MAKING MUSIC

It was over in an hour. And it was fantastic!!.  But when it started, I failed to appreciate just what a gift we were given. 

We went with friends to hear the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra play in Garfield Park.  It was a free summer concert on a perfect evening. The music started and I settled in.  But, before they had finished the first piece, I noticed something.  I noticed the orchestra.  I  noticed our friend Roger playing the English Horn.  Then I noticed each individual.  Over 100 professional musicians.

Do you know how easy it is to take this incredible gift for granted?  There we were, listening to some of the world’s finest musicians pooling their gifts to contribute these incredible musical gifts to me. Over 100 individuals!!  Probably millions of hours of practice as each individual has trained for decades to bring this one sound to this one evening. And there were hundreds of thousands of dollars of musical instruments. And there were all the music teachers who trained all these musicians.  

There there were the sound people who had put up the microphones so the music sailed across the park.  And the police who managed traffic, and the United Moving Van which had hauled the chairs, stands and music to the park.

And there were all the years of tender care given by hundreds of people to help the park become what it was—a public place open to all.  And all the citizens who paid taxes over the decades to keep the park going and pay for the musicians to be there.  

And there they all were—all these incredible gifts—to make one hour of fantastic music.

None of us lives to ourselves alone. All that makes life full and rich is the result of a complex tapestry of lives woven into each hour we live. 

Be thankful. 

THANKSGIVING MUSIC?

It was the afternoon before Thanksgiving.  My wife, Deborah, had been cooking in preparation for a holiday dinner at the family gathering.  I joined her to add my hand in the cutting and cleaning.

"How about some music?"

I checked and found some Christmas music on Itunes Radio.  After a couple of Christmas Rock, we said, "What about thanksgiving music?  Is there even such a thing as secular thanksgiving music?"

I checked Pandora and picked Thanksgiving Music Radio.  And sure enough, all Christmas music.

Is there such a thing as secular thanksgiving music?  I know there are hymns of gratitude, but what about the secular holiday of Thanksgiving?  Is there no music to sing our thanks for the gifts of our life?

I am aware that those who grieve well the loss of the world the once knew are grateful people.  They are grateful for the gifts that they had for a season.  They see and acknowledge the daily sustaining resources that keep them living and loving.  As they look at what came to them in the past they are open to seeing the future as a gift as well.  They are even able to see the gift in the losses that made room for the life they are living now.

So, while I can't find much thanksgiving music on my computer, I do find songs of gratitude in my heart for each person who has been part of my blessed life.  I can name some and fill in lots of details about their gifts to me.  There are hundreds of others whose presence has sustained and nurtured me.  

Tomorrow on Thanksgiving,  music will be drumming in my heart as I share a day with some of my family and friends.  And I will be singing gratitude for all those who are not with me. And who knows, I may even write a Thanksgiving carol for next year! 

MUSIC IN THE DEAD OF WINTER

January 20--blistering cold.   Snow falling.  Trying to keep ahead of it.  The driveway scrapes under the blade of the snow shovel.  The whishing of the snow blowing off the shovel, back into my face. The scratching was accompanied by the background noise of interstate traffic a mile away.  Scratching, whishing, humming--scratching, whishing, humming.  

I stopped to breathe.  Leaning on the shovel, I heard it.  Music--singing over the drum beat of scratching, whishing, humming.  A robin--a lone singer who forgot to head south.  Singing its call, hoping for a reply.  And then in a tree near-by, an answer.  Another snow-bird enduring an Indiana winter.

I thought, “The dead of winter can be such a hard time.  The absence of green, the sun hiding for days, the snow carpeting the brown grass for days and weeks on end.  And we can be so driven to keep ahead of the overwhelming gray-white days of despair that we fail to stop and listen--deeply and quietly, to the song that whispers in our soul--the song that reminds us that life has beauty and loveliness.”  

I am grateful for shovels on which to lean and breath to breathe in and ears to hear a robin’s song--and for my own song that sings my own soul forward.