The Sailor, The Woman and The Child

The year was 1976, the year when the United States of America celebrated its 200th birthday -- and the year he celebrated his 20th.

He was a sailor, recuperating from an injury at the naval hospital in Portsmouth, Virginia.

Like most, if not all military hospitals, he was on an open ward with about 30 other patients. In that setting, you could see each patient's visitors come and go.

The sailor was a long way from home, and didn't get many visitors. Always the partier, he was not used to being alone.

So, he would watch them come and go, sometimes striking up a conversation with the other visitors. And that's how he met her.

He saw her talking to a fellow whose name he hardly knew, but the sailor manhandled his crutches and made his way down to the fellow's bed and into their conversation.

Her name was Cindy, and the sailor like the way she smiled and the easy way their conversation took hold. When the sailor asked her whether she would be willing to take him and a friend off the hospital grounds to the beach -- or anywhere for that matter, just to get away -- she agreed.

And so she returned and picked them up at the hospital, and off they went. They made their way to the beach and talked long into the night before returning to the hospital.

Then she picked him up the next day ... and again, and again, and again.

There was a growing attraction between them, and it was happening very quickly.

Cindy knew the sailor was going home soon, because of his medical condition. And one day, she confided in him that she was pregnant, but quickly told the sailor he was not the father.

Concerned for Cindy, but unbothered by the news that he was not the father, the sailor began to think about how good it would be to return home with someone to share his life with. Perhaps, he thought, this would be the stability he needed to leave the partying scene he knew awaited him at home.

"f you want to marry someone, why don't you marry me?" he asked.

It was not the most romantic proposal, but Cindy accepted.

And so the sailor sent Cindy home to his parents to await his release. He returned home and they were married. The sailor entered college and the next spring, a little girl was born ... and they named her Layla.

They had agreed that no one in the family would know their secret.

But even with a wife and child, the sailor found it hard to stay away from the partying life and the inevitable happened: They divorced. Cindy took Layla back to the navy town where they first met, and the sailor was once again alone.

Left to his partying companions,
with the booze,
and the drugs,
and the empty heart.

Some years later he received legal papers asking that he allow Cindy's new husband, Frank, to adopt Layla. The sailor was happy for them, and agreed, for he had also found a new life.

He had met another woman, Donna; and would later be blessed with a son, David.

Later, he found a new life in Jesus Christ; and God then blessed him with a daughter. And she was named Elizabeth.

We are given great gifts -- agape gifts, unmerited gifts -- in this life.

My wife Donna is a gift from God to me; and our children, David and Elizabeth, are God's gift to both of us; in fact, outside of life itself, and salvation, I can think of no greater gift that God can give us than our children.

When Cindy gave birth to Layla, God laid a gift before me that I had done nothing to receive; it was an act of agape love, an act of grace, to allow me to be a part of her life.

Allowing me to spend time with Layla as her dad was a great gift to me for a year and a half. And in the years before David and Elizabeth were born, I missed having her around -- sometimes tearfully.

In later years, she would continue to come to mind -- particularly when her namesake song "Layla" graced my ears.

And then there was the night in 1993 when our family was in the midst of a move from Knoxville to Maryville.

The phone rang, and it was Cindy.

She was in the middle of her own move, having divorced from Frank, and said she had been thinking of me and decided to track me down.

I asked her about Layla; Cindy said she was doing well in school and was very bright. With the exception of the news of Cindy's divorce, it was all good words. We shared some more and then disconnected from each other once again.

As years past, the memory of the little girl known as Layla didn't fade completely, but withdrew into the recesses of my heart.

About 10 days ago, I made a rainy drive to East Tennessee State University in Johnson City to pick up Elizabeth. It in itself was a trip down memory lane as I arrived early -- I gave myself too much time, despite the rain -- and decided to visit a coffee shop near campus. When I left, I headed back along what we call "the tree streets," reminiscing, and then onto campus. I picked Elizabeth up in front of Rogers-Stout Hall, where a good many of my classes were held.

Elizabeth and I chatted as we drove on down the road. She was hungry, of course, and we decided to pull into the Sonic in Greeneville. I had no sooner begun to pull in when the church cell phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket and looked at the number: It was a long-distance area code. "Probably a telemarketer," I thought to myself.

I answered the call, and this is how much of the conversation went:

"Green Meadow United Methodist .."

"May I speak with Frank Trexler?" a woman's voice said.

"You're speaking with him."

"Is this the Frank Trexler, known as Buzz, who was in the Navy in Norfolk, Virginia?"

"Yesss ..."

"... who was married to Cindy ...?"

"Yes."

"Well ... this is your daughter."

The young woman was now crying softly.

"Layla?"

"Yes ..."

"My gosh, where are you?"

She proceeded to tell me she was in Chicago, getting her master's in forensic psychology and working in a law office.

I explained that I was on the road and on a cell phone and got her phone number.

"We've got a lot to talk about."

"Yes, we do ..."

"Does your mother know you're calling me?" I asked.

