I have been playing guitar on and off for the past 12 years, and I’ve never been very serious about playing. I know the basic chords, and I LOVE to worship. The guitar is what I turn to when I don’t have any words, it’s my prayer language. When I was preparing to come on the race there weren’t many people on my squad that could play an instrument so I decided to bring a guitar on the race. My normal guitar was too big and too heavy to bring, so I decided to buy a smaller guitar for travel. Once on the race I hated the sound of the last two strings on this little guitar. Not only that but it was a pain to carry around, I had to put it between my already crammed legs on busses. I hated this little guitar! The thought of leaving this guitar behind entered my mind at the end of every month but I couldn’t. I had a feeling I was going to give away this guitar when I bought it.
However, even though I disliked this guitar we did have some special moments together…
Month 3 of the race I was in Bolivia. I have never felt so abandoned in my life. I was so overwhelmed I didn’t know what to do with myself. So one day I grabbed my little guitar, went to the church and played the maddest, saddest, loudest song I have ever played. I was almost to the point of wanting to take off my guitar and smashing it on the ground. The guitar was caught in the cross fire.
Month 4 we were in Cambodia and we took worship to Pub Street. My squad of 48 went to the middle of the bars and shops and sang new and old worship songs while evangelizing to the crowd. It was a beautiful night.
Month 9, our current month, we were invited over to a friends house named Meme, and I was asked to bring the little guitar for worship. When we arrived we met Meme’s 17 year old daughter, Rosa. I was having another conversation but I heard the word guitar and it caught my attention. I turned to my friend Meg and asked if Rosa owned a guitar, she replied no and we both carried on with our separate conversations. After dinner it was time for worship and I got out my little guitar and for once this little crappy guitar didn’t sound so crappy to me. It was a beautiful, soft sound that mixed perfectly with the sound of my friends singing. In a way it felt like I was playing a goodbye song, I knew it was time to give my little guitar away. After our songs our new friends continued to sing Ethiopian worship songs and was drumming on a water container. After the song was over I hear a voice on the other side of the leaf woven walls yell, “Hallelujah!” I offered my little guitar as a drum and they sang another song. Then Rosa grabbed the guitar and strummed a no chord song and sang endlessly. I have never seen anyone pick up a guitar and strum so effortlessly and have it match the rhythm of the song. Meg asked Rosa if she had ever held a guitar before and she replied no with a giant smile. After the song was over I put the little guitar back into its case and handed it to Rosa. She said, “Are you serious?!” With her hand over her mouth and hugged me. After that Rosas mom, Meme, told us that when Rosa was a baby a man prophesied over Rosa saying she would be a powerful singer and guitar player for the Lord and that this was that prophesy being fulfilled.
That little guitar was never mine, it was always meant for Rosa. I know that the sound of music and praise will flow out of their house and into their neighborhood. Most people are Muslim here but I know the power of worship. I know if a song is sang enough you start to learn the words and with words of the gospel it will start to become truth in their lives. I feel so blessed to have been able to carry this little crappy guitar around the world to give it to someone who can help change the world for the Lord.
