Ripening

60: (February 2026)

My love of music was a river running within my core from a very early age, but at this point in life, that love has ripened to something much more; being a musician myself has become an expression of my soul. Many of my friends are musicians or artists of one sort or another, and I am sure that it is the same for them.

The arts are able to express the inexpressible as little else can. So many feelings and emotions can be best communicated through the arts, so much of what moves us as humans. How can a piece of music, a painting, or a dance bring us to tears? Yet they can, and they do. Of course, the response to a piece of art is not universal; what speaks to one person can fall on deaf ears or blind eyes for another. Nevertheless, the artist reaches out, taking the risk of extreme vulnerability in exposing what is at the heart, the soul of the artist. In so doing, the art that is shared reaches out to make a connection on a soul level with others. That’s pretty close to magic, in my book, or a deeply spiritual act to put it in different words.

I feel so fortunate, so grateful to be retired and able to spend more time on my favorite art form. Playing the piano and creating music is a healing balm for me. When I play or write songs, the act of creating nourishes and sustains me; time evaporates and worries vanish. When I play at churches or in public venues, I feel joy in making invisible connections with churchgoers or the audience. And in exposing my own creativity, I hope it might possibly touch another, offering a bit of delight or comfort.

This impulse to create probably stirs within each of us in some way. Listen to it, nurture it however you can. Give it air, let it breathe. The current flows within, even if you don’t have time to fully jump into those waters until later in life. It is possibly the most important part of yourself; the invisible essence of who you are.

40: (February 2006)

I was sitting next to my younger daughter last week watching her knit. Her fingers deftly worked the wool, the stitches emerging in even rows like little kernels of corn. As I watched her fingers at work, I noticed her fingernails, which were neatly manicured. Then it hit me; I don’t have to tell her to clip her nails anymore! This thought startled me. When was the last time I reminded her to take care of her fingernails? When was the last time I actually had to do them for her? A long time ago. Yet I had not noticed. It is a little thing, yet it had a big impact on me. So many “last times” that I did not notice along the way, along the journey of my child’s childhood.

I find it remarkable, in some way, that I could possibly not notice all those “lasts.”  Like the last time I was involved in giving her a bath. Or tying her shoes. Or cutting her food. Or nursing her. You do those things for what seems like a million times, and then one day you stop! And you do not plan to stop; it just happens. It’s like a cosmic timer goes off, and you know you’re done with that job, only you don’t consciously notice. At least, I haven’t. One day, you sit next to your child, whose nails you have had to clip, on hands you have had to scrub, whose fingertips held dazzling colors of polish you have painted on and removed countless times just for fun—and then, suddenly, she’s sitting next to you knitting a dog sweater. Knitting with fingers that are all grown up and don’t need you to tell them what to do or how to do it anymore!

For everything there is a season. I love that Biblical phrase. It’s comforting, yet I often have to remind myself of it. There was a season of my life where I cared for my children in a hands-on way, and now this is the season where I am more of a guide for them. In this season, I continue to play a significant role in their emotional development, although I know their lives will increasingly revolve around friends before long.

Perhaps like nature, we have four seasons with our children. The first is steeped in the physical, when we must care for their every need. Then comes the mental, when we have the opportunity to teach them so many things. Then the emotional, as they grow into adulthood, and finally the spiritual. Since the spiritual dimension has a great capacity to deepen throughout life, we might actually have some wisdom to share in our old age! Of course, there is overlap and interplay among these seasons, but the largely physical has definitely trailed off with barely a goodbye, followed closely by the mental season, when they learned things primarily at home.

I watch those fingers move with such confidence and grace. And I marvel. It may be another season, but in a way, it always seems to be spring.

60-40:

It is indeed another season of life. I’m not sure I have much wisdom to share with my grown children or anyone else, but I do know I have grown. And one thing I have learned is not to look back too often or too hard. Seasons come and go, and things end—but there are always new beginnings.