1809
Had CNN existed in 1809, the big news for the year would have centered on Napoleon’s quest to conquer and reshape Europe. Or possibly, it would have reported that the U.S. Supreme Court ruled, for the first time in the history of our young democracy, that the federal government’s power is greater than any individual state in the union. Maybe one breaking news story would have included the patent for the very first steamboat. And, certainly, someone would have covered the inauguration of President James Madison, the first president to be sworn in wearing only American-made clothes.
However, January 4, 1809, beyond the glare of any news service, saw the birth of a baby boy, named Louis. Born healthy to a saddle maker in France, he lost his eyesight in an accident at age three when he pierced one eye with his father’s stitching awl and a subsequent infection took the sight of the other eye.
Just a month later, on February 3, a Jewish family from a well- to-do Prussian community welcomed their second child into the world. It was rumored that baby Felix did not cry after being born until hearing a trumpeter brigade from the street below.
And, on February 12, in a log cabin in the hills of Kentucky, a poor farmer named Thomas first heard the cries of his son, Abraham, before returning to labor in the fields, trying desperately to save the family home. Within three years, however, the family would lose the farm and would be forced to begin again in Indiana. The family continued in hardship, moving six times before finally settling in central Illinois.
The birth of these three individuals would not have caused anyone to take notice.
Seldom does the birth of anyone, except a member of royalty or to celebrity parents, cause any real excitement beyond their immediate family and friends. In fact, most people arrive in this world with the same circumstances—fragile, vulnerable, at the mercy of those to whom they are born. And, apart from being born in a prince’s castle, the landscape is fairly flat at the cradle.
Now, this does not mean that some do not have advantages over others. The ground may be flat, but the starting line can be very different. However, in the end, in whatever way we have been wired or in how we arrive, most of us (not all of us, but most of us) face the same task—to make the most of our turn on this planet, no matter what we may face or encounter.
Take young Louis, for example. Remember, the baby above born blind? His life was very difficult, plagued with the struggles of losing his sight, but also facing the discrimination and prejudice that accompanied anyone with a personal struggle or dis- ability in the first part of the nineteenth century. He was sent to a special school to learn a trade that would allow him to at least make a living. But, young Louis’ intellect craved more. The school attempted to teach the children to read, particularly by using raised letters from the normal alphabet. However, the shapes were difficult to decipher from the touch.
Louis had learned of a special touch code of twelve dots arranged in various forms that military personnel used to pass codes on the battlefield without talking. He adapted the twelve-dot code into an easier-to-learn six-dot system, and an alphabet for those visually impaired was born. Ironically, after mastering the system, young Louis used a stitching awl, similar to the one that had caused his blindness, to etch the dots into the wood code bases. The touch-code system was later renamed in Louis’ honor after his last name—Braille.
Felix’s story is much less tragic or triumphant; however, it is profound all the same. Felix grew up in a home filled with music. His entire family loved the arts and made sure their children had every opportunity to experience a house full of beautiful sounds. Felix’s parents knew their son had a special gift at an early age. Although all of the children were talented, Felix approached music like breathing, as though it was his own special language. By the age of thirteen, he had published his first piano quartet. By middle adolescence, Felix had composed over a dozen sym- phonies. Unfortunately, he would pass away at the young age of thirty-eight, but before his untimely death, his works would impact all of Europe and set the standard for what is called the early romantic period.
However, Felix Mendelssohn is more than just a famous com- poser of an age gone by. In fact, he has played a profound role in many, many new beginnings of young couples, mostly without them knowing it. For it was Felix’s love for music that inspired the emotional connection and feelings that led him, at age six- teen to write an incidental piece to his Overture to Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The piece was later renamed “The Wedding March.”
Or what about young Abraham? Well, his life was extremely
difficult, even from the very first days as a young boy. His father, Thomas, would lose the family farm several times in different places before the family eventually settled in Illinois. Young Abraham admitted later that he resented his father’s lack of education, not so much blaming his father as much as blaming a world that did not seem to value a person’s mind as much as their brawn. Abraham committed himself to learning, to becoming all that his father could not be.
Abraham would train himself in the arts of business, law, and oratory. By adulthood, he was a successful lawyer in the town of Springfield. He was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives, and, eventually, President of the United States. From those first cries in a log cabin in Kentucky to the prestige of the White House, Abraham Lincoln faced a broken world and showed us what giving the “last full measure of devotion” meant.
We are not measured by the events that surround us. No, we are measured by what we do with those events, circumstances, and situations and whether we allow them to get the best of our journeys or whether we make each moment of each day mean something more.
Be Salt and Light... You Matter.
Shane
(Taken from 'You Can't Do Everything... So Do Something' by Shane Stanford.)
Friday, May 11, 2012 