His eye is on the sparrow

My fsil's mother sent this to me today. it isn't the first time she's done so, but the timing is the key on this occasion. I don't know if it's true or not, but it is a lovely tale. I did track down the copyrighted story, as written by the songwriter John Thomas Oaks.

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The SPARROW at STARBUCKS - The song that silenced the cappuccino machine.

It was chilly in Manhattan but warm inside the Starbucks shop on 51st Street and Broadway, just a skip up from Times Square. Early November weather in New York City holds only the slightest hint of the bitter chill of late December and January, but it's enough to send the masses crowding indoors to vie for available space and warmth. For a musician, it's the most lucrative Starbucks location in the world, I'm told, and consequently, the tips can be substantial if you play your tunes right.

Apparently, we were striking all the right chords that night, because our basket was almost overflowing. It was a fun, low-pressure gig - I was playing keyboard and singing backup for my friend who also added rhythm with an arsenal of percussion instruments. We mostly did pop songs from the '40s to the '90s with a few original tunes thrown in. During our emotional rendition of the classic, "If You Don't Know Me by Now," I noticed a lady sitting in one of the lounge chairs across from me. She was swaying to the beat and singing along.

After the tune was over, she approached me. "I apologize for singing along on that song. Did it bother you?" she asked.

"No," I replied. "We love it when the audience joins in. Would you like to sing up front on the next selection?" To my delight, she accepted my invitation. "You choose," I said. "What are you in the mood to sing?"

"Well. ... do you know any hymns?"
Hymns? This woman didn't know who she was dealing with. I cut my teeth on hymns. Before I was even born, I was going to church. I gave our guest singer a knowing look. "Name one."

"Oh, I don't know. There are so many good ones. You pick one."

"Okay," I replied. "How about 'His Eye is on the Sparrow'?"

My new friend was silent, her eyes averted. Then she fixed her eyes on mine again and said, "Yeah. Let's do that one." She slowly nodded her head, put down her purse, straightened her jacket and faced the center of the shop. With my two-bar setup, she began to sing, "Why should I be discouraged? Why should the shadows come?"

The audience of coffee drinkers was transfixed. Even the gurgling noises of the cappuccino machine ceased as the employees stopped what they were doing to listen. The song rose to its conclusion.

"I sing because I'm happy; I sing because I'm free. For His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches me."

When the last note was sung, the applause crescendoed to a deafening roar that would have rivaled a sold-out crowd at Carnegie Hall. Embarrassed, the woman tried to shout over the din, "Oh, y'all go back to your coffee! I didn't come in here to do a concert! I just came in here to get something to drink, just like you!"

But the ovation continued.. I embraced my new friend. "You, my dear, have made my whole year! That was beautiful!"

"Well, it's funny that you picked that particular hymn," she said.
"Why is that?" I asked.

"Well," she hesitated again, "that was my daughter's favorite song."
"Really!" I exclaimed.

"Yes," she said, and then grabbed my hands. By this time, the applause had subsided and it was business as usual at the cofee shop. "She was 16. She died of a brain tumor last week."

I said the first thing that found its way through my stunned silence. "Are you going to be okay?"

She smiled through tear-filled eyes and squeezed my hands. "I'm gonna be okay. I've just got to keep trusting the Lord and singing his songs, and everything's gonna be just fine."
She picked up her bag, gave me her card, and then she was gone.

Was it just a coincidence that we happened to be singing in that particular coffee shop on that particular November night? Coincidence that this wonderful lady just happened to walk into that particular shop? Coincidence that of all the hymns to choose from, I just happened to pick the very hymn that was the favorite of her daughter, who had died just the week before? I refuse to believe it.

God has been arranging encounters in human history since the beginning of time, and it's no stretch for me to imagine that he could reach into a coffee shop in midtown Manhattan and turn an ordinary gig into a revival. It was a great reminder that if we keep trusting him and singing his songs, everything's gonna be okay.
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Good message. Hopeful, too.

That message was reflected at the funeral today, too, as was... this song.
Coincidence or reinforcement of content?
I had started this post prior to the funeral and had no idea which songs, if any, might be part of the ceremony. This last paragraph was added as a postscript after Guerry's service was done.
Thank you to my angels.
i thank You, God.

