“for I find my delight in your commandments, which I love. I will lift up my hands toward your commandments, which I love, and I will meditate on your statutes.” – Psalm 119:47-48
My preacher friend, Wayne, recently made a comment that stuck with me for days. During a sermon, he said, “We tend to like what we study and study what we like.” The more time we spend in God’s Word, the more we appreciate what it has to offer. And the more we appreciate what the Bible offers, the more time we’ll want to spend reading and meditating upon it.
Wayne said the principle is true for just about any pursuit and referred to music. He’s not a fan of classical music and thus doesn’t appreciate what it offers. He may recognize the most popular pieces but doesn’t seek them out and can’t tell you much about them.
Another friend of mine, Jenny Diamond, a music expert, backed this up. She said a trained person can listen to a classical piece and tell you exactly which instrument, like the oboe or French horn, is playing the melody. Her young music students often cannot. She added that a trained musician can tell you what musical period a piece of classical music comes from, be it the Renaissance, Baroque, or Romantic period, just by listening to it. There are characteristics in the writing of composers from each period that a trained ear can recognize.
Jenny listens to and knows classical music. A lifetime of study allows her to appreciate the subtleties, and she’s able to convey those to her students. The more she listens and studies, the more she learns. And the more she learns, the more she wants to listen and study. The two go hand in hand. Her passion for music didn’t happen by chance.
Wayne and I, on the other hand, are classical music novices. We don’t recognize the subtleties or time periods. We can’t pick out the oboe in the melody. We haven’t invested time and energy in this type of music and, as a result, our appreciation for it is at the surface level.
The note from the margin reads: Don’t expect to love, delight in, or lift your hands to something on which you have not meditated. Our love for something—be it a person, a hobby, or a type of music—flows from the investment we make in it.
If you find yourself not loving or even understanding the Bible, ask yourself, “Have I invested in it?”
As we approached the hill on which the village of Gambier, Ohio sits, my father, who had been quiet for most of the 3-hour journey, suddenly sat up and began to sing.
He climbed the Hill and said a prayer, And founded Kenyon College there. He climbed the Hill and said a prayer, And founded Kenyon College there!
Dad was pumped! This was his first visit back to his alma mater, Kenyon College, since 1959, the year he graduated. His first time visiting the campus where he came of age, starred on the football team, and earned an Economics degree. His first opportunity to finally show his second wife, eldest daughter, son-in-law, and me the place from which all his crazy college stories originated.
A lot has changed since ’59, of course, most notably for my 85-year-old dad. Over the past 7 years, he has overcome the death of his beloved spouse, bouts with lung, brain, and skin cancer, and memory loss brought on by early dementia. He is as kind and funny as ever, but his mind is an etch-a-sketch. While he can recall details from various Vietnam flying missions with ease, he can’t always remember what he had for breakfast, what’s on the agenda for the day, or the answer to a question asked moments earlier. That’s all a part of the wonderful man he is, and those around him are patient and roll with it. We all have issues, right?
As we reached the top of the hill, the stunning Kenyon campus came into view, and something ignited in Dad’s hippocampus.
“That’s Middle Path!” he declared. “It’s the main artery on campus. Everything happens along Middle Path. See that concrete post over there on the path? We used to jump over it on our way down Middle Path. It’s all coming back!”
The Post on Middle Path
After lunch on campus at the Village Inn, we walked back down the hill to see the Kenyon football team take on DePauw University. With Kenyon down by 38 points at the end of the third quarter, Dad offered to suit up and go in at right halfback, his old position. Had that been allowed, it would have provided the most fascinating and terrifying moments of 2022.
Instead, we climbed back up the hill, with my winded father providing the soundtrack.
He climbed the Hill and said a prayer, (gasping) And founded Kenyon College there. He climbed the Hill and said a prayer, (more gasping) And founded Kenyon College there!
At the coffee shop, we met up with a representative from the Development Office. Unsure how much Dad would remember, I had arranged a special campus tour for him. Kate, our tour guide, was energetic and knowledgeable. She also had no idea what she was getting into with my dad! As she highlighted features of the campus, Dad offered side commentary.
