A Guitar. And Holding Tomorrow.

August 12, 2024

The photos in this post are all old so the quality and size are inconsistent.
Hopefully, they still help to tell the story well.

Steve and I were sitting in the den recently when he picked up his guitar and started playing.

When he was done I said, “Would you give that to me for a second?”

He passed it over to me and as I held the guitar on my lap, my memories took me back. I thought of a day when I was twelve and my parents paid a hundred dollars for my first guitar. In their economy that was a huge expense but they believed in me and wanted to encourage my gift.

I remembered the first lessons I took at a family-owned music store in rural Wisconsin.  Weekly lessons were another big expense for a cash-strapped family of eight but that didn’t keep my parents from investing in me.

As I sat holding the guitar, I remembered writing my first songs on a guitar, along with my friend, Lorrie, who was also a guitarist/songwriter. As teenagers, we performed in churches and rest homes, singing for whoever would have us.

I remembered when I was sixteen and my family moved from Wisconsin to North Carolina where my sisters and I formed a band. Debbie played the drums, Ruth played the bass and I played the guitar. We traveled with my parents and did services/concerts in churches in North and South Carolina.

When I married this guy . . .

I found someone who loved music as much as I did. We have spent much of our married life making music together.

Part of the time it was with  Ruth and Debbie . . .

and part of the time it was with my sister, Debbie, and her husband, Randy.

And the rest of the time, it was just the two of us.

Over the years . . .

I switched instruments from guitar to keyboard but the guitar has always had an important place in my heart because it was the first instrument that helped me to express my musical/writing gifts.

So when Steve and I were sitting in the den that night and I asked him to hand me his guitar?

I took it. I held it. I put my hands on the strings. But I couldn’t play even one chord.

Not because I didn’t know how. I still remembered the chords, the strumming patterns, and the finger-picking styles.  I couldn’t play a note because arthritis has made it impossible for my fingers to bend enough to make a chord. And it made me sad.

As I’ve thought back to my feelings that night,  I’ve been reminded how important it is to mourn something that once was and will never be again.

I will never again pick up a guitar and accompany myself singing a song I wrote. Never. And that’s a loss.

Something else that arthritic fingers have robbed me of…

is the ability to snap my fingers.

And with that statement comes this true confession: I am inordinately jealous of people who can snap their fingers.

Do me a favor.

Stop reading.  Snap your fingers. (If you are able.)

And when you do, don’t forget to be thankful that you can do such a simple, wonderful thing.

Even though there are some things I can no longer do, I am fully aware that I can do things many other people can’t. Speak. Walk.  Drive a car. Hold a job. Write a blog.  I am fully aware of how blessed I am.

But my body is failing. It’s aging. And even if you are a child or a young adult, you are getting old just as fast as I am.

The most impressive athletes at the Olympic games . . .

won’t have those bodies or those skills forever. At some point, Simone Biles will try to do a flip and it will not be possible. Katie Ledecky will try to beat her old record in the pool and will find it impossible. Steph Curry will attempt to run  a court for hours on end and find that his strength is not what it was.

No one is immune.

The years fade fast and the decades even faster. The time will come when the youngsters in our midst will try to snap their fingers. And fail.

Or strum a chord. And fumble.

Or run a mile. And be unable.

It is the fate of all mankind. We live in marvelously constructed, created-by-God bodies but they are designed, ever so slowly, to wither and return to the earth.

I realize I’ve had more health issues than some:  Lyme disease, breast cancer, erosive osteoarthritis, and bronchiolitis obliterans. But I am far healthier than many others and my life is happy and full.

So why am I writing about this?

I’m not really sure.

Mainly I guess it’s because I picked up a guitar and happy, creative memories were marred by unhappy present realities. I wanted to write about it to process it.

And I also am writing about it because there may be some of you reading this who are mourning big and small losses and I want you to know you aren’t alone.  Life’s losses must be processed and grieved.

I don’t know where my functionality will be in five years. Or ten years. I know that I have more trouble writing these blogs now than I did a few years ago. Typing can sometimes be a challenge but I still do it because I still love it.

I can’t play the guitar like I used to. I can’t sing with the ease I used to. And no, I can no longer snap my fingers.

But as I take stock of what I still have, what I can still do, I remember that I am “fearfully and wonderfully made,” stitched together in my mother’s womb by Hands that will never grow old, Hands that will never be weakened or disfigured by disease.

Steve and I . . .

were both by our parents’ side in the hours before they passed into eternity. Their bodies were shells of what they were fifty years ago; once young, straight, and strong they had become shrunken, feeble, and frail.

But that was just their bodies.

Their spirits, the part that really counted, had become more beautiful through the years, their essence shining so clearly out of eyes looking to eternity.