sunshine on a rainy day

I ended this month with a visit to southern Georgia. I hadn't seen my cousin Lynn in ... well, quite a few years, it seems! She and I seemed to not be around Waycross at the same time. I had contacted her several times on my way back home from Florida, but she would be out of town.
Clearly, a better game plan was needed! So, I contacted her earlier this week: might she be available for lunch on Wednesday? Yes, she would, but she had a late shift on Tuesday, so could we make it later in the afternoon? Sure thing!
The time was set for 3 PM, or thereabouts. She would give me a call when she awakened. Yeah!
When she called, I was already on my way to Waycross, one-time home of my maternal grandparents and summertime destination for my family when we were kids. My cousin, now a grandmother herself, still lived there, though not where my mother's mom and dad once lived.
Okay, enough with the background info! Talk about y'all's lunch!
(smile)
She suggested Cavagnaros, an Italian place with lots of variety. Cool beans! A new place to add to my list of resolutions kept!
She arrived shortly after I did, with a bright smile to offset the gray skies and light drizzle. Yeah! I really think she smiled the entire time, and I did, too. Three hours we were there! The manager finally came over and asked if we would mind settling up, as our young waitress was due to leave and needed to close out our bill before she left. We did so, then probably still stayed another hour, with the manager as our tea-glass filler. Very nice!
I had the best steak tips with onions and peppers! Yum! And she had the steak salad, with the same tasty beef. We also had corn nuggets, meant as an appetizer, but there was a dinner plate full of them, served piping hot with a honey mustard sauce. I eventually took at least half that plateful home with me, as well as my untouched sweet potato (which was destined to become part of my breakfast the next day). I just finished off the corn nuggets as an accompaniment to ham and bean soup. Still tasty, still smiling!
Why? Well, lemme tell you this: wouldn't you still be smiling after a visit with someone who loves you so much? Of course you would!
It had nothing to do with our conversation. Well, no, let me amend that. Most of our conversation was catching up on the events relating to our siblings, some good, some not so good. Ah, well. You're going to have that, right? Bad choices lead to hard lives and drugs encourage bad choices.
But we also talked about her little granddaughter's first birthday and how wonderful it was to have her son and his lovely, loving wife living close to her again. And we talked about my first niece and her family and how wonderful it has been having them so close to me.
And we talked about men. We both need strong men who will love us as we are. Strong men looking for strong women. No, I'm not talking about physical strength, and neither is she. Strong in character, strong with passion, strong in acceptance and humor and love of this world. Strong like we strive to be.
Impossible things?
I hope not.
She also shared a story with me. She and another of my cousins (her little sister) had been reading one of my posts on the social media we all share. She said they were amazed by how involved i am with life in this city by the sea. So many films! Yet another new play! Dancing! Dining! Games nights with children!
Wow! I wasn't even aware they were following all of that. But it gladdened my heart to know they do. After all, that means I am loved!
That is always good to know.
I drove home with storm clouds chasing the sky alongside. Then, a break in the clouds, with sunbeams forcing their way forward! I thought I saw a smiling face and tried to capture it - drats! Missed!
Then, while watching the water paths meandering across my windshield (easily entertained am I), I took a picture of their wobbly paths.
It wasn't until I reached home that I saw it: the smiling face I had missed in the earlier shot. Woohoo!
i thank You, God! i thank the angel keeping me company as I ran back to Savannah! I would like to think my Uncle Jimmy was this funny, goofy, smiley face, thanking me for the visit to my Waycross cousin.
Then again, maybe it was Grandmama. She was always the one who traveled around from Tallahassee to Savannah and Augusta and Strong, Arkansas, keeping home fires burning.
Sometimes, she traveled with me.
Maybe this was one of those times.

con amor, desde el cielo

As i was waiting for the bfe to join me for lunch and a play, i lifted my eyes skyward, as i so often do.
And a message from beyond was written for me.
A message of love, still, always.
I had noticed the swiftly racing clouds earlier, rain makers leaving town for other environs, racing, racing to arrive on time to the next area due for a soaking.
Now, there was a message writ for my eyes! Could I capture it forever, to share with others, to read again and again? Would the message dissipate before i could even open my phone and take aim?
Oh, please!!!
Please stay for just a few seconds!
And the message did, barely managing to maintain its integrity, to preserve the delicate lace doily of a heart occupying the massive portion of sky above me as the air swirled around it.
I don't think Mama knew how to tat.
Maybe it was crocheted from those stray wisps of water vapor...
for me, from her, as another Mother's Day apart draws near.

No, it's Iowa.

As you may recall, I wrote earlier this month about wanting - no, NEEDING - to go to The Field of Dreams. I had hoped for a thin space there where the present and past might intersect. And so they did, but not as I had expected.
Then again, this trip has been all about plans not going as expected. I think my blonde roots still exist deep in my scalp, even though I appear to be a brunette. But that's not for here and now.
No. This is all about The Field of Dreams and what I found there and did there and saw there.
So, let's make the last first, shall we? I saw corn, walls of corn, acres and acres of corn, standing taller than me, in the morning sun and the high noon sun and the sun setting toward the Pacific. I saw freshly mowed green, green, grass, lush beneath my feet, checkerboarding the outfield. I saw a baseball diamond shimmering in the afternoon sun, under a blue, blue sky and angelic puffs of clouds.
I smelled ripe corn and aging silk melding together with the warmed grass and the tang of red clay.
What did I do?
I walked out to centerfield, the heart of the outfield, and kept walking straight up to that surrounding wall of corn. And I stood in the arms of the cornstalks, breathing in their aroma, basking with them in the warmth of the afternoon sun. After driving for hours through the lifeblood of the midwest, it was good to finally be this close to the real thing.
I listened to the rustling of the corn in the light breeze, listening for something else, a sign of other life stirring. Just me and the breeze and the golden ears.
I came back infield, cutting over the first base line toward the bleachers. One of my goals had been to sit in those bleachers, drinking in the sight of the diamond and the afternoon sky and the closeness of space and time.

