broken

Music Interrupted

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The old Steinway piano isn’t well.  Not at all.  I’m thinking about putting it out on the curb in a couple of weeks when the next community clean-up comes around.

Well, that’s grabbed the attention of at least one of my readers!  My most faithful editor and resident pianist comes to mind instantly.  Perhaps others may be shocked to read of my piano-disposal fantasy, but the Lovely Lady would be most unhappy.

But, it is just that—a fantasy.  I have labored too long and often on the old instrument, as have others (some no longer living) who I know and love.  Still, I don’t savor the times when the case parts are lying on the nearby couches, and the action, held securely in a purpose-designed cradle, rests on the dining room table awaiting my periodic repairs.

The old piano is nearing one hundred fifty years old now.  I sometimes wonder if Steinway of the nineteenth century had a scheme similar to the auto industry in the late twentieth century (and cell phone manufacturers of the twenty-first, seemingly)  in place.  The popular name for it a few years ago was built-in obsolescence—a scenario designed to sell future models when the current model quits working after a year or two.

We’re not participating.  I’m sure the folks at Steinway haven’t noticed at all, but we are still proudly utilizing the cutting-edge technology of 1879 in our living room on a daily basis.

Just not this week.

It’s happened before.  I told you it was sick, didn’t I?  I believe this old piano has what we call a chronic illness or condition.

The dictionary defines chronic as persistent or recurring often.

The definition fits this old thing to a T.  Several times a year (more often than my chronic asthmatic bronchitis rears its ugly head), I have to pull the action, setting it on the old dining room table (stretched out a bit to accommodate the length), prepared to reglue flanges and make adjustments to the action’s action (if you will), adding spacers and bending damper wires—sometimes even replacing worn out and broken jack springs.

Chronically sick.

We don’t tend to keep things that are chronically defective in our homes anymore, do we?

Come to think of it, chronic defects are the reason our little town offers its residents the semi-annual clean-up week I mentioned in the first paragraph above.  We have too many items lying around that don’t perform up to their original capability and we replace them without much more than a moment’s consideration. Washing machines, microwaves, computers, furniture—you name it, we will throw it away and replace it in a heartbeat if it fails to meet our expectations.

This is not a diatribe against our contemporary society; more than that, it’s a statement on our human nature.  We don’t have the patience to deal with deficiencies.  We want dependability.  Anything that doesn’t conform has no place in our day-to-day realities.

I wonder if the reader is aware that we’re not just talking about our stuff anymore.  It is the way these conversations seem to go, is it not?

One minute we’re clearly talking about an old piece of furniture and suddenly, we seem to be caught up in a deeper discussion than we ever considered.

Perhaps we’ll just go with the current for a moment or two.

May I make a bold statement?

Our Creator doesn’t believe in built-in obsolescence.  He never has.

From the beginning, His plan was for redemption.  For renewal. For lifting up.

We seem to be advocates of the Nancy Sinatra school of deportment, promising that one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you. All the while, our loving Father promises to seek the lost, bring back the strayed, bind up the injured, and strengthen the weak (Ezekiel 34:16, ESV).

We, who follow Christ, are specifically told to follow suit.  It’s not a suggestion, although we often treat it as such.

 Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted; forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you. (Ephesians 4:32, NLT)

And, Peter came to his Master, asking Him how many times he had to repair that old Steinway piano before he could toss it out. (Matthew 18:21, NLT)

And, the Teacher replied that he should do it as many times as the notes wouldn’t play in tune or refused to make any sound at all (or even if it was only the sustain pedal that was malfunctioning).

Okay.  That’s not actually the way the conversation went, but the reader will get the general meaning.

God didn’t make any trash.

While we were broken and refusing to make His music, He sent His Son to die for us.  To redeem us.  To lift us up.  To fix what was broken.

When that Steinway is repaired and tuned, it makes lovely music.  Music that will bring tears of joy and previews of Glory.

I’ll be here again sometime soon.  Making repairs.  You can count on it.

The issues are chronic.  But the response to treatment is glorious.

Music will be heard.  Again.

Beautiful music.

 

Down in the human heart, crushed by the tempter,
Feelings lie buried that grace can restore;
Touched by a loving heart, wakened by kindness,
Chords that were broken will vibrate once more.
(from Rescue the Perishing by Fanny J Crosby, 1869)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2023. All Rights Reserved.

 

 

 

Fragile

~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

He asked me if I would serve.  It was an honor to be asked.

I told him no.  Thanks, but no.  I also thanked him for the honor.  Not that I deserve it.

