The familiar hiss of the espresso machine provides a gentle backdrop to the quiet murmur of Sunday morning as I stare across the water, pondering the distant shore. No dolphins have graced these waters in the two weeks since I arrived in this coastal paradise — the unseasonably chilly days keeping them at bay, much like the thoughts I’ve been trying to hold at a distance.
Steam rises from my cup, colliding with the cool air, carrying the rich aroma of freshly ground beans — a temporary comfort as my mind inevitably drifts to Friday’s farewell.
A Walk in the Woods
Warm afternoon light filtered through giant twisted oaks, their Spanish moss swaying like ancient beards in the breeze, casting long shadows across the rough forest floor. Each step brought a symphony of crunching leaves and breaking twigs, nature’s percussion accompanying our solemn procession.
A tear entered the corner of my eye as I shoveled a load of fresh earth and spread it across the body of an old friend as he lay inside an open grave. The moment was raw, real, unlike any funeral I’d attended before.
Bad News Calling
Just barely a week ago, we received the call that would begin this final chapter — our friend had slipped into a diabetic coma and was on life support. Life’s cruel irony showed itself as his wife simultaneously underwent emergency hip surgery. For a brief moment, they shared a hospital room before each returned home — he for hospice care, she for recovery.
Something New
This wasn’t like the many funerals I’ve attended since childhood. There was no polished wood coffin, no marble headstone waiting to be placed, no minister pontificating on eternity. Instead, his body was wrapped naturally in a white shroud, resting on an old wagon adorned with a few hand-picked flowers and ferns. We, the few who gathered to honor his life, walked together into the woods, where small piles of dirt covered with hay marked the resting places of others who had chosen this simple return to the earth.
A Somber Moment
The sound of a fiddle playing “Amazing Grace” filled the air as we lowered him into the ground. One by one, each guest took their turn with the shovel, a final act of service to our friend. Workers completed what we had begun, filling the grave as we stood in contemplative silence.
Between the Years
His life was distilled into stories shared by friends and relatives — not an exhaustive biography, but meaningful moments that painted the picture of a life well-lived. As someone once said, it’s about the dash between the birth and death dates. It’s what we do with that dash that matters.
Standing there, I couldn’t help but wonder: Am I next? What words will be said? Who will show up? What memories and stories will they share? What do I still need to accomplish?
Moments Created
The truth reveals itself: If everything we do, we do for ourselves, there will be no stories worth sharing. But when we create moments for others, going out of our way to craft what become exceptional memories, we never really die until those who shared those memories pass on themselves.
True Artistic Spirit
My friend lived simply but profoundly. A master boatbuilder who crafted everything by hand, he told me last year he’d built 29 of his legendary guide boats — one per year, living off the proceeds of each creation. His work now rests in a museum, his craftsmanship preserved alongside his photograph. He never chased wealth, instead doing what he loved and surviving on what he made. It was enough to keep him and his bride happy, while touching countless lives along the way.
Sage Wisdom
Earlier this week, coaching a young employee contemplating a career change, I shared this: “Assume every decision you make will be followed by 10 or more years to achieve it. Carry the weight of that decade-long commitment, and ask yourself: If this were your last year, would this decision honor your time?”
Jeff Bezos, whom I met before his rise to fame and fortune, suggests imagining yourself at 80, looking back. Would you regret this decision and devoting precious time? It’s about making time for reflection and thinking long-term.
Grasping for Thoughts
I’ve spent decades pondering life’s meaning, and while my answers evolve, nothing sobers the mind quite like watching earth fall into a friend’s grave. Even if decades stretch before me, my time too will come, and come far too rapidly.
What About Me?
Will I spend these precious years mindlessly scrolling through social media, letting screens fill my days with meaningless distraction? Or will I create something meaningful? Will I waste time with those who drain my spirit, or invest in creating joyful memories with those I truly love who fill me up? Will my pursuits serve others or merely myself? Will my cup run over? Will my spirit be gentle?
Magic Making
One wasted hour is too many, especially if it’s your last. The value of our relationships must be about creating magic from the mundane, loving deeply, and enriching others with our time and encouragement. There’s no room for harsh words, raised voices, insecurity, or needless drama.
What do you need to accomplish? Who do you want to serve? What memories must you create before the dirt falls upon you? In what ways will your spirit, your stories, your memories and moments live on?
