WHO CARES?

Saturday, November 13, 2010

When they scraped together his belongings, they found a ragged, dirty coat with thirty-eight cents in one pocket and a scrap of paper in the other. All his earthly goods. Enough coins for another night in the Bowery and five words, "Dear friends and gentle hearts." Almost like the words of a song, someone thought. But who cared?

Why in the world would a forgotten drunk carry around a line of lyrics? Maybe he still believed he had it in him. Maybe that derelict with the body of a bum still had the heart of a genius. For once upon a time, long before his tragic death at age thirty-eight, he had written the songs that literally made the whole world sing, like:  "Camptown Races," "Oh! Susanna!," "Beautiful Dreamer," "Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair," "Old Folks at Home," "My Old Kentucky Home" and two hundred more that have become deeply rooted in our rich American heritage. Thanks to Stephen Foster, whom nobody knew. And for whom nobody cared.

Makes me think of a few lines out of and old poem preacher's once quoted:

And many a man with life out of tune,

And battered and scarred with sin,

Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd

Much like the old violin.

A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine;

A game--and he travels on.

He's "going" once, and "going" twice,

He's "going" and almost "gone."

Almost, Almost gone. Until someone cares. And steps in. And stoops down. And, in love, rebuilds a life, restores a soul, rekindles a flame that sin snuffed out, and renews a song that once was there. As Fanny Crosby put it:

Touched by a loving heart,

Wakened by kindness

Chords that were broken,

Will vibrate once more.

(Taken and adapted from Charles R. Swindoll's splendid book, Come Before Winter...And Share My Hope)