A Work Completed

In my mid teenage years, over fifty years ago now, my dad decided to make a guitar. He had probably never touched or held a real guitar, but he had a yearning to have one, so set out to make one for himself.

Having no guitar available to give him an idea of size, his finished work was larger than the average guitar. Also, the sound hole was too large, and the strings were too high from the fretboard to comfortably play chords. But it was a unique creation, and a commendable attempt by my dad. I’m really glad that, years later, when my dad was in his seventies, I was able to obtain a classical guitar for him and help him learn to play some simple tunes.

The old guitar that my dad had made all those years earlier found its way up to the loft in my parent’s house, where it remained hidden for years. My dad died four years ago, and then, last year, we lost my mum. As my sisters and I worked through the often painful process of clearing my parent’s house after my mum’s death, my dad’s old homemade guitar was brought down from the loft and put in an upstairs room. It was a sorry sight, bearing the marks of the years, without strings, and a broken bridge.

I couldn’t bear the thought of my dad’s handiwork being discarded, so I brought it home with a growing desire to somehow make it complete and playable. I set my heart on one day playing it while I sang a worship song to the Lord.

I began by touching up the sides and back of the neck with black gloss to cover the scuff marks picked up over the years. I created a new sound hole and bridge, and I purchased decorations and transfers from the internet to give the guitar a professional appearance. Finally, I installed new strings. Now my dad’s guitar looked perhaps as he had imagined it would be all those years ago. Adorned with a transfer bearing the words ‘Dad’s Guitar’, it stood complete instead of broken.

Finally, I could now tune the strings and, although I couldn’t tune them to be exactly like a conventional guitar, they were in harmony with each other. Now, with the guitar in tune, I was able to accompany myself singing a song of worship to the Lord. I sang ‘Amazing Grace’.

In many ways, completing the guitar my dad started building all those years ago was a way of honouring his memory. But as I worked, I couldn’t help seeing this as a picture of the way God can take our broken and battered lives and, by His Spirit, gradually restore and transform them, until the day we finally stand complete before Him in heaven.

I pray that thought might be an encouragement for any today who are feeling aware of areas of their lives as yet unchanged or unhealed.