I don’t know of a better way to finish this post than with this video of Steve’s dad, Ken. At his age, many things beyond just his hands were not working well. And yet, at the end of his life, he still sang of hope with shining eyes. He still sang the promise, “Because He lives, I can face tomorrow.”

(By the way, whenever Steve and I stopped singing, it was because we were crying.)

 

The heritage that has been passed to me is the reminder that I can live well, age well, and die well.

I can take the limited number of days I’ve been given and, even with arthritic hands, grasp the treasure that each one holds–all the while remembering who holds my tomorrows.

 

What about you?

Is there a particular loss (large or small) that you would like to share with your Smithellaneous friends?

Share:
38 comments so far.

38 responses to “A Guitar. And Holding Tomorrow.”

  1. Phyllis says:

    I can snap my fingers on my right hand but have never been able to on my left.
    My biggest loss is not exactly physical but the loss of both my parents in the first five months of this year. They almost made it to 75 years of marriage so I knew that when I lost one of them, the other wouldn’t be far behind. They never spent an anniversary apart as my mom passed 4 days from their 75th. Also, they never spent a birthday apart as she passed 6 days prior to hers and his was just this past Sunday. I rejoice in knowing they celebrated in heaven and I will see them again.

    • Becky says:

      Phyllis,

      That’s interesting; my sister, Debbie, also commented that she is not able to snap her fingers on her left hand. Must a thing!

      I love hearing about marriages that have lasted such an amazingly long amount of time. Alost 75 years is incredible; what stories they must have been able to tell through the years. I know you miss them greatly.

  2. LeeAnne says:

    I have Essential Tremors so I haven’t been able to complete the Christmas stocking that I started several years ago. It has sequins, embroidery and lots of intricate details. I do take medication for it which helps some but those type of things are still difficult. It’s a quality of life thing that I just have to accept.
    I can still snap my fingers though!!

    • Becky says:

      LeeAnne,

      I think you nailed it when you talked about acceptance. I heard a saying a long time ago that said, “In acceptance there is peace.” So much truth there although I know how difficult it is to not be able to do the things you love.

      In the meantime, enjoy snapping those fingers! 🙂

  3. sharynmcd says:

    I am so thankful my husband and I can still travel. First and foremost, that we can get out of bed and go work out at a gym. The amount of weights are not the same as in years past, but we are there. We continue to walk (my left knee went out on me about 1 1 /2 mo. ago, and sometimes there is pain, but I am walking – upstairs but down is a little tougher). So many of our friends have gone home or they are physically not able to do as they use to. My husband turned 81 in June and I will be 81 in about 16 days. (early Happy Birthday to Sarah). We are eternally grateful to our heavenly Father for these years He has given us. So far my osteoarthritis has not stopped me from snapping my fingers, but when pain shoots through – am reminded that it is there.

    • Becky says:

      Sharyn,

      Good for you guys, going to the gym together in your 80s. You are my heroes! PLUS you can still snap your fingers. 🙂

      And still being able to travel is a wonderful gift. One of my favorite things.

  4. chezandquiz says:

    Becky,

    Like Paige, selfishly I hope you continue your lovely posts! For many years, I have been a children’s ministry volunteer. Until I was in my mid-forties (some years ago!), I could sit on the floor with “my” kids and jump right back up. Joint problems ended that ability, at least for now. Sometimes the Lord gives us nice surprises, so who knows? 🙂 (BTW, I know my problem is a small one!)

    Angela

    • Becky says:

      Chezandquiz,

      Thank you so much for your encouraging words; it’s nice to know my blog would be missed if I stopped writing.

      Oh my. One of the things I really miss is getting up from the floor easily; I can so well relate to what you’re saying. I am the most ungraceful getter-upper ever. I know when you work with children, losing that ability is especially frustrating. By the way, thanks so much for being a kids’ volunteer for so many years; you are making a huge difference!

  5. Anonymous for today says:

    I’m crawling through uncharted waters right now – have another appt tm morning – a new to me autoimmune issue. It has shut down my salvia glands among other issues but the salvia… which I had taken for granted. Just overwhelmed right now but I do know that God can restore my salvia regardless of what the rheumatologists say. I really do know that . Salvia Meds are not working so I keep praying. I am so thankful beyond measure that God so loved the world … and that the Blessed Holy Spirit drew me to Jesus as He knocked at the door of my heart. I have been so blessed by God. So so blessed. God is so good through it all – His Holy faithfulness is steadfast

    • Becky says:

      Anonymous,

      “I’m crawling through uncharted waters right now.”

      Those words are so evocative and universal. Every person reading them can relate in one way or another because we’ve all been there on some level. Thank you for putting our feelings into words.

      Saliva glands are something none of us ever think about–they’re just there, quietly doing their thing. But when they stop working–wow. I can’t even imagine how aware you must be of that every minute.

