Robins weep

I have made some poor choices over the years. There. I admit it. I am less than perfect, like the bushes I see in front of my large office window near the streets of New Orleans. As I sit here on what happens to be a Tuesday morning, I'm in a reflective mood.

I keep thinking of one of my two best friends I had growing up. I'm doing this because I've been watching my grand son Gabe play baseball, which takes me back all those many, many (mannnnnnyyyy) years ago.

Stephen King says that the best friend you will ever have is someone you've befriended at the age of 12.

Me? More like 15.

My friend was, for I don't know him any longer (and I mean much more than we've lost touch), one of our two pitchers on our team when I was 15. We were, to steal a phrase from this year's Kentucky basketball team, unbeaten but not perfect. We went 18-0, with my friend winning 10 of those games.

Tall, lanky, lefty, my friend threw fairly hard and had a really good curve ball.

He, and our other pitcher, were so good that the outfielders would whistle "I'm so lonesome I could cry," in the outfield while we were playing. Honest.

I've been thinking of him for a bit. I came across a news story about him the other day. He is in prison for crimes committed against juveniles. He has had two bouts of throat cancer. He will probably die in prison.

And there but for the grave of God go I. (I started to correct the typo, but it really has more meaning this way... the grave of Jesus means everything to me).

I happened across a recording of the B.J. Thomas rendition of Hank Williams' song about being lonesome yesterday, which led to all this. The words, for some reason, leaped at me for the first time.

Read and feel...

"Did you ever see a robin weep,
when leaves begin to die
That means he's lost the will to live,
I'm so lonesome I could cry.
the silence of a falling star
lights up a purple sky.
And as I wonder where you are
I'm so lonesome I could cry."

I don't know about any of my readers, loyal and loving they might be, but the line, "the silence of a falling star lights up a purple sky" is borderline magnificent.

Today I'm headed toward the vast wasteland of being old. I'm less, much less, than prepared for coming days after retirement, whenever that will come. I've made bad choices about finances and about planning and all those things.

But for some reason God has walked with me in ways perhaps my friend didn't know about. I'm grateful. I'm ashamed. I'm lifted. I'm, well, I'm fortunate.

Above all, I'm blessed. It's been quite a while, almost 20 years, since I've been alone, in my highs, and even in my lows. It was right at 20 years ago that I learned, and have never forgotten, I'm not alone. Ever. In the darkness of an evening sky, He's there. In the purple and pink strains of a morning sky, He's there. When I falter, when I fail, when I worry, when I fall, He's there. When I rise up, because He rose up, He's there.

I'm less than perfect. But I don't have to be.

He's been perfect for me. That's who walks with me. That's who I'm grateful for, and thankful to.

I never wonder where He is, because He is here as I type. And He's in that prison cell with my friend, who I wished I could tell that he will be safe in His arms.

When everything is falling apart, my friend can find peace. Because He is there. Even when robins are weeping.