During our Christmas youth caroling rounds, I was happy to volunteer my “Granados” guitar for use in the dedications. This hand-made Spanish guitar of mine, of over 25 years, had cost me a sum. For guitar enthusiasts, we would well call her (the guitar) “an old lady”.
At the end of the rounds, I found her packed in her case and casually checked her over. I found a crack of more than an inch on her face. She had sustained a knock resulting in the lacquer being fractured to expose raw wood.
I was angry.
Enquiring what had happened, considering that whoever responsible did not think it right or fitting to even acknowledge and inform. Concluding that the damaging of the “old lady” was inconsequential, a trivial thing. Further enquiry pointed towards “someone” having dropped the guitar on her face, but for practical intent and purpose,they amounted to denials of responsibility.
The family went home, the kids slept and we still had some food to prepare for Christmas morning. I was starting to seethe inside, but I had not made mention of what had transpired so no one quite knew anything. My insides burned as I determinately refused to reexamine the old girl. Despite being tired, the slow broil was edging sleep into a corner. I took the issue to our Father and told Him my grief. It was not that I could not forgive the damage. I fumed at the inconsequentiality, the nonchalant, the denials of knowledge. There was no response.
It was close to three in the morning when we turned in. I tossed around a bit and fell asleep. At about 4.30 in the morning, I was reawaken. The burn rekindled quickly as I tossed. Going to the Father, I made my complaint again.
It then occurred to me that I was upset because the “old girl” being precious to me was carelessly treated and damaged. She nonetheless was still in essense, a piece of wood. My anger was brought to focus, and the anger looked reasonable, even righteous. The focus then turned and I was made to question; what if the “old girl” was not just a piece of wood. The focus shifted again, and this time, it rested on another. Did I not cause scarring of a higher degree? Did I not deface Someone even more precious and beloved of the Father? And if my anger over a piece of belonging be righteous, then His wrath over His Son would not only be supremely just and forthcoming.We would have still to praise Him as right, even as He destroyed us.
Do not be mistaken. This is not a “happy ever after” story. I am still disappointed over the “old girl”, at what has happened to her. But I have had this timely reminder, that far too often we forget, that “His visage marred” and “ by His stripes, we are healed”. The Son, incomparably beautiful, precious beyond imagination, more beloved and pleasing to the Father, yet given for such as us. All His glory, He laid down, to be born a babe, determined for Calvary and the cross. It is we, who have so scarred Him, and at most times, unaware and unconscious of our actions. But what about the times when we are fully aware?
Oftentimes, the Father will use our anger and pain to give us valuable insights of His love toward us. I know the Father always has things to teach us. He will always remind us. And even when we are wrong, angry and in pain, He will, in time, show us His face when we seek Him.
Blessed Christmas
ckho
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