      God is near us in the good times but extra close in the hard times. May you feel His peace today.

  6. Kaye Joyce says:

    I am so sorry that you cannot play the guitar or snap your fingers. I know how that feels. I crochet and have since I was 13. I make afghans for people at church with new babies or new homes. It makes my hands hurt so much but I keep going. I want to because I love the look on people’s faces when they open their gifts. My husband was diagnosed with Parkinson’s recently. He has shown symptoms for about a year and a half. He shuffles to walk and has a hard time getting up and down and he shakes bad some days. It is heartbreaking to him and to me but that is what our Father has decided to put in our lives so we will do the best we can. My hubby fell off of a roof four years ago and shattered his left heel on cement when he fell and has had 7 surgeries on that foot. That makes walking even harder for him on top of Parkinson’s. I pray that the good Lord will see fit to let me be able to take care of him as long as possible. We have been married 51 years and we ain’t done yet. I have had breast cancer and I have neuropathy and my eyes are not too good anymore. But… God.

    • Becky says:

      Kaye,

      So much on your plate right now; I’m sorry! A Parkinson’s diagnosis is a tough thing but it sounds like you two have some tough love to get through it together.

      What a gift you’ve been given to make gifts for people with new babies or homes. I know the blankets or afghans we’ve been gifted over the years have been so special to us. I admire that you’re keeping on with it, even with painful hands. You go!!

  7. SueEllen says:

    Thank you for sharing that precious video of Ken…To me, his eyes are the video – the way he’s looking into the camera he seems so confident. Thankfully I haven’t lost anything major, although my vision, even corrected is not what it used to be. If I try to cross-stitch or even apply eyeliner, I have to have a magnifying glass/mirror. I hope you and yours have a wonderful week!

    • Becky says:

      SueEllen,

      Yes, I also love Ken’s eyes in that video. There is still a spark there, regardless of how his body is doing.

      Those magnifying mirrors come in handy, don’t they? 🙂

  8. Robin says:

    Change is hard! There is one loss that bothers me that I feel a bit embarrassed being bothered by. 5 years ago I got sick, and the medication I have taken ever since turned my very very curly hair straight. It’s just hair, but having hair that was different from most people’s felt like part of my identity. I look in the mirror and don’t like the way I look. I lost many things when I got sick, and the hair seems like the least, but it still is painful and hard to let go of.

    • Becky says:

      Robin,

      It’s so true that our hair is a big part of our identity, especially for you when your hair was so unique. As you said, it’s not “just hair” when it’s something that made up an important part of who you are.

      Your statement, “I lost many things when I got sick” is a perfect way to describe grief. It’s knowing some things will never go back to the way they were. And that is so hard.

      Hugs to you.

  9. Patti says:

    I am almost not able to do any hand sewing, but am thankful that I can still do machine sewing.
    A friend lost his arm in an accident when he was in his 20’s. He learned to play guitar by bar chording with his foot and strumming with his one hand. If you didn’t see him, you would not know of how he was playing as it sounded so good. I tried it once out of curiosity and got a cramp in my foot.

    • Becky says:

      Patti,

      Oh my. The thought of playing chords with my foot is beyond my comprehension. What a determined and creative guy; I love it!

      Yes, it’s great when you’re a seamstress and can rely on a machine instead of your hands. I can’t sew a lick so I am in awe of anyone who can!

  10. Gage Long says:

    My broken finger can snap!!!!

    I was reading your blog just now and felt so touched by the sincerity. But that call… that call to such a simple action was so touching.

    It reminded me that I lost the ability to snap with my favorite snapping finger; my right middle that broke shortly after the wedding. I was sad right along with you.

    Then I obeyed. I snapped! For the first time since I broke it, I discovered I could snap! It’s not a perfect snap or as loud as it used to be, but I can do it, and for that I am grateful.

    I probably wouldn’t have tried again if it weren’t for what you wrote. Thank you ❤️

    • Becky says:

      Gage,

      What a great comment! Here’s to many years of happy snapping. 🙂

      Thanks for taking the time to tell us your experience.

  11. Donna says:

    Such a lovely post! I am glad you suffer through typing them for all of us to enjoy.
    With my fibromyalgia and stage 4 kidney disease, I have lost the ability to do several things I used to be able to do. But like you, I press on and do the best that I can along with being happy with things I can still do.

    • Becky says:

      Donna,

      It is a challenge sometimes to be happy with the things we can do when the list of “can’t-dos” piles up.

      I’m sorry you’re facing such serious health challenges; it’s not easy. But you and I will just keep on keeping on, won’t we? 🙂

  12. dmantik says:

    Ahhh. One of your golden, deep dive posts that I love. Although each post you do is a gift.

