a new song for an orphaned guitar

Praise him with the sounding of the trumpet,
    praise him with the harp and lyre,
 praise him with timbrel and dancing,
    praise him with the strings and pipe,
 praise him with the clash of cymbals,
    praise him with resounding cymbals.

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord. – Psalm 150

IMG_9472
Hans with my new classic

Today’s post is on the lighter side, prompting us all to remember what is beautiful and encouraging, hopefully a story that reminds us of light and life.

For me, that has always been – among other things – music. So I have a little story to share along with a very rough video.

If you read me often you already know I love the guitar. I have, over the years, added a few instruments to my collection and – more recently – a sweet little mandolin. A couple of years ago, however, we passed Rebekah’s small classical “parlor” guitar on to Naomi, and she has been making good use of it.

IMG_E9492The classical guitar deficit came up in conversation with our friend Hans, a skilled Luthier who plays with our Praise Team at WFPC (you may remember “Only the Maker Can Restore Can Restore Your Song – my post about his guitar rehabilitation business). Well, Hans decided to keep his eye out for an orphaned, compromised folk guitar so he could restore it for my use.

Eventually, this little gem found its way to Born Again Guitars. It was found, a few weeks after Hurricane Matthew, in the ruins of a flooded Baptist Church somewhere near Lumberton, before spending a year or so in limbo. Hans acquired it, dried it out, restored the wood, replaced a number of parts, and breathed fresh life into its grateful soul.

Tuesday afternoon I picked the instrument up and promised to make a short video for Hans, working the instrument through some of the basics.

Here it is, if you want to hear a short sampling of its sweet voice. Absolutely not a performance but a “running through its paces”, searching for its voice.

IMG_9470I believe music is possible once again for this orphaned instrument. Just as it is for all of us who are willing to let the Maker restore us, breathe life into our souls, and teach us how to sing a new song.

Because Jesus is my song, and because he lives – DEREK

faith music photogrpahy

derekmaul View All →

Derek has published seven books in the past decade (you can find them at https://www.amazon.com/Derek-Maul/e/B001JS9WC4), and there’s always something new in the works.

Before becoming a full-time writer, Derek taught public school in Florida for eighteen years, including cutting-edge work with autistic children. He holds bachelor’s degrees in psychology and education from Stetson University and the University of West Florida.

Derek is active in teaching at his church: adult Sunday school, and a men’s Bible study/spiritual formation group. He enjoys the outdoors, traveling, photography, reading, cooking, playing guitar, and golf.

1 Comment Leave a comment

  1. Karen Jones
    Your guitar story reminds me of a poem my mother loved

    ‘Twas battered and scarred,
    And the auctioneer thought it
    hardly worth his while
    To waste his time on the old violin,
    but he held it up with a smile.

    “What am I bid, good people”, he cried,
    “Who starts the bidding for me?”
    “One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?”
    “Two dollars, who makes it three?”
    “Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three,”

    But, No,
    From the room far back a gray bearded man
    Came forward and picked up the bow,
    Then wiping the dust from the old violin
    And tightening up the strings,
    He played a melody, pure and sweet
    As sweet as the angel sings.

    The music ceased and the auctioneer
    With a voice that was quiet and low,
    Said “What now am I bid for this old violin?”
    As he held it aloft with its’ bow.
    “One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?”
    “Two thousand, Who makes it three?”
    “Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
    Going and gone”, said he.

    The audience cheered,
    But some of them cried,
    “We just don’t understand.”
    “What changed its’ worth?”
    Swift came the reply.
    “The Touch of the Masters Hand.”

    “And many a man with life out of tune
    All battered and bruised with sin
    Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
    Much like that old violin
    A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
    A game and he travels on.
    He is going once, he is going twice,
    He is going and almost gone.

    But the Master comes,
    And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
    The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
    By the Touch of the Masters’ Hand.
    – Myra Brooks Welch

    Like

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