On Guitars and Motherhood

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.