seasons

The Saxophonist

~ mercyfortheday ~ Leave a comment

He retired from a forty-four-year career a year ago.  During his last working year, he and his wife moved to another state.  She lived in the new state, while he remained in the city of his birth working until the end.  He then packed up what little he had left in the city and joined her in their new retirement home.  Oh.  It took a few months for him to feel at home.  As someone who was fully entrenched in work that he loved, he was stuck trying to figure out what to do next. 

He knew he had one love that had been instilled in him from a very young age.  Music.  He began piano lessons at age five, but he couldn’t quite master getting both hands to play something different at the same time.  So, he moved to wind instruments.  And he learned to play all of them. 

His main instrument was the oboe.  That oboe got him through high school and college, but then it fell by the wayside.  After years of sitting in the closet, it will soon move into someone else’s hands.  But the love for the saxophone has hung on like a bad attitude not wanting to be healed.  After twenty years of not playing the sax, he picked it up again to play in the church’s worship band.  Lo and behold, the man is talented. 

During the early months of his retirement, he began talking about an idea of using his saxophone to bless others.  He would play music programs at senior homes.  Nursing homes, retirement homes, assisted living, memory care.  Those types of senior homes.  Yet, he lived in a new state and had no contacts who might be able to guide him.  He decided to pursue the idea, anyway.

After he researched oldies music, he created several themed programs and started making phone calls.  And he was able to get events scheduled.  Three short months ago, he played his first concert.  Now his calendar is full.  Many places have asked him to schedule recurring events.  Once a month.  Twice a month.  Next month, he’s playing at one home three times.  These people love him.

Even in old age they will still produce fruit; they will remain vital and green.  Psalms 92:14

At the end of each program, he takes time to talk to the residents.  And they have much to say.  Seeing that he’s a good twenty years younger than they are, he tries to find a connection with them.  Oh.  He’s heard many a good story already.  Just last week, he overheard one woman tell her friend that she is “so sick of violins.”  So, apparently, they get a lot of violinists at their home.  A saxophone concert is a nice change of pace.  And at one home a couple of weeks ago, an elderly woman sat and cried throughout the entire program.  When a worker asked if she was ok, she said that the music was just so beautiful. 

Many of these people sing along to the tunes of their youth.  One woman said that the music she heard was music she and her husband might have danced to when they were younger.  Several people have made the same request for one song.  They want to hear “Yakety Sax” by Boots Randolph.  Unfortunately, that song hasn’t made its way into any of the programs.  But the songs that resonate most with this elderly generation are the hymns.  This generation attended church and sang hymns every Sunday, and they love them.  After one hymn was played, one gentleman said that that particular song was going to be played at his funeral one day.  He was glad he could hear it one more time.  Just the other day, one man asked before the music started how many hymns were going to be played. 

Music has a calming, soothing effect on older hearts.  On hearts nearing the end of life.  And it jogs the memory of earlier days when youth was still on their side.  Music connects one person to another in ways never imagined.  And music connects souls to God at the most trying days of life.  Music is God’s gift to those who share it and also to those who listen.

My heart, O God, is steadfast, my heart is steadfast; I will sing and make music. Psalm 57:7

This man who is finishing his first year of retirement has also joined the worship team at church, and he plays a couple of times a month.  He’s also been asked to join a couple of bands in the area.  Summer concert season is fast approaching, so he is planning a full schedule of music.  I think his retirement is going well, so far.  I hope and pray he has many more years of providing enjoyment to others, as he uses his God-given gift of music. 

I tell you this story, because this man isn’t one to call attention to himself. But his music has a way of touching the heart.  His music may have sat idle for many years, but he has found a way to refresh his gift and use it to minister to others.  May we all do the same in our senior years.  We must use our gifts and talents to glorify God and serve others. 

Young people are told not to waste their youth. Well, we should flip that saying to tell seniors not to waste their golden years. We can’t just retire and sit in our recliner all day and all night. Oh sure. There will come a day when that will happen. But the early years of retirement are open to exploring new hobbies and dreams of our youth. It’s never too late to start a new project or activity. Grandma Moses was 78 years old when she started taking her painting seriously. Gladys Burrill began her marathon running career at the age of 86. Colonel Sanders perfect his fried chicken recipe at age 65. John Pemberton invented Coca Cola at age 65. So, it’s never too late for seniors to try something new. It might just work out.

