Our Lives in Ruins

I’m not dropping this for any desire for big notice, but it is ever on my mind that I will be 50 years old in less than 3 months. I remember when I hit 40. It was on a Sunday, and a certain choir member or two saw to it that it would be a birthday to remember … from the black crepe paper and such hung the choir room all the way to the black rose sitting in the middle of my desk in a Coca-Cola can that had also been spray-painted black. I remember telling Dad that I had always thought that I would feel more “grown-up” by age 40 than I actually did. He replied that we never feel as grown-up as we think we ought to.

To our choir members in their 90s (as of last week we now have 3 ... and they are among our most faithful and spiritually alive):  I admire you and hope to be doing at least as well as you when I am in my 70s.

I hit 40, but it feels like 50 will hit me.  Thinking in that vein, I’ve been meditating on this essay my son Taylor posted on his blog last week:

That’s enough to think about for now. The peace of Christ to you.