Encouragement

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An Instrument of Grace



“Boy! I wish I could play like that,” moaned Harry under his breath.

Every chord the guitarist on the TV played was like liquid magic. It was exciting, mellowing, heightening. It took him to places outside his tormented mind - It soothed Harry’s every emotion- like a river to a thirsty soul.

Harry had tried so hard to play his guitar. A guitar he had saved so long for. But he just couldn’t co-ordinate his fingers. He was clumsy! Even plucking a chook was a disaster! He would end up looking like a feather blanket.

“Damn! Why can’t I play like that!” blurted Harry - surprising even himself at his sudden outburst. It also brought an unexpected, and unwanted response from the kitchen.

“Harold! Why don’t you get a real job? One that’ll bring in some money! You know how hard I struggle to pay the bills,” Mother paused too long.

Harry dove off the couch and out of the room before his mother could draw her breathe and her next tirade of, ‘should haves.’

Harry’s self esteem was already low and he just couldn’t handle his mother’s usual remarks.

He ran out of the house and down the street to the local deli; Hopeful Marion might be there? Marion’s big brown eye’s always melted him, especially when she smiled!

“Cling” went the Deli doorbell as Harry stepped inside; His eye’s quickly scanned the shop for Marion.

“Hi Harold,” said old Mr Proctor. “Care to do an errand for me then, Lad?” He continued not even waiting for Harry’s reply, “ Mrs Pentry is old and needs these groceries, and I just can’t get away to deliver them. I would really appreciate it if you can help?” His wizened blue eyes pierced Harry’s blue eye’s long enough to bring a red blush across Harry’s fair complexion.

“We-ll of course,” stuttered Harry feeling cornered.

‘Oh well’, thought Harry, it would keep him occupied, and Mrs Pentry’s house was only a block away.



Mrs Pentry’s white washed wooden cottage was overgrown with plants that almost hid the path to the front door. Struggling he found his way through the overgrowth. Harry banged the door clanger, which almost shook the door off its fragile hinges.

An old tired voice came from inside the house, “ I’m coming”.

The door creaked open to an elderly lady as old as the door. Her white hair, like a halo framed a wrinkled but fragile face, one that had seen much of life. She seemed to possess a deep joy and serenity that matched her halo like hair.

Harry immediately felt a calming atmosphere as he walked through the front door. He followed the shuffling slippered footsteps of Mrs Pentry to her kitchen.

“Thank you so much Harold for doing this for me. I really appreciate it. Can I make you a cup of tea or is it coffee what you young folk seem to like more?”

Ah- oh, yes! A coffee would be great, thanks! White and two sugars please,” thanked Harry, being glad to have someone to talk to.

Harry’s eye’s darted around the tiny but neat kitchen as Mrs Pentry put on the electric jug. An unusual modern appliance for such an old house, he thought.

His eyes were attracted to a photo hanging on the light green painted wall. It was of a young woman seated at a piano in front of an orchestra.

Mrs Pentry broke his concentration. “ I see you are looking at my photo. I was much younger then; don’t you think?” She said with a smirk that lighted her aged face and eyes to an almost youthful glow.

“Is that you”? Blurted Harry, before realizing he had said the obvious. ‘Oh well that’s me,’ he thought sheepishly, ‘not engaging brain with voice again!’

“Yes Harold. I was once a concert pianist. I did so much enjoy those days,” she said in a whimsical way, ringing her now arthritic hands.

Harold felt a tinge of empathy for the old lady. He knew the struggles he possessed of trying to come to terms with his own clumsy inadequacy.

“Do you play a musical instrument Harold?” she asked sitting the cup of coffee in front of him.

“I try to play the guitar. Mum always says I should forget about it and get a job! I guess she’s right. I can’t seem to get the hang of it. All thumbs,” He looked down as he spoke feeling hurt by admitting his own defeat.

Mrs Pentry smiled a knowing smile at him, “You know Harold. I was like you once! I was told I would never be good enough to play the piano professionally. But one day, I met my husband to be, a teacher of music, he so much believed in me!” tears welled in her eyes as she spoke of her now deceased husband.

“It’s not what happens to you in life Harold, it’s how you react to it, that matters! If you want to be something you have to believe in yourself and you will find a way! Maybe I can help you!”

Mrs Pentry shuffled out of the room. She came back with a guitar case. I would like you to have this Harold? It was my husband’s. All I ask is that you look after it and that you practise with faith in your heart. You know Harold. It is from the heart where music and all creativity begins and flows, like a river. If you believe in yourself, out of it will flow the beauty of life itself. Trust in yourself Harold, and you will see wonders!”

Harold could only look in unbelief at the beautiful instrument placed in his hands. Overwhelmed, he stumbled to say, “Of course Mrs. Pentry!”

He strummed the metal strings softly, and a sound so deep and rich flowed from its ornate polished timber frame. “WOW! What a sound Mrs, Pentry,” his eyes gleamed with joy.

Mrs, Pentry smiled and said, “ Harold, if you want to, you can come here and practise and I can help you. Also, you will provide for me some company. I do get lonely since Arthur died. What do you think?”

Harry couldn’t believe his ears! Someone wanted to help him! And he would not be harassed! It was more than he could have wished for. “Yes! Of course Mrs Pentry. I would be so pleased to come over. May I leave the guitar here and come over here and learn?

They agreed to a time and Harold left Mrs Pentry’s almost skipping. His joy overflowed into a whistle as he walked quickly home. He felt he could even take his Mother’s tirade now, as he had something and someone to believe in him! For the first time he had hope!

By Brenda V Northeast © 2 April 2008 BrendaVN

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