September 28, 2007

• For My Wife on Her Birthday

  

  Forty is the old age of youth;
  Fifty is the youth of old age.
  ~ Victor Hugo

  Yes, autumn is really the best of seasons:
  and I’m not sure that old age isn’t the best part of life.
  But of course, like Autumn, it doesn’t last.
  ~ C.S. Lewis

  I think it was at our wedding when Carol’s father referred
  to her as his song of joy, which is
  what her name means.  Now, after almost
  30 years together, song of joy has
  grown in its meaning for me.  Throughout
  her life she has composed many rich verses for all of us to hear and
  enjoy. 
  

  Most obvious is her piano
  playing.  But she does not simply play
  the piano.  She rarely just matches the
  written notes with the proper ivories and then plunk them down in some
  mechanical way.  Rather, she reads the
  notes, hears the tune, and then mixes in some inexplicable magic that then
  reverberates through her fingers and into the piano.  She gives the piano a soul, her soul, and the
  music written comes to us through her mysterious touch—she breathes her life
  into the music, and we are therefore compelled to sing with all of our hearts
  and all of our souls to our great God.

  But this scenario describes more than just her piano
  playing.  Read Carol’s blog. Read her weekly
  thanksgivings.  See the attached pictures
  and photographs.  Her writings come to
  our eyes in signs and symbols, but the objective images she gives us are laden
  with more of her magic.  (It’s like
  baptism or communion—simple sacramental signals mysteriously moving us deep
  within.)  She casts spells on us without
  our permission.  She forces us to love
  what she loves.  She conjures images of
  truth, beauty, and goodness we cannot resist. 
  And over and over we are caught up in the joyful song she is singing.

  Piano playing and writing can be closets to hide in, small
  fortresses from which we reveal only what we want others to know about us,
  hideouts where we protect ourselves from embarrassment, and puff ourselves up
  for attention.  But when once you have met
  Carol face to face, when you share words audibly with her in her presence, you
  realize how genuine she really is.  There
  is integrity between her piano, her computer, and her presence.  And once again, her magic spell begins to
  pull you in, and you begin to love what she loves.  You start loving authors you’ve never read or
  heard of before—others who conjur their own magic and manipulate you like Carol
  does.  She draws you into her world with
  ease and grace.  And you look forward to
  talking again, soon.

  Now, you have not lived with her as I have.  At home, she’s a bit different than when
  she’s out and about.  But that’s because
  she’s at home, letting her hair down,
  free to relax in the context of her family. 
  But I have a witness—glory to
  God—thank-you Jesus.  Carol is not
  selling you anything.  She is not using
  smoke and mirrors.  She’s the same
  Carol.  Her magic is real, her life is
  enticing.  She is a constant tune, a
  rhythmic harmony that fills our home with joy. 
  She blesses our daily routine with song. 
  I’m thankful the Lord has given her 50 years to sing.  The music she is composing is becoming a
  living symphony for us all. 

  
  

  • 10:58 am
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