Amish Guitar

Last January, a favorite aunt of mine passed away. She had fought a long and brutal fight with liver disease and was finally granted release. Dad called from Indianapolis to let me and my family know. It was about 10:30 in the evening. I talked with my wife. I laid in bed and cried. I still miss her very much. I got up from bed after about 20 minutes and walked out of the bedroom. My wife asked "where are you going?" "Out to my guitar," was my reply.

At the time, I only knew one song from beginning to end, and could make the chord shapes and changes quick enough to sound...well, sound ok. Great is thy faithfulness, the great old hymn.

I played that hymn over, and over, and over, and over. And I cried. And I played.

After an hour, I was ready. I was done. It was time to go back to bed, and to sleep.

That was, perhaps, the first, magical moment for me and my guitar. I wasn't so much lifted up and restored by the music. Instead, I was surrounded by sound. I felt the vibrations of the instrument in my chest. I heard the sadness that was in me coming out and being expressed in the chords. And the words that I sang humbled me.

Good night my dear Aunt. You have been loved by sisters and brothers, children, grandchildren, neices, nephews and many, many friends. And while we love you still, we know that God's love will be with you forever.