Frankenbass

On Halloween, W bought a new bass guitar. I wish I'd taken a picture of this thing, because you'd have to see it to believe me when I say that it had a face (and form) that only a mother could love. And love it, he did. In spite of its dime store paint job and cheap looking hardware, when I looked into his eyes, I saw nothing but excitement and pride over this find. To him, it was a prize.

If you know W at all, you'll know that he's a passionate man, and never is his passion more evident than when he's engaged musically. That's why, when he started talking about why on earth he'd bought this lemon, I paid attention. He'd played it, and was pleased with the sound, even with its cheap hardware and shop class paint job. All it needed was some extreme TLC to be a respectable instrument and he was the man to provide it. He was evangelical in his zeal and I bought it like a church lady at a tent revival. Chaaaange! Was on the horizon. He was a man with a vision.

Dr. Frankenbass.

In the two weeks since, he's pored over guitar catalogs and websites, searching for the perfect pick guards and tuners and knobs. He's debated the relative benefits of stain vs. paint, and agonized over color choices. It's worth it to him, all because he believes in the integrity of this instrument and wants its outside to match its insides.

Of course, watching all this go down has me thinking of God and Gungor.

God is the God of the Bible. Creator of heaven and earth, the great instigator of this crazy mishegoss we call life. Gungor is a husband/wife duo who has written several of my favorite worship songs, including one called Beautiful Things. The lyrics go like this:

All this pain
I wonder if I’ll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all
All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found
Could a garden come up from this ground at all

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

All around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

You make me new, You are making me new
You make me new, You are making me new

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

Watching W with Frankenbass, I find myself humming this tune over and over again. He's taking that guitar through a pretty rigorous refining process, and I'm starting to see what he sees in it. First, all the hardware had to come off and what was underneath examined for fitness. What worked well and could be salvaged was set safely aside and the rest, discarded. Next, the gnarly paint job was painstakingly sanded and stripped, revealing the bare wood grain beneath. After days of this, a virgin grade of maple was left. Even there, W found broken things--holes, pits, and patched places that cheap, black spray paint had covered. None of those discoveries has stopped him. He has a vision of something beautiful, so he presses on joyfully toward it, even on days when his hands go numb from the sanding, his back aches from bending over for hours, and the paint thinner and wood stain fumes probably cause cancer.

And isn't that so like our refining process with God? If we let him, He takes us through our life's journey, bent over us, stripping away the outer layers and shoddy craftmanship we've built up over time, determined to expose the pristine wood grain underneath. He knows it's there, because He put it there. He knows it's uncomfortable for us. It is for Him too, but He only allows and applies what is absolutely necessary to bring us to a fine polish. He takes joy in the entire process because He sees how gorgeous we are, pits, cracks, patched places and all, and He believes the finished product--once our outsides match our insides--will be breathtaking.

And the balm He will apply after all the sanding and stripping and rubbing is done will be unlike any healing touch we've ever felt.