I didn’t tell him the whole reason I said no.  Well, how could I?  Imagine!  Going back to the committee and telling them the guy they named to the position didn’t have all his pieces in the right places!

It’s true though.  I’ve been broken.  (I think we all have been at some time or another.)  And, I don’t think all the pieces are back in place yet.

I've been broken. And, I don't think all the pieces are back in place yet. Click To Tweet

The Lovely Lady explained it differently.  A one-word description.  I’m not sure I like her word.  Yet.  Time will tell.

She says the word is fragile.

On second thought, I think perhaps the word is perfect.  It describes all of us in a way, doesn’t it?

Hang on there.  Don’t go off in a huff.  Let me see if I can do a little better at explaining.

I was in a hurry the day before yesterday and missed a step as I headed into my house.  Falling headlong to the landing atop the short flight of steps, I noted only that I might have bruised my hand as I put it down to break the fall.

I was all in one piece!  There was no damage at all. 

Fragile?  Hah!

Except I am.  And, I’m not all in one piece.

I awoke the next morning with a knee that hurt.  It seems I may have twisted it when I fell.

Well, maybe just a little fragile.

And then I got up this morning with a good bit of pain in my lower back.  It’s hard to stand up straight—hard even to walk across the yard.  And, bending over to pet the dogs or pick something up from the floor?  Forget about it!

Fragile.  She’s right.

Just so you know, I’m not going to quit moving altogether.  That would be foolishness.  I’m up and walking, even though it hurts to do it.  If we stop using our body, we eventually lose the use of it completely.

We—judiciously—work through the pain, walking, bending, stretching, until the damaged parts heal.  At times, we wonder if the tightrope act—not too much, not too little—is worth the time and discipline.

Some time ago, I asked a good friend of mine if his leg was hurting him again.  When he wondered why I asked, I mentioned the limp.  Laughing, he talked about a serious accident he had several years ago, and the pain that had ensued.

“But, it doesn’t hurt at all anymore.  I just got used to limping to avoid the pain.”

I wonder how many of us are walking with limps we don’t need, avoiding pain that is merely a memory.

We are fragile.  We’re not necessarily frail.

There is a difference.  Fragility shows itself in use.  Broken pieces are indicative of purpose thwarted, but they are caused by action.

Frailty comes from disuse.  It is a sign of weakness brought on by inactivity or long illness.

That’s odd.  Come to think of it, we may be both fragile and frail, both breakable and weak.

But He understands.  His Son lived among us and sympathizes with our frailty. (Hebrews 4:15)

He made us.  He knows how fragile, how breakable, we are. (Psalm 103:14)

I still don’t understand how we’re of any use for His purposes.  But, we are.

He puts His treasure, the grace and mercy He gives freely, in vessels made of clay. (2 Corinthians 4:7)

Fragile.

Frail.

I wonder if we need to be broken every once in a while because we’ve filled the jar up with ourselves, instead of letting Him fill it.

It’s one of the things I remembering hearing the red-headed lady who raised me say:  “Oh, she’s so full of herself. . .”

I get full of myself sometimes.  I do.  It’s not much like treasure.  Not much at all.

God wants us to be His treasure houses, pouring out His goodness for all to experience and give Him glory.

He’s the one who’s putting me back together.  The day will come when all the pieces will be in the right place.

Today, I’m walking.  Slowly.

But, I’m going to run again.

Soon.

 

 

Broken!  Busted!  Everybody has something to repair.  Before buying new, let Mighty Putty fix it for you!
(Billy Mays ~ American television salesperson ~ 1958-2009)

 

Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me. That’s why I take pleasure in my weaknesses, and in the insults, hardships, persecutions, and troubles that I suffer for Christ. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
(2 Corinthians 12:9,10 ~ NLT ~ Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.)

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2018. All Rights Reserved.

If It Ain’t Broke

~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

The girls were visiting and the piano needed attention.  Funny how that happens.

Months—absolutely months— can go by without a word to me about making repairs to the old thing, but let the girls come to visit and it’s time to see to what ails it.

I’ve done this many times before.

The G below Middle C is acting up!  Not many songs in our repertoire can be played without that G.

She says the words and I know exactly what must be done.  Not that anyone else cares besides me, but the jack flange has come loose from the wippen and the hammer isn’t returning quickly enough to its original position to be ready for the next repetition of the note.

It just needs a little spot of glue.

Applied to exactly the right place.

It’s always the jack flange.  Always.

The old piano is a hundred and thirty-eight years old.  It, perhaps, has earned a rest from its labors by now.  Still, in between these little crises, beautiful music can be heard spilling from the exquisite burled walnut case of the ancient instrument.