For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.  Ecclesiastes 3:1

I will be your God throughout your lifetime— until your hair is white with age. I made you, and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you.  Isaiah 46:4

Changing Seasons

~ mercyfortheday ~ Leave a comment

I have a short fuse these days, and it seems to only be getting shorter. I feel like I’m blowing up at too many things. And too often. I’m not stopping to think about the consequences of what I might be saying to others. I’m not stopping to think how this is going to impact them. Will I insult them? Or will I encourage them to be better? Or will they see my point of view? I don’t know. And I have to step back and figure out the purpose of my words. Why am I so short tempered these days? Do I know?

Actually. Yes. Yes, I do know. One phase of my life is coming to an end.

And I’m ready to move on to the next chapter. But I’ve been asked to extend this phase for another month. And it’s annoying me. Sure. I could have said no, but I didn’t. So I guess for one thing, I’m annoyed with myself. And the second thing. I’m annoyed with the ones who’ve asked me to continue on for another month, because they’re not planning ahead. They’re not making preparations to fill my role in a timely manner. And so it’s going to clog up the system and require others take over my work when their workload is already stretched. But I can’t do anything about any of this. Because my plans are made. I have agreed to the extension of time, so I will continue working.

Just last week, I had to voice my concern about a situation that was causing bottlenecks in our business. I expressed my thoughts privately and confidentially. And now I find that others are at odds with my opposition to their selfishness. But they don’t know I was the one who complained. They don’t know I was the one who voiced my concerns about their actions. But not only that, I find I’m just annoyed with a lot of things, and I can’t keep quiet. And I don’t feel comfortable about any of this. I also know that I’m not comfortable voicing all my concerns. I need to temper my words. I need to step back. I need to make sure that my words honor God. And I need to make sure that my words honor the image bearers of God I’m speaking to and the ones I’m speaking about. And sometimes I just don’t want to. I’m convicted about that, because that is a sin. And I need to be better than that. I can be better than that. I have to want to be better than that. It’s hard and, in my imperfections, I need to seek God more than I’ve ever sought him before.

My heart is detached from my work. It’s been detaching for months now. In the near future, the ties will be severed. It’s difficult to care when your work isn’t your passion.  But a paycheck shouldn’t be the only driver for contentment. For we only long for more. A raise. A bonus. A pat on the back. A promotion. The pay is never enough. We always want just a little bit more.  And over time, the more we’ve been given seems not to be enough. We’re never satisfied.

Basically, I have senioritis. That disease that high school and college seniors get when they’re close to graduation. They’re just done with all the requirements. All the demands. All the expectations. All the deadlines. It’s time for a new phase to begin.

Our work is our calling. Or perhaps it’s better said that our calling is our work. And too many of us miss that calling and settle for far less. For far too long. And we’re miserable.

 For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. Ecclesiastes 3:1

We had our first frost of the season this week, signaling the end of life for all annual flowers and plants. The flowers that just the day before had looked hopeful and promising met an untimely death. Their season was cut short. But really, it wasn’t. The annuals don’t have a long life. They’re grown to flower and spread cheer for one short summer season. And now their work is done. Their season of life is over. I knew this day would come, the day I planted them.

As I bent in the dirt this morning to remove the debris of the summer flowers, I realized I was making way for something new to take its place in the spring. Each summer evening, I would walk the marigold path and deadhead the spent flowers. Instead of removing those deadheads from the garden, I would toss them on the ground near the flowering plants. I didn’t want to be inconvenienced by removing them, so I left them discarded in the flowerbed. But, as the summer wore on, I realized those spent flowers were not dead as I tossed them aside. Although the outside was shriveled and battered, life still remained. Those ugly dried flower heads produced new plants. And those new plants bloomed. Unknowingly, I was adding new beauty to empty places in the garden that had been overlooked. It didn’t take much thought and effort. In fact, it was an unintentional act of tossing spent blooms that produced new beauty and life.

The flowers had spent their short life blooming every day. They stood tall during the hot, steamy summer days. They’ve endured rainstorms. They’ve been whipped around by the wind. And yet they never stopped blooming.

If marigolds could think and reason, they might see the futility of their short life. They’re planted only to bloom for one short season. And then their life is over. But oh. That short blooming season provides endless hours of beauty. The short season keeps the deer at bay from ruining other plants in the garden. And that short season allows for the spread of new growth, even if unintentional. Those spent flowers don’t realize they have the capability to spread new life. But they do. Their short blooming season isn’t the end of life for them. They can seed new growth if left to their natural environment.

And now that the frosted marigolds have been removed from the bed, I notice the carrots that had been planted a few weeks ago. The leaves on the carrots are very similar to the leaves on the marigolds. Those leaves were a reminder today that as some seasons end, a new season with similar interests and opportunities await. New life is ahead.

