Nahala

"Well never mind, we are ugly, but we have the music."

-Leonard Cohen, quoting Janice Joplin in Chelsea Hotel

Some people inherit money, others get titles or property, I get guitars.  Not a bad inheritance all things considered.  My first guitar was an old Wasburn that I inherited from my Dad, because he basically didn't want it anymore and I "needed" a guitar. When my brother died I got his Ovation, which I use mostly for worship, because that's what it does best and it's what I really need to use it for.  I have only ever bought one guitar, my Gibson electric, but now I own five thanks to my latest inheritance a Martin 12 string that my Dad gave me for my 39th birthday.

This was the real kicker.  I made a joke in a sermon about the prodigal son, mentioning that the prodigal demanding the inheritance from his father while his father was still alive was a real slap in the face.  I used my Dad's 12 string as the object lesson.  It was his prized possession for many years, he bought it from a friend in 1971 for $700 (you could buy a car in 1971 for $700).  I have always admired that guitar and I basically knew that one day I would own it, but probably on the day that I buried my Dad, so I wasn't exactly eager for that to happen.  In the sermon, I was making a point, not trying to needle my Dad, but apparently the Lord did some needling afterward.

See, Dad hasn't really played the Martin very much lately, and for good reasons, he's got a Guild six string that is an absolute joy to play and twelve strings are high maintenance.  What I mean by that is that, if you're going to play a twelve, you'd better get it out every day or nearly every day and play it, or else your hand and fingertips just aren't going to cut it.  There are six extra strings to contend with.  Six more taut bands of steel and wrapped brass wire that you need to pinch between your finger and a hard ebony fretboard.  Playing a twelve can hurt a bit, if you don't toughen your calloused fingertips and strengthen the muscles in your hand.

The result is a richer, fuller voice that just rings out like a choir, but it comes with a price.  I'm in the process of paying the price, even though the guitar was a gift, developing myself to be able to play it is a process.  This is the way it should be.  In A River Runs Through It, the narrator's father, a Presbyterian Minister and fly fisherman, hands down his love of fishing to his two sons.  There's this line that goes something like: "Anyone who doesn't have the skill to catch a fish the right way has no right to disgrace a fish by catching it." I feel pretty much the same way about the guitar, I feel the same way about people who generate their "sound" using all sorts of gimmicks and electronic effects with soft, low action, low tension electric guitars, as fly fishermen feel about people who use canned corn and balls of dough to catch fish. Don't get me wrong, I love electric guitars too, but I think you ought to pay your dues driving the old pick up truck before you get the sports car.

But the Martin 12 string is no old pickup truck, she's a classic car, she needs attention and demands some discipline.  This guitar is, in many ways, a perfect symbol of a birthright.  My Dad can take it out of the closet and say, "Happy Birthday," but I don't really own that guitar until I do the work to honor the instrument.  I knew it was quite a moment, when he made the decision to part with it, even though he wasn't using it the way it deserved to be used, it has still been with him even longer than I have, it has a lot of history, they've been through a lot together, and I knew it said a lot about how Dad felt about me that he would give me this particular piece of my inheritance right now.

I want to honor the gift and the instrument, but that's going to take work.

Just like you can take the lessons you learn from a parent or teacher, and you can hear them, but the only way to truly honor the giver is to put them into practice.

When most people hear the word inheritance they think of a passive incident, where someone gives you something because you're kin to them or because they think you deserve it, but that's barely half of the equation.  To truly inherit something you have to grow into it, you need to become worthy of it.  It may be given in love, but there's also a trust that you will handle it the right way.

Thanks Dad, I'm going to do my best.