But, the girls. . .

I get my tools and take the front off of the piano one more time.

Why, one might ask, do I continue to repair one jack flange at a time (or two, if I’ve waited long enough for a second one to let go, as was the case this time), instead of taking the plunge and re-gluing every single flange?  All eighty-eight of them.

Ah.  There’s the rub.

They’re not all loose.  Yet.

One would assume the glue, nearly one hundred forty-years old, made from the hide of dead animals, would have deteriorated to the point that every joint would pop loose at the slightest touch.

It would be a wrong assumption.

The glue, for the most part, still holds the entire contrivance together admirably.  For the most part.

To remove all the flanges would involve infinite patience and time-consuming labor.  There would certainly be broken parts if they were forced apart.  

The old adhesive, brittle though it may be, still holds tightly enough and yet, ready to pop loose at whatever precise moment the molecules in the mixture break down.

An attempt to repair the entire piano would be disastrous.  And, foolish.

The smart piano technician waits until a repair is necessary to effect the remedy.

Or, in the everyday vernacular, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

I’m not sure how smart I am, but I know gluing a loose flange is much easier than repairing a broken one.  Especially one I’ve broken myself.

I left all the tightly glued flanges alone and removed only the two troublemakers.  Applying a spot of glue to the point of contact between the jack and the wippen, I matched the two parts together in precisely the same position they have held for the last century and just over a third.

They may hold for another century or more.

Time will tell.

You know, I’ve wondered why our Creator, omniscient and omnipotent as He is, wouldn’t notice all the problems we weak folk are going to have before they happen and simply take care of them for us.

All of us.  All at once.

But, He doesn’t, does He?  He leaves those of us who will fail right in among those who will carry on.  And, we break and fail.  Again and again.

We break and fail. Again and again. Click To Tweet

He knows exactly what needs to be done—exactly which part needs repair.

Every time, His touch—His love—mends the hurts and restores the errant parts of the Body.  Often, the restored members are stronger than they once were.

And, while the individual parts are getting the attention they need, the rest of the Body continues to function around its brokenness, making music for a listening world.

Beautiful music.  From flawed, broken, and repaired pieces of the whole.

From flawed, broken, and restored people, He makes beautiful music. Click To Tweet

The music is sweeter for it.

He uses broken flanges.  And, hammers.  And, center pins.  And, back checks.  And, dampers.  And. . .well, you get the point.  Even if you don’t recognize any of the parts, you get the point.

When it’s broken, He fixes it. (Jeremiah 30:17)

We make beautiful music together, don’t we?  For all of our brokenness and distress, the music is heavenly.

It was when the girls sang, too.

Heavenly.

 

                              

The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.
(Ernest Hemingway ~ American author ~ 1899-1961)

 

Dear brothers and sisters, if another believer is overcome by some sin, you who are Godly should gently and humbly help that person back onto the right path. And be careful not to fall into the same temptation yourself. Share each other’s burdens, and in this way obey the law of Christ.
(Galatians 6: 1,2 ~ NLT ~ Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. All rights reserved.)

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2017. All Rights Reserved.

Influencers Influenced

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

You’d think sitting in the seat of the bulldozer would be more comfortable.

The big man in front of me loves his work.  All his life, he’s run machines—big, get-your-attention, powerful pieces of equipment.  He has leveled mountains, and filled valleys, eliminating the vast differences between the two.  Rotting, uninhabitable houses have been knocked over, and foundations built up for impressive new edifices.

bulldozer-1178029_1280

Talk about influencers!  In forty years, he has never left a work site in the same condition as when he arrived.  Not once.

Hmmm.  I’m not sure I said that exactly as I intended.  If you re-read that last paragraph, you might actually think I was talking about the man not leaving in the same condition.

Funny how words work, isn’t it?

The site is never the same.  It’s perfectly true.  On some days, you wouldn’t recognize the parcel of land as the same location, it has been changed so much.  Structures razed, boulders moved, trees uprooted—nothing remains untouched.

But, read what I said again.  In forty years, he has never left a work site in the same condition as when he arrived.

I realize a grammarian would wish to speak of the ambiguous antecedent and direct me to clarify the sentence.  I think I’ll leave it as stated.

No, I’m not just being stubborn.  The thing is, both ways of reading the sentence will lead to a correct conclusion.  

It is true the work site is always changed—every time he alights from the seat of his equipment.

But, it is also important to note that the man himself is affected—without fail—by the work he has done.  

For you see, every bump, every dimple in the ground under that powerful machine he controls impacts him.  Tossed from side to side by the motion of the dozer or grader, his back muscles stretch and contort, endeavoring to keep him upright in the seat.  