Oh. How I’ve learned a new lesson on contentment in my current workspace. One season of my life is ending, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still have life within. There are new paths to climb. There is still worth in a body and mind that have spent many years doing meaningless work. This season is closing, but the new one brings hope and fulfillment. My momentary discontentment and frustration will soon end. But I must do the work now of planting new seed for the next season. And I must continue my current work with an improved attitude, knowing that new days await.

And that next season holds hope and promise for new adventures. But I must bide my time doing the daily work that I am entrusted with until that appointed hour. Oh. I am planning for the days ahead. I’m dreaming of new projects to fill my time. I’m also planning for more hours of intentional rest and relaxation.

Not all flowers and plants that bloom and thrive need full sun.

A Season for Everything

~ mercyfortheday ~ Leave a comment

It was the springtime. We were house hunting. We knew our budget, the type of house and location we were looking for. We walked into the house one Sunday afternoon. It was outdated. The house had a tired kitchen, ugly wallpaper, faded carpet, and outdated bathrooms. In fact, the entire house reeked of the 80’s.

But we fell in love with the house. The location was private and beautiful. The neighborhood was quiet and small. We made an offer. A lowball offer. After all, we would have to update the entire house unless we wanted the vintage look. We didn’t.

The offer was rejected. Our realtor suggested we wait three weeks. If no offer was received by then, the owner would reduce the price. Low and behold, that is what happened. We made another offer. They countered. Finally, we agreed upon a price. The house was ours.

The previous owner must have loved bearded irises. The south side of the house was planted with multiple colors of the flower. The iris is a flower I’ve never been fond of. I knew she had to love irises, because she had a huge bouquet of them sitting on the dining room table when we toured the house. It was iris season. I’m sure she was very proud of her iris bed. What she didn’t know was that I had plans to get rid of every last iris.

I imagine the former owner had most likely spent many hours in her iris bed. Planting. Weeding. Pruning. Deadheading. Cutting the fresh blooms to enjoy indoors.

But once she sold the house, all bets were off for that iris bed. I had plans, and they didn’t include irises. What she didn’t know was that I loved peonies, roses and zinnias. Instead of having all purple flowers, I wanted to see some pinks and reds and oranges. Even yellow.

I waited a couple of years before I decided it was time to make some changes. The flower bed was bigger than I realized, so I only managed to dig up one third of the bulbs the first fall. The next year, I removed another third of the bulbs. Finally, this year I’ve dug out the remaining third of the flowerbed.

Now I can begin the real work of making the flowerbed mine.

We don’t remember what happened in the past, and in future generations, no one will remember what we are doing now. Ecclesiastes 1:11

It’s easy to be offended when someone comes along and makes changes to what you once held dear. Times change. Interests are updated. People grow.  What was once new is now old, and what was old is now new again.  

Change can be liberating or exhausting.  Depending on what side of the equation you’re on, someone else’s decision to change may just be the motivation to get you out of your comfort zone.  It may be the nudge to actually move on when moving on wasn’t on your mind.

Letting go of old and beloved flowers or habits or traditions or jobs can take your breath away, or it can bring new life. It all depends on the attitude of
adjustment.  It doesn’t have to be offensive.

I came to hate all my hard work here on earth, for I must leave to others everything I have earned. And who can tell whether my successors will be wise or foolish? Yet they will control everything I have gained by my skill and hard work under the sun. How meaningless!  So I gave up in despair, questioning the value of all my hard work in this world.  Some people work wisely with knowledge and skill, then must leave the fruit of their efforts to someone who hasn’t worked for it. This, too, is meaningless, a great tragedy.  Ecclesiastes 2:18-21 

The flowerbed that once held colorful bearded irises will produce something different in the spring.  White peonies.  Pink roses.  Orange Chinese lanterns.  The possibilities are endless.  Each season, the flowerbed that only held irises will now shine with new colors and blooms.  It will have a new look.  A future owner will never know irises once grew in the space.  But then again, they may remove all my hard work and start a fresh new space.  It is expected.  It is accepted.  There are times when change needs to occur in order for stagnation to be replaced by fresh newness.

There is a time and a season for everything.  Adjusting to change is hard, especially when it isn’t an expected or desired change.  Newness can bring new life and new opportunities that one would never have experienced if the change hadn’t occurred.  

It isn’t easy to embrace change, but moving on to new pastures can be refreshing and invigorating.  Otherwise, change can cause an inner death and allow a root of bitterness to grow.  Accept change.  Allow the newness of discomfort to challenge and renew your spirit.  New life blooms ahead in the new season.

For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. Ecclesiastes 3:1 

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