If my words don’t come together

And that is how you slow jam a Donny Hathaway song. Son, I had a crush on Whitney Houston back when she got going. Last year, when she died, I realized that she is not all that much older than I am. Then again, the older you get, the less difference age makes. In any event, she turns in one hell of a rendition of this song.

Donny Hathaway’s original is no slouch, by the way. Amy Winehouse and Ray Charles both turn in pretty darn respectable versions for that matter. All of these folks had their issues, of course. Let’s just say that relationships were not their forte. I also get the sense that there was some pretty deep pain for each of these folks for reasons you might expect and for reasons only they knew.

So we look at these folks and celebrate their talent while lamenting their brokenness. As if we too are not broken in ways that perhaps are not as obvious and yet are every bit as real. It is, in fact, this brokenness that makes a love possible. When someone takes the time to peer inside the cracks in our shells to see what we have hidden beneath. That may be the stuff we are desperate to protect, but we also hunger for it to be known. IF only to one person. Alone. Maybe in a song.