The Twinkle in my Eye
I remember when I was younger and I was standing in church during a song. I was in college and was helping the church I grew up in with their youth program. The youth and I had just returned from a retreat and I was so charged up. I was never much of a singer, but the moment caught me and I was ready to express my limited vocal talents to the Lord. Of course, being a little self-conscience of my lack of any sense of harmony, I didn’t raise my voice very loud. The preacher’s daughter, who was a very good and very honest friend, leaned over and jokingly whispered in my ear, “You’re right, you don’t sing very well.” Somewhat embarrassed, my off key notes vanished into silence. I must confess, even to this day, if I sing at all, it’s only in a slight whisper. I do, however, enjoy hearing other people sing.
I come from a very nonmusical family. Truth be told, I cannot remember a single time I have ever heard my Mother sing. My sister played the clarinet for a year or two in high school. My brother played the saxophone a year or two in school, too, but neither of them ever went beyond that. My Father, although he never joined the church choir, was never one to shy away from anything and that included singing in church. I don’t really remember what kind of voice he had, but I always admired him for being brave enough not to care what other people thought. Me? My limited music career was in elementary school when they made us play the recorder one year.
I remember standing next to a very good singer in a church service once. She had a very nice voice. You know the type, the one who people turn around and look at with total expressions of awe. After the service she apologized for being a “little off.” She explained it was hard to hit her stride when the person behind her was so off key. I guess it was a good thing I wasn’t singing.
He always loved his family so much. His daughter, Jessie, came to stay with him at the White House while her husband, Frank, went back to Massachusetts. She was pregnant and before the father returned she gave birth to a son, Francis Bowes Sayre, Jr. This was this President’s first grandchild and the first child birth in the White House since Grover Cleveland’s wife gave birth here twenty-one years before. He was a very proud grandpa.
A few years later, though, he was a broken man, both mentally and physically. He seemed to have one setback after another. One particular stroke, during his Presidency, seemed to grind his life to a halt. The war was over and he wanted to make sure peace would last a long time. He didn’t want his children or his children’s children to have to endure the scars that wars brought to a country. No, peace would be so much better. It was in that fight for that peace that he suffered the stroke that would limit his ability to do anything. The peace he dreamed of seemed to die with that stroke.
Friends abandoned him and enemies demonized him. His razor sharp intelligence just wasn’t there anymore. He had trouble talking. He had trouble writing. It all was very frustrating to him because these were his greatest gifts. He was still very sharp in his mind, but there was absolutely no way to relay this to his decaying body. Election time came and no one in his party ever considered him for reelection. He was a torn man.
At least, he had his family and they would never abandon him. Then one day his daughter, Jessie, informed him that she was moving, with her husband and her son, his first grandson. The government of Siam had offered her husband a really good job. In somewhat of a farewell car ride, the President and his grandson, took a ride. The very young lad was only eight years old and never thought of his Grandpa as the President of the United States. No, to this grandson, his eyes only saw Grandpa. People always noticed a difference in him when he would spend time with his grandson. He loved his grandson so much and the grandson’s eyes always had a twinkle of love for the grandfather.
There is a story in the Bible of the birth of a young person. You have to look real hard to find it, but it’s in there. There was much excitement about this young child’s birth, but no one was more excited than his Dad. The Dad was very rich and he was not afraid to shower his child with those riches. The Father also surrounded himself with some of the wisest and most talented people on the face of the earth. He made all these people available to his child so the child’s life would be surrounded with every form of knowledge he would need to grow and enjoy life to its fullest.
Despite all these great gifts and the Father’s great love, the child decided that life had much more to offer and the Father was holding him back. The child took off in his own direction. With a tear in his eye, the Father let him go. The child’s life was miserable without the Father, but he was still not convinced that his Father could make his life any better. So, the child kept looking. As the child looked for that better life, unhappiness seemed to cast its shadows everywhere. Still, the child kept looking.
My path was crossed by more music people. In fact, everywhere I looked, all I saw was music and music people. I slipped well into the background and took up the role as a backup character without talent. My normal outgoing personality disappeared. I was so out of place that my spirits started to sink low. In a musical setting, I had nothing to offer.
