Sunday morning and Becky and I are sitting in our usual spot in our usual pew in the sanctuary. Just before the services begin, Ruthann who, often as not, sits in the pew behind us, taps me on the shoulder. She wants to tell me about two guitars she has. She wonders if I might be interested in checking them out sometime.
She explains that they belonged to her daughter, Marla. She and her husband Martin have been caretakers for the guitars for the last four years, ever since Marla passed. “One is a Gibson,” Ruthann adds.
“I’d love to see them,” I say. “Becky will be at church on Tuesday; I could come by then.”
“Perfect,” says Ruthann.
On Tuesday I dropped Becky off at church and then drove the short distance to Ruthann and Martin’s house. After I was welcomed in, Ruthann and I went to a larger room where two guitar cases and one dulcimer case were resting on the floor. The first guitar case held a classical-type instrument made of darkened, reddish wood. I tuned it as best I could and started noodling some chords and phrases which eventually morphed into a song. It was “Amazing Grace” as I recall.
Then I opened the second case. It was the Gibson, and I could see by the body shape and other details it was likely an older one. “Wow,” I said. “This puts me to mind of the guitar my uncle had when I was a kid. My mom took me along with my very first guitar to his house so he could tune it for me.”
I played it. Other than needing a new set of strings, it was in immaculate condition. We chatted a bit about the instruments and Marla. I met Marla in 2004 when I first attended the church and began playing in the bell choir. She was clearly prepared and obviously knew was she was doing. Marla was soft-spoken and humble, and more importantly, had a servant’s heart for any and every behind-the-scenes job that needed to be done. Knowing Ruthann for all these years, I’m thinking she inherited that quality from her mother.
On the floor near the two guitars and dulcimer were two plastic containers. One held sheet music and songbooks while the other was filled with picks, tuners, capos and other guitar-playing extras. Very organized, a personality trait that clearly was part of what made Marla Marla. Notations on the music pages helped me understand what Ruthann had said about Marla sitting playing in her room: It wasn’t about public performance, it was about making the music.
We talked while I absentmindedly strummed. At one point I said I could use the serial numbers and an internet search to establish a fair price for the instruments. Ruthann looked confused. “I don’t think you understand; Martin and I are giving these to you,” she said. “You can keep them or give them to someone who will appreciate them. We just want them to go where they will be used and cared for.”
Now I was confused. The only thing I could think at that moment was a quote I carry with me. It’s by Meister Eckhart: “If the only prayer you ever say in your life is ‘Thank You,’ it will be enough.”
“Thank You,” I said to Ruthann. I said it to Martin in the next room as I was leaving. And I said it to Marla who I am sure was there with us.
Life is about relationships. I think about my relationships with Ruthann, with Marla, with my family and fellow musicians, and with my uncle from way back when. I think about how we sometimes hold onto objects we inherit because they provide a connection, an emotional relationship with the person to whom the object belonged. And sometimes we decide, although the relationship remains, it is time to set these objects free.
All of these thoughts seemed to lead up to this moment where I am strumming on Marla’s gift of her guitar and once again learning to say, “Thank You.”
Norman Knight, a retired Clark-Pleasant Middle School teacher, writes this weekly column for the Daily Journal. Send comments to [email protected].
