I wrote this after a visit to France. We had driven to a specific vineyard which specialised in cognac and this gentleman touched my heart with his twinkling eyes and his positive approach to life.  My life had just changed dramatically, totally turned upside down, and I was struggling to find hope and light in my future.  Yet here was this man, obviously heart-sore about leaving all that he loved, and yet looking toward the future with twinkling eyes!  He reminded me of Paul when he instructed the Corinthians to run the race in such a way as to get the prize (1 Corinthians 9:24).  He gave me the courage to look ahead for the light – and I have found it through my continued walk with Jesus Christ.  May you enjoy the man with the twinkling eyes this Monday morning.

Twinkling Eyes

But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope in in You. Psalm 39:7

‘Ring insistently’ said the notice. And so we did, and down the hill on his bike came a man in a red shirt. His eyes twinkled. ‘We are closed’ he said. ‘It is Saturday and we are closed.’ One of our party protested that we had travelled far and had come to buy. ‘Oh well,’ he said, ‘in that case – we are open,’ and he climbed off his bike, unlocked the doors and welcomed us in.

We entered a new world. Dark and cool, the thick walls of the building kept out noise, heat and light. He picked up a silk pot of geraniums and set it on a barrel outside the door, together with four bottles and so declared to the world ‘We are open.’

The old arched doorway made an attractive picture contrasting dark and light, muted shades and colour.

He talked on, the man in the red shirt with the twinkling eyes, extolling the quality of his produce and the purchases grew. With an underlying sentiment of sadness he told us that this was the last of his stock. His family wanted to sell the business and all his years of expertise in cultivating, nurturing, taste and smell would come to an end. The years of sleeping in the cellars during the busy months of fermentation were no more. He was no longer needed; his produce would now go to larger, more commercial concerns.

And yet there was a delightful gleam in his eyes, and, responding to our questions and our interest, he led us into cellar after cellar of ancient barrels, the air redolent with the sweet smell of fruit. There was still cognac here – and he was proud of it. Proud of the quality his expertise had produced. He would keep the vines and the chateau – they would continue in the family. He would sell the grapes to bigger concerns – they could do all the hard work. He would keep the barrels, and breathe the air of the cool subterranean cellars when he wanted to.

But he would no longer sleep in the hard little bed. No – he would sail his boat on the estuary and walk in his beloved mountains, enjoying the flowers and the historical buildings that were so very fascinating. And the sadness was diminished until it almost melted away, to be replaced by anticipation of new adventures and exciting days to come.

He captured our hearts, this man in his red shirt, with his twinkling eyes, his passion for life and his hope for the future. He brightened our day and he waved us off as we returned to our cars to resume our journey. We may never meet again, but his love for his life will remain with me, for his hope shone like the barrel topped with flowers in contrast to the darkness. It is something to strive for in our own lives as we too face change and new horizons. Sweet memories – but always light in the darkness, and colour in the shade.