“See that rock over there by the bike rack? We used to pee on that rock. I’m not sure why.”
“Is that Rosse Hall, over there? My my! My buddy tried to cheat on an exam there one time. There were a few questions to answer on a clipboard. He sat by the window and managed to drop the clipboard out the window to a friend, who took the questions back to the dorm to answer, then passed them back up to him through the window. He thought he had gotten away with it, until the professor called him to the front the next day and asked him how he had managed to type his answers!”
Dad was dumbfounded when learning that Kenyon’s annual cost, including tuition, room, and board, is over $80,000, making it one of the most expensive private schools in the country.
“It was expensive back then, too. My good friends, the Beese brothers, were from a wealthy family and were going to Kenyon, so I wanted to go too. It was an all-boys school at the time. My parents wanted me to get a college education, so my mom went to work for Monarch Chemical, and her salary, along with my football scholarship, made it possible for me to attend.”
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t doing well my first semester. The rigorous academics here were nothing like what I had been through at Green High School. My academic advisor told me I had to get my GPA up in order to keep my scholarship and stay in school. He said I needed “an easy A” and offered a few options, including ROTC. So, I took ROTC solely for the A, which I got, but that led to a 30-year Air Force career. Funny how life works.”
We continued strolling along Middle Path, with our guide providing campus updates and Dad offering more commentary.
“Over there is where I took my Economics classes, and that building up ahead, Old Kenyon, was my dorm the last couple of years here. Kenyon was all-male then, but Peggy would come for dances and other visits. She was the Homecoming Queen, in fact, and her picture was up at Peirce Dining Hall.”
Moments later, inside the dining hall, the memories came flooding back to him. The grand hall looked like something out of Hogwarts.
Same table, 63 years later
“That’s the table I sat at every day, me and my friends, four on each side. To offset my tuition, they had me bring out trays of orange juice and food to serve the students. Parents would come and stand up on the balcony watching us. On Sundays, we would sing the alma mater for them. Have I sung it for you?”
“Yes, Dad, you have.”
As we neared the end of our tour, someone asked about Kenyon’s most famous graduates and Dad was quick to respond. With a smile and a wink, he said, “There are three: Paul Newman, the actor and salad dressing guy… Rutherford B. Hayes, the President… and Brad Johnson.”
That night, Dad reflected on our special day and told my sister, “This trip has breathed new life into me.” After returning to his home in Cincinnati the next morning, I asked him if he wanted to play some golf before I returned home.
“Wow, I haven’t played golf in years. I’m willing to try but can’t promise anything. I’m not even sure I can still hit the ball.”
“Well, I brought your old clubs with me,” I said. “Let’s hit a bucket of balls and go from there.”
The next morning at the driving range, we learned Dad can still hit a golf ball. 95% of his drives went perfectly straight and about 100 yards. In the golfing circles I run in, that’s elite.
“It’s coming back to me. Let’s play a few holes.”
“Best ball?” I asked.
“No, I think I’ll hit my own shots. You’re not that good.”
So, Dad hit his own shots and hit them well. Straight down the middle, about a hundred yards. He smiled after each shot and had the stamina to complete nine holes and give me a run for my money.
Who’s Your Caddy?
Of course, it wasn’t about scoring. No, this was about spending time with my old man. This was about reliving glory on a college campus and driving the green on a couple of par threes. This was about staring down dementia and saying, “You haven’t won yet.”
Let me encourage you to take the trip. Go see your aging parents while you still have them. Make it a priority. Someday, memories will be all you have, so make them now. Store them up—as many as you can. And pray that when you’re at that ripe old age, your kids will do the same for you.
As Dad and I finished the 9th hole and drove the cart up the hill to the clubhouse, he looked over at me, pumped his fist, and had one final thing to say…
He climbed the Hill and said a prayer, And founded Kenyon College there. He climbed the Hill and said a prayer, And founded Kenyon College there!