No Hollywood scene could have matched the raw power of watching his widow, eyes closed, face tilted skyward, pure joy and faith radiating through her grief as she quoted the 23rd Psalm from memory, her voice weak but unwavering.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,” she began, each word a testament to her faith in this moment of ultimate testing.
“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”
Peace descended with each verse, wrapping around her like a familiar blanket.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”
Her conviction grew stronger with each line, faith lifting her voice.
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
I’ve heard that prayer, read that passage, a thousand times, heard it uttered by ministers at countless funerals. But here, in this moment, it came alive — transformed by a woman whose heart had been ripped out, who had just lost the love of her life and watched as we covered him with a blanket of earth. Her faith made these ancient words breathe with new life and meaning.
Waste not, want not. Every moment counts.
Eric Rhoads
PS: Sometimes the normal and mundane suddenly seem like a precious gift. Thousands of lives, jobs, homes, businesses were disrupted this past week in Los Angeles. It could take decades to put them on their feet again. Keep them in your prayers. And let’s not forget the thousands who are still struggling to survive in South Carolina and all those impacted by the hurricanes. This is when we all need to step up and help somehow. It could be us.
PS 2: A Different Kind of Legacy
Speaking of creating meaningful moments and leaving something behind … tonight I’ll trade the chilly 55-degree embrace of Florida for the frozen grip of Austin, Texas. The irony isn’t lost on me — leaving one kind of cold for another — but my heart is warm with anticipation. You see, I’m heading there to host our fifth annual Watercolor Live, and it feels especially poignant after reflecting on life’s fleeting nature.
Starting Tuesday with Essential Techniques Day, we’ll gather virtually with some of the world’s top watercolor masters. They’re not just teaching techniques — they’re sharing their life’s work, their passion, their legacy. Like my boatbuilding friend who crafted those 29 legendary vessels, these artists have spent decades perfecting their craft, and now they’re passing it forward.
I know what some of you are thinking: “I could never do that.” “I’m not artistic.” “I’ve never picked up a brush.” But here’s the thing. Remember what we just talked about, about making every moment count? About creating something meaningful? Sometimes the most profound moments come when we step outside our comfort zone and dare to try something new.
Every master artist started as a beginner. Every beautiful painting began with a tentative first stroke. And in my five years of hosting this event, I’ve watched countless “non-artists” discover a hidden passion that transformed their lives. Some found a new way to capture memories, others discovered a meditation practice with a brush, and many formed lasting friendships with fellow creators around the world. Thousands have attended, and most have come back for five years in a row, which means their growth never stops.
You don’t have to aspire to have your work in a museum (though who knows?). Maybe your watercolors will simply bring joy to family and friends. Maybe they’ll become cherished gifts, or a personal visual diary of your life’s journey. The point isn’t perfection — it’s about embracing the opportunity to create, to grow, to leave your own unique mark.
Just as my friend’s widow found strength in ancient words made new, you might find your own voice in pigment and water. There’s something magical about watching colors flow and blend, about capturing a moment in time with nothing more than paper, paint, and possibility.
Would love to have you join us for this special week. Whether you’re a complete beginner (Essential Techniques Day was created just for you) or an experienced painter looking to expand your horizons, there’s a place for you in our global watercolor family.
Details and registration at WatercolorLive.com. Let’s make beautiful watercolors together.
Life is short. Paint it while you can. And ignore the negative voices shouting, “You can’t do this.” Of course you can. I had no natural talent. Painting changed my life. It can change yours.
Eric, I am weeping now. I was so moved by your article. It’s like I was there standing with you. Thank you for forcing me to contemplate what is the inevitable for all of us. While I’ve heard many sermons about death over the years, I can’t recall any that had the power of your words. Thank you.
Thank you, Eric, for your recount of your friend’s passing! It brought tears to my eyes to feel the joy he must have enjoyed from life, his wife and friends. You spoke volumes of truth in what you said.
I will continue to be in agreement with others offering prayers for the people in LA and in North and South Carolina who have lost so much.
I did miss the signing up of the Essential Day of Training on the watercolor courses, because I simply cannot afford the cost of it – even at your discounted price, and I do comend you for stating you cannot make changes for anyone, because of others that have already come on board with you. I understand wholeheartedly, and would never ask for a favor such as that! I only regret I could not join you. Maybe I can at a later date, sign up for another one of your exposes’.
