We Aren’t Any Different

I haven’t been a big fan of Whitney Houston for a long time. I remember, as most of us do, when she first came on the scene and I was blown away by her obvious talent. I felt the same way the first time I heard Mariah Carey sing “Vision of Love”. Wow. Overflowing talent; almost too much for one person to be walking around with.

And then both of those young, talented girls got caught up in the machine of fame. They became a little “too big for their britches” in my humbled opinion. We know the story, don’t we? Lindsey Lohan, Britney Spears, Amy Winehouse, etc. etc. etc…… talent, fame, and the fall. From the first moment the public senses the eventual demise, we’re like bloodhounds on the scent of a rabbit, aren’t we?

Money can’t buy happiness. Hel-looo? We SAY it but I don’t think we believe it even when the proof is right in our face.

When I heard of Whitney Houston’s passing, I was sad. Angry. Outraged. Why, Whitney, with all of the very best resources at your disposal, were you incapable of becoming clean? You were raised by an apparently supportive, faith-filled woman that loved you unconditionally, you had a daughter that loved you, friends, fans, amazing accomplishments and yet…you battled that particular demon. You had everything and still didn’t win the fight.

As Jennifer Hudson sang in tribute to Whitney Houston last night during the Grammy telecast, it occurred to me that there had been a turning point in Whitney Houston’s life. There had been an event or a series of events that had stolen her brilliance (and by that, I mean the inner light that radiated earlier in her career). Like a thief in the night, her demon stole her future and she was never able to overcome the grip. Underneath that addiction was pain and she was attempting to numb the ache. Who am I to second guess what the ache was about or to assume she didn’t fight against it hard enough?

My dad is a diabetic who has…and I suspect always will…love sweets. According to my mom, he’s eating all of the wrong things and his health is showing the effects. That’s my dad’s demon.

I know of men who have had the respect of the community, prestige, admiration and had loving, adoring families but have fallen to a different sort of addiction, leaving wounded and scarred people in the aftermath of poor choices. A demon of a different sort.

Demons. Anyone who is hurting has them and some of us beat our demons; whip their tails and send them packing. And some of us don’t fare as well.

So although I hadn’t been a Whitney “fan” for a long time, I feel differently this morning than I did on Saturday evening. I feel compassion. Sorrow. I believe she’s been delivered to heaven, free of the demon, released from the pain, and made fully whole and brilliant once again.

Of course, I want that for all of us. Those who have fallen from grace, from adoration, from self control, from moral values, from respect of ourselves and others…that is redemption. Most of us are living our lives and doing our best, in spite of whatever pain or weakness we possess. So, despite the fame and whatever money there may have been, she was just like any of us. Maybe that’s why we hated watching it unfold.

Rest in peace, Whitney. May your passing, and those of so many others, be a reminder to us that life is fragile and often difficult but that we are never alone. When we feel like retreating and waving the white flag, that is often when we are at our most secluded. Lord, help us to know that You will fight with us and for us. Remind our brothers and sisters to press IN, Lord. THAT is freedom.  In your mighty name, Amen.

Be blessed,  Amy