Day after day, the up and down motion—the back and forth assault—the sudden jolts and sudden stops, all of them conspire to make him a different person.

He feels it—from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, he feels it—the influencer influenced and, on some days, the leveler leveled.  Going home to lie down, he counts the bruises and sore spots.

Every time he walks away from a work site, he is changed.  The work site is too.

Did I tell you he loves his job?  He still does.

Do you want to change your world?

Prepare to be changed, yourself.

I will tell you, I have watched folks who were intent on impacting their world be folded, spindled, and mutilated.  Some have recovered.  Others surrender, giving up their dreams and, sometimes, even their faith.

I have seen friends working steadily—day after day, year after year—aware of the damage done to themselves, yet slogging on toward the finish line.  Goodbyes, diseases, physical need—all take their toll, yet all they see is the vision.

If anyone told you it was easy, they lied.

Nearing the time of His own death, the Teacher told His followers openly of the coming trouble, trouble which would devastate them personally. Then He said a strange thing.  It didn’t fit with the warning they were hearing.

I have told you about these things so you would be at peace. (John 16: 33a)

Wait!  He told them about terrible things which were in their future and then claimed the words should inspire a calm spirit?  

How does that make sense?

I sit and think.  Warnings are intended to instill fear and respect for danger, not peace.  Not calm.

But, in all that intense group of burly, seasoned men sitting around Him, I can’t imagine that at least one of them didn’t recall the storm they had been through as they crossed the sea in a fishing boat together some time before. (Mark 4:35-41)

With the lightning flashing and wind gusting, their Teacher had simply spoken three words.

Peace.  Be still. 

To the storm, He spoke those three words.  To His followers, the ones being molded and affected by hardship—five were needed.

Why are you so afraid?

In that whole group of men who sat and listened on that night to the Teacher who would be Savior, right before the world fell in on them, do you suppose any of them missed His meaning?  I doubt it.  

In this world, while you are shaping and influencing it, you will be shaped and influenced.  Don’t be terrified.  I have overcome the world. (John 16:33b)

Do we attempt to change the world in which we live?  

It will attempt to change us.  

In subtle ways, regardless of how hard we try—despite our best intentions—it will change us.

It will hurt us.  It hurt Him.

And yet, can we—just for one instant—can we consider the ultimate Influencer?

Greater.  Greater than any influence in the world.  

In us—still greater.

Change your world.  For good, change your world.

And, don’t fret.  

Peace.  Rest.

You might fasten your seatbelt though.  

The ride is likely to be a little bumpy.

 

 

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
(from The Fellowship of the Ring ~ J.R.R. Tolkien)

 

As you know, we count as blessed those who have persevered. You have heard of Job’s perseverance and have seen what the Lord finally brought about. The Lord is full of compassion and mercy.
(James 5:11 ~ NIV)

 

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2016. All Rights Reserved.

A Little Off

~ Paul Phillips ~ 6 Comments

It’s a job I do almost every day.  You’d think I know what I’m doing.  Most folks would.

Alongside the Lovely Lady, I’ve spent most of my life in this little music store. Folks bring in instruments almost daily for me to repair.  The most common request I get is to replace the strings on guitars.  

Six strings.  Take the old grungy ones off—replace them with shiny new ones.  It’s an easy job—one I could do in my sleep.  Or, so I have thought.

Today, as I finished up one such job, I learned that familiarity is not the same as expertise.  One implies comfort, the other, attentiveness.

The old, rust-covered wires had all been removed, the fingerboard cleaned and oiled, and the bright, bronze-colored strings put into place.  All that remained was to tune the guitar, a part of the job I pride myself on.

I’m good at this part!  Bringing the slack strings up to tension, I can almost always tune them to pitch, without a tuning aid of any sort, within a quarter-step of standard.  Then, with the tuning fork, completion of the job is a cinch, my sensitive ear enabling me to complete the job easily.

Do you note just the tiniest hint of pride in that last paragraph?  Perhaps there is more than a hint. Funny.  I hear the words clearly—in retrospect, that is—which a wise man spoke many centuries ago.  Pride goes before a fall.  (Proverbs 16:18)

I had completed the initial rough tuning and, with an electronic device attached to the headstock of the guitar, attempted to complete the job.  Note I said attempted.  

The results were somewhat less than stellar.

The first string settled into tune easily.  Likewise, the second.  When I got to the third string though—that’s when the problem began.  Perhaps it was before; I don’t really know.

I must have been distracted.  Or maybe, tired.  It doesn’t matter.  

