He spotted the ad in our local paper: Harpsichord for sale. Some tender loving care needed."
The price was right, so we wrestled it into our music room. My husband glued some of the wood strips back on; I oiled and polished the case. But the ad was right. Its "innards" did need some help.
Fortunately, the tuning wrench came with it. But like any "fixer-upper" this purchase needed more than TLC. Lucky for us, our older son, the actual musician in the family, had access to string and knew what to do with it. And he taught us how to tune it.
So, now we can make music.
Sitting there with its lid up, it's a constant reminder that all instruments, including ourselves, are always in need of care. It's not enough that we get healthy food, reasonable exercise and solid sleep. Like these fragile harpsichord strings, our souls also need fine-tuning. Especially, like our harpsichord, in the upper registers. But like our copper and brass harpsichord wires, we too are attached to a larger Sounding Board. Even when one or two parts of us "snap," we're held. And we can still play.
Father Bede Griffiths, mentor of Andrew Harvey whose book I mentioned earlier but wish to recommend again (The Hope: A Guide to Sacred Activism) said,
"Imagine that God is a great musician and that you are a flute He wants to play the most glorious music on. If the stops of the flute are filled with mud, how can the music that is meant to be played through you sound at all?"
On this day of national thanks giving, I give thanks for the mud. I give thanks for strings that may break. I give thanks for the multiple ways we go out of tune. And I give thanks for all our fine tuning wrenches. Without them, we'd be just a few jarring pieces of wood with metal attached.
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