    So much food for the soul in here to savor. Loved seeing the pictures and enjoying the memories they conjured up. The dear video of Ken made me teary. His eyes were so bright, like he was beginning to see the eternal lands–and his Vernie–waiting there for him. “….cares all past, home at last, ever to rejoice!”

    It makes me sad with you that arthritis has stolen such valuable things from you. But your continued attitude of gratefulness and the “get it done anyway” kind of mindset that both you and Steve cultivate is something I admire and respect. I can get pretty whiny, so you’ve given me a good reminder that there’s always some “diamonds in the dust”. (A phrase I stole and appreciate from one of Joni Eareckson Tada’s books.)

    Oh, I did stop and try finger snapping as you suggested. And as it’s always been, I can snap my fingers, though not very authoritatively, with my right hand but not at all with my left. Just another of my little idiosyncrasies that makes me so, ummm, interesting! 😁

    Thanks for a beautiful post. Love you beautiful Smiths! 🥰

    Love, Deb

    • dmantik says:

      I’m sorry, I got it wrong when I said Vernie was waiting for Ken. He did the waiting for her arrival. ❤️

    • Becky says:

      Deb,

      Well, we all get a little whiny sometimes, not just you! Whining is so much fun . . . for awhile. 🙂

      I didn’t know you’ve never been able to snap the fingers on your left hand. How interesting is that?

      I felt the same way watching the video of Ken; his eyes still bright, looking to the faces of his family for his last glimpses of earthly love. Such dear moments.

      Thank you for your always encouraging words and for all the musical memories we have shared over the years. It was quite a ride–figuratively and literally.

  13. Ruth says:

    Thinking of Steve’s dad–and then I just read this in Psalm 73: 24-26
    “Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel. and afterward receive me to glory.
    Whom have I in heaven but thee?and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee.
    My flesh and my heart faileth, but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion forever.”

    I am sure this was in Ken’s heart and mind in the hours that he waited to pass from earth to heaven.
    May it be in us all– glorying in Jesus alone.
    Ruth

    • Becky says:

      Ruth,

      What a beautiful verse for all of us–those who are close to death and those who are still in the land of the.

      I love verses about God being my strength since I always need that in so many ways.

  14. Liz says:

    Becky, this post really struck a chord (no pun intended) with me! Arthritis has taken away not only my finger snapping but so much more. I used to do a great deal of counted cross stitch and embroidery but no longer can. Even something as simple as peeling potatoes or carrots is a challenge. My knife skills are gone! I’m grateful that I once could do those things. All we can do is keep moving forward!

    • Becky says:

      Liz,

      Oh, I can so relate to having trouble peeling vegetables and doing anything that takes fine motor skills. Steve knows he’s on call whenever potatoes or apples need to be peeled.

      I’m glad the post was meaningful to you and that we can be an encouragement to each other.

  15. Lisa L. from GA says:

    How beautiful and poignant! Life certainly keeps going even as those we love leave us.
    Our church has experienced several significant losses in the last year and it reminds me of how fleeting life is.
    My husband and I lost our three remaining parents between December 2018 and August 2020. It was an incredibly hard season as we didn’t get through one year before another loss was in our path. I buried both of my parents in nine months and then his mom 11 months later. We find comfort in knowing our Sarah has all of her grandparents with her in Heaven. The promise for us, as believers, is that we know we have healed bodies waiting for us in Heaven and those whom we loved here waiting for us. Getting older is hard, but knowing what’s next makes it peaceful and joyful.

    • Becky says:

      Lisa,

      That’s a lot of loss in a short amount of time. And like you said, the hardest part of it is you don’t even have time to recover from one loss until the next one comes along. It is so difficult to deal with all the emotions of so many goodbyes in family and in church.

      Definitely agree that knowing what’s next brings so much peace. Thankful for that.

  16. Debbie Taylor says:

    Thanks for sharing the video of Ken signing. It made me smile. He and Vernie had beautiful voices and I miss them!

  17. Paige Duncan says:

    Selfishly I hope you continue these posts for years. Just the other day, my 30 something year old colleague (I’m 56) noted that she dictates most of her work. Apparently there’s an accessibility setting on all computers that allows you to speak your words and the computer will record them for you. I thought that was so cool (and helpful). She has carpal tunnel and finds typing quite difficult. I don’t know how to turn on this setting but I could find out. Just wanted to share this possibility with you since I’m sure it hurts to type at times.

    Have a wonderful day!

    ~Paige

    • Becky says:

      Paige,

      Thank you for your words of encouragement; I’m glad to know you enjoy the posts!

      I’m impressed that your colleague is able to do that; it would take me some getting used to to speak words rather than type them. But what a great option to have available when typing is too painful! I’d love to know what the setting is if you find it.

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Twenty years.

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