I plucked the third string to listen to the pitch as I increased the tension.  Twisting on the knob, I waited to hear a change in the sound.  All that happened is it got really hard to turn the knob. 

I kept twisting, wondering as I did if the gear inside was damaged.  Suddenly, there was a loud BANG! and the knob became quite easy to turn.  The other thing that happened was the immediate stinging sensation on the back of my hand as the tip of the broken string hit it.

Drops of blood rose to the surface immediately and I put the back of my hand up to my mouth to draw away the blood and soothe the sting.

There was nothing to soothe the sting to my pride, though.  It was an amateur’s mistake.  The fingers on one hand had plucked the third string repeatedly, awaiting change, while the fingers on the other hand twisted the knob for the second string.

There is only a space of about one third of an inch between the strings.  One third of an inch.

Such a small distance.  Such a disastrous result.

Perhaps this is the place I should end this little morality tale.  I should talk about our sinful nature and how close we come to doing what is right.  I could even suggest that the slightest deviation from the right path will lead to destruction.  If we keep all the law, but err in one point, we are doomed.  (James 2:10)

guitar-806255_1280I don’t want to end the story there—mostly because that’s not where it ends.  I didn’t leave the broken string on the guitar.  I didn’t carry the offensive thing into my back room to await an ignominious fate in the distant future.  

When the customer arrived to retrieve his fine instrument moments later, he picked up a perfectly beautiful (and in-tune) guitar.  He ran his fingers across the strings and mused at the astounding depth of tone and beauty.

Every time, Paul—every time—I am amazed at the difference when the strings are changed!

With that, he was gone.  The stunning instrument will be played on a stage this weekend.  The audience will marvel.

Did you really think the story would end because one idiot got a third of an inch off?  I suppose some could write that story.  Not I.

I’m a believer in grace.  Second chances.  Broken strings which are replaced with new ones—and then replaced again—and again.

And again.

So, I’m a little off.  

That is true for any human who can read these words.  

Pain ensues.  Blood flows.

Grace happens.

The music is still not finished.

The Master Musician is making a masterpiece, a work of art.

Grace.

 

 

 

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast.  For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.
(Ephesians 2:8-10 ~ NIV) 

 

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2016. All Rights Reserved.

Not Broken

~ Paul Phillips ~ 3 Comments

The world is broken.lens-755539_1280

Broken.

A friend mentioned that his close friend died yesterday.  There was a torrent of sympathetic responses, mine among them.  Then, as the torrent subsided, he added one fact:  She had been killed by her husband—shot three times.

Broken.

In Arizona this week, a mother drowned her two-year-old twin sons and tried to drown another boy, because she thinks no one loves them—or her.  This happened the same week a court case began in California to try a mother who also drowned her son.  That woman says she acted out of love—to protect the boy from a horrible life.

Broken.

The list could go on for page after page—people of one religion killing people of other religions, folks of one race killing and torturing folks of another race,  ethnic groups with power abusing others without power—There seems no end of examples.

Closer to home, we live in a society of brokenness.  Broken families, broken friendships, broken children, broken health, broken promises, broken computer programs—even broken pencils.

All broken.

To the minutest detail, all of creation is susceptible to the brokenness inherent in every part.  The Preacher, in the Old Testament, added his endorsement when he told us that all is useless.  

Broken and useless.

I will admit it.  I am overwhelmed by the broken world in which we live.  I suspect, when you take time to consider it, you are as overwhelmed as I.

And then I realize we too are broken.  Overwhelmed and battered, as is all the world, our brokenness cries out for someone who can set things right.

And it turns out there is Someone who has already done the deed.  We simply have to put ourselves in His hands.  They are, after all, the hands of a Creator—a Potter who knows His craft, and His material. (Jeremiah 18:3,4)

He knows that we are dust.  He knows that we shatter too easily.  And, He already knows what the vessel we will one day become is to look like.

He already knows what the vessel we will one day become is to look like. Click To Tweet

From the broken shards, a thing of beauty.  Or perhaps simply, a thing of salt-potteryusefulness.  I think that might be better.

Broken, made useful.  Efficient. Filled with purpose.

In a broken world, we can serve His purpose.

May we be no longer broken.  That was the way we came to Him.  Not the condition in which we are to leave His wheel and kiln.

Useful.

In a still-broken world.

 

 

 

 

All of God’s people are ordinary people who have been made extraordinary by the purpose He has given them.
(Oswald Chambers ~ Scottish evangelist/teacher ~ 1874-1917)

 

 

 

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
(Psalm 34:18 ~ NIV)

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2015. All Rights Reserved.