Life seems to have a way of using each step of our personal journeys to prepare us for subsequent steps - and those in turn prepare us for still others. And so it goes.

So where did my journey as a player and maker of Native American-style flutes actually begin: As a little kid listening to my Dad's old records on the radiogram? As a teenager learning to sing? As a young bass-baritone with the NZ Opera Company? Or was it years later,  when I listened spellbound to an African drumming circle in Byron Bay, Australia, subsequently grabbing a djembe and joining a local drumming circle? Or was it when I pulled a long-forgotten didgeridoo out of the wardrobe, dusted it off and learned to play, then make, these powerful, connecting, instruments? Or was it when my friend Anne called around one day with her Native American-style flutes for a jam session with my didgeridoos?

All of the above. And more. Well-retired and in my 70s, I had a profound realization I had been readied and led to a hitherto unimagined purpose that made sense of all that had gone before. It made sense of my life experiences - the brokenness and the victories, the losses and the restorations - the creative skills with which I have been gifted and most importantly, the disposition of my heart and soul.

Through the great Native American peoples, I believe our Creator gifted humankind with the design of these wonderful flutes. I do not seek to profit from the playing or making of them. Pay my way, yes. But the true reward lies in the sharing of them with my fellow human beings increasingly overwhelmed in a disconnected, dark and materialistic world. May they bring peace, beauty and reconciliation to all who hear or play them.

While I was learning, a Native American friend advised "Just remember, you don't play these flutes, you pray these flutes."

His counsel changed the course of my life, and explains the why of what I do and, please God, will continue to do, as an offering of gratitude, for the rest of my allotted time.