It’s that time of year again- that time of the year when I curl up in my big cozy armchair to contemplate love and its little (and not so little) implications. I think that this year I’ll write about my most recent observations and musings, those which often bring me warm fuzzies. It’ll be fun, I promise.
Last week I decided that young love is like smooth jazz. As I watch young couples get to know each other through the dating and early marriage process, I watch them improvise together. It’s not all improv though. Beautiful jazz takes an individual who is skilled in their instrument. It takes a musician who knows when to take that soaring solo and when to remain in the background. This individual knows what notes sound good together, based off of much experience. Only then, when thrown in with another musician, can they make beautiful, free, smooth jazz.
Now young couples are fine and all, but I would much rather observe an old couple walking hand in hand down the street. To me, they are like a time-tested classical piece. There is practice and precision with each note. Played following the score of what has been learned before, they have learned when to crescendo together. Their rendition of the piece, however true to the author’s original score, is true to them. They rest in the comfortable familiarity of their harmony, secure in the practice of their instruments, both together and apart. I’m sure that they could handle a piece of jazz, but they prefer to stick with their way of expressing their music- through the piece passed through the years.
In both scenarios, I think that the instrument is love. Mkkkk… that might sound a bit corny, but it’s true. A young man strives in his life to show love to those around him. He is a servant to all. He hugs the little old ladies and plays catch with the little boys. He learns to love God. He practices this instrument of praise. He meets a young lady who has also been practicing this instrument. Together they realize that the notes that their instruments play together are twice as sweet. It takes a little time, but because they have practiced in advance, they are able to improvise together, following a basic score outlined for them before time began. She leads a Bible study for high school girls, her time with God over the years evident as she guides them through the Word. He uses his handy man skills, picked up here and there helping his dad or tinkering around the house.
A little old lady walks sort of slow on account of the stiffness in her hip developed over the years. Her face is wrinkled; her once thick dark hair is now thin and pure white. Her husband of over fifty years just smiles at her. He has listened and watched ever since he knew her, delighting in the way she has practiced her instrument, and as a result, she has become a master. He watched her rock their babies to sleep, teaching them of Jesus as they drifted off to dream. He helped her to save aside a portion of what little they had to help a single mother in need. He has been the taste tester for countless batches of cookie for neighborhood children. He thinks that its funny how the farther one gets along in their years of practice the different skills they have to acquire to keep playing their music well. Her delicate hands are now ridden with arthritis, but they still take the time to knead out the knots he acquires when he insists on mowing the lawn. He has tasted as the cookies got better, and has listened as the neighborhood children began to call them “Gramps” and “Gram”. He watched in awe as blessings were poured on their music as a result of faithful practice. He glances over at her, where she nods off in her chair after dinner, and a tender grin teases the corners of his wrinkled mouth. Thought they may only be two people, she is all he needs to hear a symphony.
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