Funny to think what a big part of my life playing music once was.
Enter (more than) full-time ministry and raising a family, and the music naturally went by the wayside as I occupied myself with more enduring things.
But I found I really didn't mind, especially when God gave me a much better musician.
I knew enough to know he showed he had a natural ear at age four.
Came home from church and plinked out the melody from "The Deep, Deep Love of Jesus" perfectly on piano hours after hearing it for the first time.
Never could afford to get him private lessons. He resisted learning to read music.
But I no longer missed my music; it was so gratifying to hear my musician.
He loved so many instruments, couldn't settle on just one.
He completely bypassed that squeaky phase in practicing the violin.
Quit playing for a while, because he saw it as a springboard for pride. Refused to compete with others who played.
The day came when I realized my self-taught son was better on guitar after a couple years than I was after several years of hard practice.
But nothing warmed my heart so much as hearing him upstairs on that borrowed cello. Those rich, resonant textures reverberating through the floor boards.
At age 19, my musician was gone.
Today, he's 21. And I find it's not the music I miss.
I just miss him.
Really, really miss my musician.
"The LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away. BLESSED be the Name of the LORD."
-- Job 1:21