The Guitar
I was twelve when I told Mom, out of the blue, that I wanted a guitar for Christmas. I really don't remember longing for a guitar, or even giving it much thought, and I didn't really expect to receive one, but there it was, all wrapped up under the tree. It was a small, red, beginner's guitar, most likely purchased from the Sears catalog. For weeks, I sat on my bed, teaching myself to play the chords from the pamphlet of songs that came with the guitar. I don't remember ever working so hard to learn a new skill--I certainly never put forth that much effort when it came to practicing the piano.
It wasn't long before Mom decided to pay for guitar lessons. I don't know if my old piano teacher knew how to play the guitar--I doubt it--but she did know how to teach music, and I was diligent about practicing. I learned the notes well. (Not too many guitarists can say that.) I learned many chords, and learned to finger pick in the classical guitar style. Soon, Mom was volunteering my services to accompany singers for her Beta Sigma Phi sorority meetings and even some community events. By the time I was fourteen, I was accompanying the Junior choir at Grace Lutheran Church for Saturday practices and Sunday worship services.
My beginner's guitar was no longer adequate, so Mom and Dad bought me a little better guitar, one that was actually made of wood. I played it every day. Soon, I was getting together a couple of afternoons a week with a friend who also played a guitar, so we could practice together. Then, I started to play my guitar and lead singing for youth group at church, and even for youth ensembles at regular church services. When I played my guitar, I could actually sing loudly enough to lead others in worship! One thing led to another and, pretty soon, I was helping to plan special youth services. God led me to write contemporary Christian music. I was able to accompany an informal group of friends who sang old hymns for nursing home residents, as well as a group of teens in a traveling ministry group that toured Canada and the east coast for three weeks, during two successive summers. I played my guitar for Prayer and Praise nearly every evening at the Anchor, our local Christian coffee house.
When I was about ready to graduate from high school, Mom and I drove the thirty miles to Beatrice to the music store there, to buy a new guitar. We spent at least an hour at the busy store; Mom waited patiently while I tried out every guitar, before finally settling on the one that suited me the best. Mom and Dad paid half, as my graduation present, and I paid the other half from money I had saved. That guitar went with me to college, and then to Michigan for six years, before we finally came to roost in Gering.
The guitar changed my life. Perhaps Mom and Dad hoped that playing an instrument would help me overcome my innate shyness, but I don't think they realized just how big of an impact the guitar would make in my life. But God knew. In fact, I'm sure He's the one who placed that desire for a guitar within me when I was just twelve. And because of God's work through that guitar, I changed from a shy, awkward, socially challenged recluse into the person God wanted me to be--still a bit shy at times, but confident in whatever form of ministry he leads me into.
I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. Philippians 4: 13
It wasn't long before Mom decided to pay for guitar lessons. I don't know if my old piano teacher knew how to play the guitar--I doubt it--but she did know how to teach music, and I was diligent about practicing. I learned the notes well. (Not too many guitarists can say that.) I learned many chords, and learned to finger pick in the classical guitar style. Soon, Mom was volunteering my services to accompany singers for her Beta Sigma Phi sorority meetings and even some community events. By the time I was fourteen, I was accompanying the Junior choir at Grace Lutheran Church for Saturday practices and Sunday worship services.
My beginner's guitar was no longer adequate, so Mom and Dad bought me a little better guitar, one that was actually made of wood. I played it every day. Soon, I was getting together a couple of afternoons a week with a friend who also played a guitar, so we could practice together. Then, I started to play my guitar and lead singing for youth group at church, and even for youth ensembles at regular church services. When I played my guitar, I could actually sing loudly enough to lead others in worship! One thing led to another and, pretty soon, I was helping to plan special youth services. God led me to write contemporary Christian music. I was able to accompany an informal group of friends who sang old hymns for nursing home residents, as well as a group of teens in a traveling ministry group that toured Canada and the east coast for three weeks, during two successive summers. I played my guitar for Prayer and Praise nearly every evening at the Anchor, our local Christian coffee house.
When I was about ready to graduate from high school, Mom and I drove the thirty miles to Beatrice to the music store there, to buy a new guitar. We spent at least an hour at the busy store; Mom waited patiently while I tried out every guitar, before finally settling on the one that suited me the best. Mom and Dad paid half, as my graduation present, and I paid the other half from money I had saved. That guitar went with me to college, and then to Michigan for six years, before we finally came to roost in Gering.
The guitar changed my life. Perhaps Mom and Dad hoped that playing an instrument would help me overcome my innate shyness, but I don't think they realized just how big of an impact the guitar would make in my life. But God knew. In fact, I'm sure He's the one who placed that desire for a guitar within me when I was just twelve. And because of God's work through that guitar, I changed from a shy, awkward, socially challenged recluse into the person God wanted me to be--still a bit shy at times, but confident in whatever form of ministry he leads me into.
I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. Philippians 4: 13
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