"I'm doing a paper and we talked a couple of weeks ago and she started talking about you."

"What did she tell you about me?"

"She said you were on drugs and alcohol ..."

"Yes ..."

"... and that you had been selling drugs out of the house ..."

"Well ... maybe. ..."

We talked a little more, and then I said, "You know, I probably need to talk to your mother. Can I get her phone number?"

"Well, she's got some significant health problems. I should probably call her first."

"OK, I'll be at my office in about an hour or so. What time do you get off of work?"

"I'll be home around 6 central time.:"

"Well, why don't you call your mother and tell her you're talking to me and I'll call you back when I get to the office. I promise I'll call you back."

"OK," she said.

We said our goodbyes and I could do nothing more than sit there, astonished, with emotions starting to flow through my body in waves.

When I arrived at the office, I could hardly keep my mind on work -- and I kept watching the clock which, as is newsroom tradition, is set about 10 minutes fast. The hands seem to creep toward 7, then I let them move until sometime between 7:05 and 7:10.

I called, and this is how some of the conversation went:

"Layla? This is Buzz."

"Hi. I think I owe you an apology ..."

"Now, why do you think you owe me an apology?"

"When I called my mom she told me you are not my father."

"Listen," I said. "You need to hear the whole story ..."

We talked for about an hour, and then agreed we needed to stay in touch and would exchange phone numbers and addresses.

When I went home, I stayed up until 3 a.m. writing her an e-mail, sharing memories -- and that has continued for more than a week now, with the addition of another brief phone call to get her permission to share our story this morning.

Why?

In the first place, when you are given the gift that I have received these past 10 days, your heart is bursting to share it.

Secondly, because of something very Adventish that she said. Hear these words:
"I can't imagine being a pregnant teenager who didn't have a strong support system within her family. I also can't imagine being a young man who isn't the father of this girl's baby and agreeing to take on that responsibility and never reveal that secret to anyone."

Does that sound as familiar to you as it did to me?

Joseph ... Mary ... the Christ child ...


We don't know a whole lot about Joseph because there are few details in Scripture about him. Nonetheless, God must have thought highly of him to have entrusted him with His only Son. Likewise, Joseph must have been a God-lover because he accepted the role, and he was undoubtedly blessed.

After all, he likely was the first man to touch the God-child -- and the first one to hear the word "Abba" -- "Daddy" -- spoken by Jesus.[1]

There are other great differences, of course, between my modern tale of the sailor, the woman, and the child, and that of the divine story of Joseph, Mary and the God-child.

But consider that they are both stories of prevenient grace in that the Son -- through whom all things were created -- loved his earthly father even before Joseph knew him. Likewise, the child Layla walked this earth for 27 years not knowing there was someone who had seeds of love in his heart for her.

That's grace ... prevenient grace.

Our God is a God of prevenient Grace. The Father bestows His love upon us even before we know Him, and prevenient grace prevents us from moving so far away from God that we cannot respond to God's offer of love.

It is that kind of love that revealed itself to Layla when I spoke her name on the phone that rainy Thursday afternoon -- and was returned to me across the cellular miles.

And it is that kind of love that God bestows upon us without our ever calling upon him.

Joseph chose to love the child that was not his; perhaps first because the child was that of Mary's ... but the child Jesus undoubtedly captured Joseph's heart on his own.

Our God is a God of prevenient grace. Grace that goes before us ...

And our God is a God of adoption. We are adopted into the Family of God.

We read in Romans 8:15, "For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship (adoption). And by him we cry, 'Abba, Father.'"

It is only as believers in the Son, Jesus the Christ, that we are adopted into the family of God. It is an adoption that makes us co-heirs with the Son. The Father loves the Son, and the children brought through him.

Likewise, Joseph adopted the child Jesus as his own.

Even though Layla gave me permission to tell our story, I have sought to protect her feelings and thoughts and not shared a great deal of them with you.

I guess once a dad to someone, always a dad to them.

Nonetheless, I pray I have not already shared too much; I have just moved as I felt the Spirit lead.

But I want to close with a thought from one of the many e-mails that has passed between us, in which Layla writes: "A dad is a dad because of his actions and his feelings. Biology has very little to do with that. I've learned that through my mom's second husband. I feel very lucky to be able to say that two men think of me as one of their children. Some people don't even have one man who will say that. It brought tears to my eyes to read that you've thought of me over the years and that you've not forgotten about me. I guess that was a fear of mine. And something I couldn't quite understand."

In this season of Advent, as we are awaiting the celebration of the Son's arrival in a manger, have you called your dad?

Have you reached out to "Abba, Father?"

He has not forgotten about you.

He is waiting.

And He loves you still.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen and Amen.


[1] Thanks to "The Bible Geek" at lifeteen.org ("He's Just Like His Father," www.lifeteen.org/bgChristmas14.asp), who gives a great overview of Joseph's role in the birth of Jesus. It is great reading for any young man as he moves from adolescence to adulthood.