest was an infant named John who is listed in 1900 as living with another family as their servant.

Alsey’s oldest son was Ruffin, then Eddie B., then William Leslie, then Robert Edward, then Philip Edward, then me, then Michaiah.

Now other than just thinking this is cool, I hope Alsey knew Jesus. Thanks to Philip for telling me about Jesus. I’ll tell Micah, by grace.