And so I did sit in the bleachers, two rows from the top, with the house behind me. And I relished the contrast between the red clay of the infield and the lush green of the outfield, with the blue sky beaming above all. And I did see an angel, out in left field, dancing across the sky, trailed by a flock of fluff. Very nice!
Then I climbed down from my perch, heading toward home plate. A quick - no, make that leisurely, please! - stroll around the bases, making sure to JUMP onto each bag as I neared it. First! Second! Third! And safely back to home!
Sweet. And quite satisfying.
I signed the vistor's log, made a donation, and decided to head for the Windy City, to ease my travel time to the Motor City.
But I must have turned in the opposite direction and ended up not quite where I had intended, but where I needed to be.

The tiny town before me was bedecked with the Stars and Stripes. In front of every business and house on the main street. In front of every establishment and residence on the side streets. American flags fluttering before and behind, to the right and to the left. What a grand sight!
And I realized that THIS was where I was meant to be, what I was meant to see here in Iowa. I know my stepdad was thrilled.
Miss you, Frank.

someone to watch over me

I guess I'm continuing the angel theme. I know I have angels watching over me, letting me know of their presence when times are hard, helping me give praise for glorious times. Sometimes, I think of it as my gut instinct, helping to guide me along, make the right choice about a situation. Other times, I acknowledge that a force beyond my ken has stepped in to move me toward acceptance of events beyond my control.

Yeah, and there's that word again: control. I am fully aware that the only person I have control over is myself. Again: the only person I have control over is myself. I know this to be true. The same is true for everyone else, too. And yet... I would sure LIKE to think that I have control over the thoughts and actions of others, that I can get them to do my bidding about whatever I want, whenever I want. Not that I want anyone to have such control over ME. But I'm special, don't ya know? Am I not? Shouldn't I be able to control everyone that enters into my sphere of reality? Shouldn't I????

But of course I cannot. And that would be because my sphere of reality is not the only one out there. Mine intersects with those of my family, those of my friends, those of colleagues, those of strangers. All of us, whether we know each other or not, coexisting on the same planet, but having our own unique version of the meaning of life on that blue dot in this particular galaxy. That definitely makes things a bit more complicated when the issue of control is raised.

Maybe it would be better for me to look at control as a myth, like perfect or normal. Maybe, just maybe, I should limit the concept to certain things. I mean, everyone would agree that it's best to control one's temper, to control oneself from belching or farting or scratching certain areas in public, to control one's libido so you aren't humping everything with a pulse. Hm mm, okay, I guess that's a good place to start with control, though I'm sure a little gas may escape from time to time. Which just shows to go ya: control is a myth. Let it go.

How on earth did I wander from angels to control? Just what kind of beach is this, anyway? Maybe I had too many sweet treats at the Oscar-watching party tonight. Maybe I need more sleep. Maybe I need to have someone say: honey, turn off the computer and come to bed.

angel

Mama and I used to have a telepathy with each other. When something of major consequence was going on, we could call each other and KNOW by the sound of the ring that it was the other of us calling. Mind you, this was WAY before caller ID and ring tones for cell phones; this was back in the 70's and 80's, when I was in the Navy and living half a world away. This telepathy was a very good thing, good for helping us feel close even when we were so geographically separate, and I only ever had it with Mama.

Tonight, I have reason to believe that my middle brother's daughter, the one who looks so much like me, may have a smidgen of that telepathy. Either that, or Mama angelically inspired my niece to check on me tonight.

It so happened that I was in the Cracker Barrel in Pooler, dining with friends after their daughter's fabulously fun dance show. The conversation turned toward my ex and his extramarital children and related issues. At any rate, the topic was bringing me way down, rehashing news that I thought I had shared with these friends some time ago, but had not. After dinner, we all left for our respective homes, me feeling absolutely bereft.

I no sooner get home than my niece calls. She and her husband are on the road and she thought she would call and say hey... something she hasn't done in months. And where were they? On the way home from... the Cracker Barrel in Pooler, where they had been dining with her husband's father. Whoa. And when? They had arrived before my party had and had been seated in the back section; we were in the front. Whoa. And when they left the restaurant, passing by the section where I had been seated, she thought of me. And we talked for almost an hour, leaving me calmed down and feeling loved.

Coincidence is an incredible occurrence. Thankfully.