I was utterly and completely exhausted: brain dead. Six o’clock had finally arrived and the day was over . . . I hoped. Without going into all the boring details of the stress that whittled away at me all day I will just say . . . I was drained. More mentally than most days, but it seemed to require a greater toll on me physically as well.
I sat in my room staring at the black silent screen of the television. My body was tired but my mind would not stop its insistence on calculating and analyzing the entire day. All I wanted to do was forget it . . . for just a moment at least. What I would have given for David to play his harp over me at that moment. I closed my eyes and felt the pools gather beneath my eyelids. Lord, I'm getting too old for this. I thought. Then I remembered a passage of scripture concerning David.
And David was greatly distressed; for the people spake of stoning him, because the soul of all the people was grieved, every man for his sons and for his daughters: but David encouraged himself in the LORD his God. *
I reached for my guitar case and laid it on the bed. I ran my hands across the top of the case as if trying to wake someone from their slumber. I opened the brass colored latches. Raising the lid my hands instinctively reached for the neck of the guitar.
Have you got a minute for me, old friend? I could really use someone to listen. My fingers brushed across the strings. My hand tingled at the touch of the strings as my fingers remembered their vibrations. The sound was a cool cloth across my neck. Sitting in the chair I leaned my head over and touched my ear to the topside of the guitar as I pulled it tight against my chest and listened. In the silence of the room I could hear it. I closed my eyes and listened to the beating of my heart through the guitar. My hands heard the rhythm and began to feather a melody of their choosing. My old friend began to comfort me with songs that needed no words. I drifted as my mind finally began to release its hold on the toils of the day.
It wasn’t long until my guitar and I were as one and I remembered where my joy comes from. Once again I played to an audience of One, wondering if the beat I played to was from my heart or was my God tapping His foot to my song unto Him. I played on into the evening beyond the sunset.
When my hands rested on the final notes of the night I listened to the sounds as they slowly faded into silence. My heart and mind were still as I embraced the peace of God that bathed my soul. Once again I had found that place far removed from the noise of this life. I breathed in the tranquility in the air around me as I returned my guitar to its resting place in the case. I gently brushed my hands across the strings one final time. Until next time, old friend, I spoke softly as I closed the case at the close of my day . . . encouraged in the Lord my God.