On a hot Friday in July I turned seventeen. I walked in the front
door after a spending a week at a youth camp in Laguna Beach and found sitting on
the couch a brown acoustic guitar adorned with a pink bow. It was a gift that
would change my life.
I still remember and am sure that my parents also remember
(bless their souls) those first days and weeks with “Daisy,” as I promptly
named her. I remember exactly how my fingers awkwardly walked to the right
places on the right strings – index on second string, second fret; middle on
first string, third fret; ring on bottom string, third fret – and pressed
painfully into the steel as I played my first G-D-Em-C progression over. and
over. and over. and over again. “Jesus Lover of my Soul.” There’s a good chance
I never played that song again after the seven thousand I played it that first
two weeks.
What amazes me now is how I don’t think about it anymore. I
see a “G” on a chord sheet and my fingers involuntarily end up at the right places
on the right strings. I hear the music fall into the minor third and without
thinking I find my fingers falling into place. Not painstakingly walking into
place anymore. Not mechanically counting strings and frets. Not pausing between
chords to find my way.
The other night I sat in the driver’s seat and sighed. You
probably heard me whisper, “I feel like a playwright.” You probably also had no clue what I meant,
but that’s okay. See, I had spent all day writing lines for you. No, honey, you need to say “May I please
have that when you are done?” instead of grabbing it out of his hands. Buddy, you
need to say it like this - “Where are we going?” instead of “Wheeeeerrrrre are we
goooooooooooooooooooiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnggggguuuuhhhhh?” Try it this way.
Say this instead. For the love.
There are times when I wonder if it’s going to bear fruit. I
want to get to the heart of the matter every time, and I wonder if this rote
overwriting of your dialogue is even helpful at all. But then I think about my
little aching fingers walking to the notes…and then slowly, slowly,
remembering. Remembering where to go, until it was second nature. And then –
only then – being able to enjoy the beauty of the music that was being created.
So much of this mothering is maneuvering awkwardly to help
you find the right notes. So often I do feel like we are playing the same chord
progression for the one hundred millionth time. But this uncomfortable, tedious
process – it’s leading to something better. I know it is, because He who began
a good work in you will be faithful to complete it until the day of Christ.
So even though sometimes I do sit in the driver’s seat and
sigh, or sneak into the craft room and pretend like I just can’t hear World War
III breaking out in the living room, I want you to know that I am most privileged
to help you find your way in these days. And one day, I pray the notes and
chords will be second nature, and the music your lives produce for the King
will be just right.
