The guitarist

There is a girl in whom God planted a small seed. He put the seed in her heart, and over the years the seed grew, trembley and weak. She never knew the seed was there, fragile as it was. So she passed over it for other fancies. She followed bits and pieces of her heart, but those weren't the core of her. 

The seed, all the while growing, was now a small tree. It was a strong one, though it appeared slight. She noticed it now, in her quest to find who she was. She brushed past it on a number of occasions in her many searches for what she wanted. 

She considered it briefly. Then slowly went away at another fork in the road. She soon was lost on that path, and turned back to return to the beginning. 

Discouraged, she trudged to the start, unhappy at having to start all over again. As she went back, she spotted the tree. It was full grown and beautiful. 

The tree was a guitar tree, grown from her love of music, planted by the Father who knew her better than she knew herself.  When she took it up to play it, she pressed it close to her heart. It fit perfectly in her arms and in her hands. 

Soon she was fluent in its language. She knew where her finger tips must be; where they must go; how they must press. She learned to pick out her favorite melodies, and promptly after that she learned to create her own. 

When she sat down to write a song, her notebook was open wide, pen in the creased pages, she was fingering the pick, and humming a chorus, jotting a phrase, crossing it out to write better lyrics. She hoped to find the best words and the best tunes to express the innermost desires of her soul. Most of the time she could, and when she played quietly by herself in her room she sang those words in a whisper, tears in her brown eyes, knowing this was what she was made for. 

She sang for her family when she felt really confident. And the more the God-planted guitar tree in her heart grew, the more sure of herself she became. Eventually, hesitantly, for her friends she played. They all saw how perfectly the guitar fit her, how it was seemingly a part of her. And when they heard her sing and when they heard her play, their heart strings were strummed upon by the true emotion in her song. She inspired others to find the core of themselves which God planted in them too. 

She always plays the guitar from the guitar tree-a gift from the Most High-singing thanksgiving from her golden heart.