Signed: Lord

Asherel looked like a pro on TV yesterday. She acted like she did this sort of thing everyday. On the other hand, I , her mother videotaped the whole thing from only 5 feet away only to discover that the video didn't tape. I have no idea why, but am quite certain it had nothing to do with being nervous. I tried very hard not to rant and rave and cry that this golden opportunity, perhaps the last opportunity of this sort to ever come around, was now ruined. I would not have a video of my girl on Television. Oh cruel, cruel Fate!

Before leaving for the TV station, I had received a Facebook message from a friend I had known 20 years ago when we lived in NY. In catching up, she reminded me of a story that I had forgotten. I am a writer because I forget so much. My written stories are my external memory pack. This incident occurred when our first born son, Anders, was very young. He was a smart, musically gifted little guy, and he was by age 4 picking up his dad's guitar and playing chords. But the adult guitar was too large for his little hands. The guitar itself was bigger than he. We would have loved to get him a half size guitar, but in those early days, money was always tight. We have pictures of him sitting on the bed with the guitar stretched across him, and an intense concentrated scowl on his face as his tiny fingers tried to reach across the span of the large guitar neck. He loved it, and he kept trying, but he was not going to have much success till he grew longer fingers.

At that same time period, we were on a morning walk. It was a garbage day, and the streets were lined with refuse. As we learned in snagging our dining room table however, one man's refuse can be another man's treasure. On this walk, with Anders humming and holding my hand, we spied a guitar box on the curb, leaning against the trash cans, obviously being sent to its final resting place at the dump. Curious, we approached, and noted inside the small box was a tiny guitar, perhaps a half size one. On the box was a single word: LORD. We pulled out the guitar, certain it must be ruined for someone to be sending it to a place where its music would be forever silenced. It was in perfect condition. I handed it to Anders. His little fingers stretched across the neck, which was just the right size for a little 4 year old boy.

When Asherel and I returned from the TV station, I was still muttering in despair over the video that didn't tape. Grumbling and moaning, I turned on the computer. There was a message in my email box. My friend Brian, one of my two favorite go-to computer gurus, had sent me 6 different choices of copies of the TV show with Asherel.
"It was a technological challenge," he wrote, "But I figured it out just in time for her segment. These are different resolutions so you can download the ones you like best."
I had not known Brian even knew Asherel was on TV, nor had I asked him to tape it. Brian works, so he had taken time and effort from his work day, or lunch hour to go to all that trouble, anticipating how much it would mean to us to have that tape.

Sometimes, God signs His gifts directly, like on the guitar box. Sometimes, He sends His love through messengers with names like Brian. One thing is certain however- He knows our needs and even our desires, and even more remarkably, will seek to secure them, sometimes when we haven't even asked.

2 Corinthians 9:15
Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!

John 15:12
My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.


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