Ten years ago today, I turned 40 years old. . . and the door to my office at Carthage was festooned with black balloons (thanks a lot, Katie Nagao), which actually was a very true reflection of my mood at the time. I was in the midst of a challenging year of leading the Carthage Choir and having just returned from an exciting but utterly exhausting European tour which left me feeling depleted, uncertain of myself, and much older than 40 (thanks to a lot of sleepless nights at the time.)
What a difference ten years makes!
As I turn 50 today, I feel so much better than I did at 40- physically, emotionally, mentally. And for as disconcerting as it is to be a half century old, I am grateful to have that many candles on the cake. . . especially after just learning today that my college classmate Kathy Hoadley Franz, who died this past Friday, would have celebrated her 50th birthday the very next day. It would be dishonorable – and downright foolish – for me to be anything but thankful for having reached this milestone. It’s true that I almost certainly have more birthdays behind me than ahead of me but there’s nothing wrong with that. Life is a gift. . . a banquet. . . a journey. . .a story. . . and here’s a new one for me, gleaned from a Hallmark card that’s now taped to that same office door from which hung black balloons ten years ago. The card says: Life is a canvas – throw all the paint on it that you can!
I’m thinking today of all that has happened to me in these first fifty years and especially WHO has happened to me. . .my parents, my siblings, my friends, my enemies (I’ve had one or two), my teachers and mentors, my students, my colleagues, my wife. . . all who have helped to shape who I am and what is important to me.
I am also thinking of how far I’ve come, personally . . . from a painfully shy young boy to an earnest but awkward teenager to a somewhat self-assured young adult to a middle-aged man who is actually some odd amalgamation of all of those very disparate identities from before.
And I am thinking of the extraordinary range of emotions and experiences that I have tasted over those five decades. . . ranging from the ghastly (like the day in the West Side Elementary School lunchroom when I bent over to tie my shoes and my pants slipped halfway down my butt, setting off what sounded like the derisive laughter of thousands of kids- a sound I can still hear ringing in my ears, 44 years later) to the glorious (like the day not long ago when I stood in front of an orchestra and once again sang “Thus Says the Lord” from Handel’s Messiah, in a gratifying echo of my first performance of the aria back at Luther, exactly thirty years earlier). . .
I am thinking of the losses (especially the shocking, sudden death of my mom more than twenty years ago. . . a couple of painful reversals in my professional life. . . and the door that closed off the possibility of being a father. . . ) and the gifts (especially the wonderful woman with whom I share my life, and whose family is so precious to me. . . the new connections I have forged with my own family, and my profound appreciation for them. . . the joy I derive from an absurdly lavish array of jobs that I absolutely love and that give me such satisfaction. . . a cherished circle of friends, including a best friend with whom I have shared delights for nearly my whole life. . . and health and wholeness that allows me to enjoy all these blessings and opportunities ) . . .
I’m not sure what all of that adds up to except that it’s probably not the most pristine, exquisitely shaded, delicately nuanced portrait. It has its blotches and splotches and the wild color scheme probably breaks every rule of aesthetics in the book. And what it will look like in the end, lord only knows. But at the heart of it is still that smiling little boy who has so much to be thankful for.