To Cole, who made a lot of this possible with his generosity and joyful obedience
About a year ago, before the Race, I came home from a long day and found a black guitar case sitting on my bed. Duct taped to the case was a white envelope with the word Petey scribbled on it. The note inside explained that the guitar and its case were a gift to me, to my trip, and were to be used for the year of ministry before me. The one stipulation of the gift was that I was not allowed, under any circumstance, to pay for the guitar or give it back. Despite my initial protest and attempt to pay at least something for the guitar, the giver insisted that the guitar was indeed a gift.
And so, when I left for the Race in January, I brought with me that guitar and case and left my sort of nicer one at home.
(my very early morning departure for the Race, back in January)
On the second day of the World Race, I was leading a squad worship session in Honduras with the guitar I found on my bed. That night, the Holy Spirit erupted among us and a lot started happening. But amid all that was going on, I just kept strumming the same simple chords over and over again, praying to myself and trying to usher in more of the Spirit. While things happened all around me, someone came up to me, put her hand on my shoulder, and prayed over me. She prayed for creativity, for the supernatural ability to learn new chords and lyrics, and for me to grow as a worship-leader.
It’s been eleven months since that night of worship and over a year since I found that guitar on my bed. And in all that time, that guitar and that prayer have affected my World Race experience in more ways than I ever could’ve imagined.
(leading worship on the roof with parents in Kenya)
(playing in an abandoned house overlooking Romania)
I’ve carried that guitar up steep, muddy mountains, into drag bars on the beach, onto rooftops at sunset, and across four continents. I’ve played that thing on the bank of the Nile River, in an abandoned house overlooking half of Romania, and in underground church services in China. That guitar has entertained me during long afternoons in Africa, overnight layovers in airports and train stations, and in many moments of waiting that happen often on the Race.
There are several significant relationships I’ve made this year that have happened primarily because I had a guitar with me: In Bulgaria, Sasho and I played guitar almost everyday. He taught me so many new chords and tricks and every single Sunday, we’d stand together at the front of church and I’d follow his fingers as they jumped across the neck and slid down the strings.
In Kenya my mom and I wondered into a little community center where I met Joseph, with whom I sat and played guitar for almost an hour straight. That moment was so simple yet so special and will forever be a treasured memory shared only between my mom and me.
And of course, that guitar has ministered to O-Squad in countless ways. Worship sessions, birthday songs, music videos, guitar lessons – they’ve all happened with that busted up, duct taped guitar.
(playing with Sasho in Bulgaria)
On our last night in Romania, right before we flew to Africa, we all gathered in the attic room for worship. I really felt that we as a squad needed to access the Lord to new heights and depths, but I wasn’t totally sure how to do that. So I just started playing and before long, the Spirit swept us all away. In the rush of worship, I cut my finger on the strings but I didn’t notice it for several minutes. When I opened my eyes and looked down, I realized that blood had splattered all over the guitar. Most of it wiped away, but the inside panel is still stained with blood splatters.
This guitar that I’ve been carrying around for a year is speckled and stained with red African dirt, salt from the ocean, dust from the dirty case, and with my own blood. This guitar is as much a part of me as any of my limbs. It’s an imperative detail of my Race, a detail without which the story of this year could not be told.
(jammin’ out during a layover on the way to Africa… hence the corn rows)
In the note I found duct taped to the guitar, I was told that I could give it away if the Lord told me to. So all year long, in each country we’ve visited, I’ve prayerfully kept an eye out for anyone to whom to Lord might want me to give this guitar. But for ten straight months, I’ve not once felt like I should give it away.
And then I met Vanessa.
One night a few weeks ago, I was sitting at church plucking my guitar absentmindedly when Vanessa came up to me. I asked her if she could play, then handed my guitar over when she nodded yes. Vanessa is fifteen and is the only believer in her immediate family. When she picked up the guitar, I noticed immediately that she has a rare, intuitive gift for music. She’s teeming with talent and guitar comes extremely naturally to her.
One of first things Vanessa said to me that night as she strummed the guitar was, “I want to have my own guitar so that I could worship God with it whenever I want – I would start playing as soon as I woke up and play all day!”
And when Vanessa said that, I heard God say for the first time all year, “You should give her this guitar.”
When I heard the Lord say that, tears rushed to the brim of my eyes in the most uncontrollable way. I felt like crying out of sadness that I would give away one of my most treasured possessions, but also because when I looked at Vanessa, I saw so much of myself that it startled me. And in that moment, despite how arduous it seemed to feel, the decision was easy: I’d give that guitar away.
(KC, Vanessa, me, and Gaile)
You see, I believe our God is a God of Investments. He makes deposits in each of our lives. Sometimes the deposit is something physical, sometimes it’s something like wisdom or knowledge or an experience. Either way, the Lord deposits those things into the accounts of our hearts and over time, the deposits develop until eventually, they are large enough for us to distribute them to others. When the original deposit has accomplished its work within us, we know it’s time to pass it along. It’s time to be the depositor.
And so, with great joy and a bit of difficulty, I’m giving away my deposit. It feels altogether hard and easy and mostly, it feels right.
(photos from Jonathan Garner)