Finally I was expelled from that musical world. Blindly I walked for years in a wilderness like setting. Eventually a friend here and a friend there would have compassion on me. They would listen to me ramble about how unfair life was. They would invite me to do things with them. Strangely, no one from my previous musical world ever even called to check up on me.
With the friends who helped me, slowly my personality returned and I was starting to enjoy life again. But something was still missing. The God, with the same eyes He had for Adam, looked down on my life and saw the loneliness that blanketed my soul and He had pity on me. Knowing all the perfect pieces I needed, even better than I knew, He sent the most incredible woman into my life. One thing about God’s blessings, when He decides to give them to you, human reason and logic have no influence in His decision. I was very fortunate this wonderful woman agreed to become my wife.
God didn’t stop there with His blessings. You see, my wife has this very special person in her life she calls Mom. I call her GMa. GMa was the organist at the church my wife attended. GMa also teaches young people to play the piano. With a little of GMa’s attention, the annoying sound of banging keys eventually sprouts music that could lull you to sleep. With patience and pride she beams about these young kid’s talents. With almost magical eyes, she sees their potential long before anyone else ever knows it even exists.
During holidays, one of the family members, or a guest they may bring, will see her piano in the living room and will sit down and hit a key or start to play something. Like a kid at Christmas, she will light up and head into the room. If it is a young child just tapping the keys, she will patiently show them a few notes. The looks in their eyes, by her encouragement, brightens their confidence and energizes them to want to do more. If someone is pretty good, she just stands there enjoying the music, although sometimes she can’t help but to start singing, too. You see, GMa has taught me a very valuable lesson: there is no bad music except silence.
President Wilson lost his battle for peace and his wish that the United States would join the League of Nations. The League of Nations was an idea he came up with during the Paris Peace Conference which came up with terms for ending World War I. After a couple of strokes Wilson was in very poor health. One day, probably in an effort to cheer himself up, President Wilson was riding around in his car with his grandson, in a somewhat farewell tour before his Mom and this grandson moved to Siam. A crowd shouted at him, “I’m for the League!” Little eight year old Frank, Wilson’s grandson, excitedly shouted back at the crowd, “I’m for the League!” With a tear in his eyes, Wilson pulled his grandson close to him and kissed him on the forehead.
When Wilson left the White House he and his wife decided to live in Washington DC. He was in such poor health that moving elsewhere seemed senseless. Sometimes crowds would gather outside his house. On rare occasions he would come out and give a very short little speech. These little gatherings would lift his spirits.
It was a cold day on February 3, 1924 when Woodrow Wilson would take his last breath. Dr. Grayson would stand at Wilson’s front door and announce to the crowd that had gathered, “The heart muscle was so fatigued that it refused to act any longer. The end came peacefully.” Wilson’s funeral and burial would be at the Washington National Cathedral.
In 1956, the centennial of Wilson’s birth, his remains were re-entombed in a new limestone sarcophagus at the Washington National Cathedral. Of course there was a special reconsecration ceremony. Wilson’s eighty-five year old widow would be there. The Dean of the Washington National Cathedral would lead the service. The Dean’s name was the Very Reverend Francis B. Sayre, Jr., the grandson who shouted in the car ride with Wilson, “I’m for the League!”
The Father longed for the son’s return. He wanted to witness the twinkle in the child’s eyes because of his presence. He wanted to hear the notes of the child’s song, no matter how off key they were. He wanted his presence to mean something to the son.
The Bible is the story of that Father’s journey. The Father, God, loves His children so much and He wants His children to want to be in His presence. The Bible is filled with stories of people He hopes will guide us by their words, their struggles, their mistakes, and even, sometimes, their accomplishments. He gives us directions to have a wonderful life here on earth and He gives us the secret to having eternal joy with Him. You and I are that child. Are you going to come and be in His presence? The Father awaits.
Prayer: Dear Mighty Father, Thank you so much for GMa. She has been such an inspiration to my life, not because of her great talent, but by the great love and patience she shows. My musical notes will never be admired by a crowd, but thank You for people like her that show me that a heart that sings Your praises is pitch perfect. Amen.