I enjoy getting to read and see what you send out – even if I do not get to physically participate. I enter your PlainAire Salons when I can. It is all very exciting. Keep up the good works.
When I was about 10 years old, my Sunday school teacher gave us an assignment for the following week. He asked the class to memorize the 23rd Psalm.
The next Saturday, I asked to borrow Mom’s bible and spent the afternoon memorizing the assigned verse. .
Cone Sunday, the class was almost finished, and the teacher hadn’t asked us to recite the Psalm yet. I raised my hand and asked, when will we recite the 23rd Psalm?
The teacher seemed surprised, he had forgotten all about the homework assignment. Apparently, so had all the other normal kids in class. Remembering this, I can only imagine his feelings as he listened to one little girl dutifully reciting those beautiful words she only partially understood.
Your story reminded me of that long ago Sunday.
These says I stand beside still waters and anointeth my canvas with oil. Art is a special blessing in my life, and you Eric have helped make that happen.
Thanks for sharing this. I am sorry for your experience. I have been through something similar many years ago, and I still recall it usually with silence and pain.
So poignant and timely, in whatever time each of us find ourselves in.
Dear Eric, I am so very sorry for the loss of your friend. He sounds like a very accomplished and talented individual. I admire his simple farewell. Too often funerals are filled with too much pomp and circumstance. I hope this year and the coming years are fruitful and bring you much joy, which in the end is what art is really about……. creating and sharing joy.
The final moments of life teach those who truly witness the event to wake up and seize their life anew. At 7 years of age upon my mothers death i vowed to live my life as an artist which i have done for 63 years. At age 12 following 30 surgeries and years in hospitals i held the hand of my 10 year old lukemia ward roommate as he quietly passed away. That began the intensive exploration of how to create landscape art which led to exhibitions throughout north ameria. Upon the passing of my father i was notified that week my art was chosen as the presentation works at the 1988 Olympic games which opened up an entire planet of artistic opportunities. For 2 decades i travelled the world as an artist engaging every aspect of the art business globally. 2010 saw the first of 13 years of major life altering surgeries where i lost the life memories and had to relearn how to walk, read, write and speak not once but twice. 2024 saw recovery from the latest open heart surgery and the reawakening of the art enterprises. Have done more than i could ever have imagined was possible and the journey continues. Along the way hopefully having changed the lives of fellow artists whose work i was able to exhibit alongside my own at intl shows that they could otherwise not have got into. Having lived through profound poverty and equally great wealth can now share that experience as i once again start up the exhibition enterprises which will transform both my life and the artists who join me on the coming ride. No looking back crying in the soup of the past its living in the now and creating the future just the same as creating a painting. from a blank canvas we can create anything our hearts desire. Along the way we experience life in all its diversity and mystery.
Oh Eric, I’m sitting here crying in my cup of coffee while I read your note. I just finished printing out everything for Watercolor Live and reminiscing about these past five years painting along with Barbara Tapp, Shelly Prior, Michael Horton, and so many more. All the while Charcoal and Cosmos rubbing up against my legs and jumping up on my paintings. You talked about the relationships we develop, friends made, and the sheer delight of enjoying God’s Creation through our experience with art. Indeed, that has been my quest as well. “Painting for Love and Beauty” is the title of the article published by four magazines in the Chadds Ford, PA area about my life and my journey with art. You of all people, my good friend, know me for my passion, zeal, and spreading kindness with my art. Yesterday, I taught my first pastel painting class at the renown Delaware Art Museum. For three hours, I was able to teach, entertain, and inspire twelve students all new to this wonderful medium. Sharing what I have learned these last 30 years! And my journeys with you! Love ya, Brother! – Burkey
I wanted very much to attend Watercolor Live and technically, for a moment, I have the money to do so. But I also know that there are others who are in greater need than I am. People I have never met but who live near me. Artists who are hurting while I am not. Watercolor Live might help me, even though I am primarily an oil painter. But where can my impact be greater or at least more important? I have to donate money I would have spent on Watercolor Live to the Artists of North Carolina. So 25% of my proceeds from my December sales will go to them.
I’m not sure there’s a place big enough for all the people that would come to honor you.❤️
Beautiful story.