The bright, cold zippers rumbled to the side in pip squeak fashion. The brass lock clicked softly. The jaws of the navy case opened wide. Inside was my precious friend, blanketed in velvet. I blinked. I couldn't believe it had been so long since I'd last laid my eyes on her. What had it been, six months? Considering all we'd been through together, it was more than woeful neglect. It was like abusing one of your best pals. Only I had forgotten that she was my pal.
Still scarred yet lovely, I lifted out the centenarian instrument and dusted her off. Then, after tightening the sleepy bow hair and hunting around for a tuneful A, we began our duet. I stroked her, giving her everything I could manage in my rusty condition, and she sang her heart out. Her voice was pure and sweet despite my pathetic skills. I'd forgotten how much we enjoy each other's company. It made me wonder why I had abandoned my friend for so long.
It probably started with the extra dose of busyness. Running in circles trying to make graduation dresses, get presents ready, sign year books, invent skits, and write speeches isn't exactly conducive to quality time with your violin. Then I started the most hectic four weeks of my life when I took CELTA, which were immediately followed by my brother's wedding, running drama for the Family Convention, and a camp vacation in Maine. By that time, nearly four months had slipped by.
You would have thought I'd have taken my next chance to reunite with my music buddy, but I didn't. The inertia was too great. I had "too many other things" to do. It looked like a chore. It had already been so long, why should I break the absence now?
Then fear started nudging. And guilt. I tried to ignore it, but it persisted. What if someone were to ask me to play my violin for a church service during the upcoming convention? What would I say? "Uh, I can't. I haven't touched my violin for six months"? Since starting to take lessons thirteen years ago, I have never ignored my partner for so long; I wasn't sure if I could still play. And yet I hated the idea of having to turn somebody down. Wasn't that really the reason why I played vioin to begin with, so I could bless people? So that I could further the Kingdom of God by bringing Him glory through my music? And yet I had let this small talent gather dust. I had let it--and myself--get out of tune.
No more.
As my right handed glided and my left hand flew, my friend sang. And I remembered why I love my vioin so much.
I couldn't help but wonder, "Why did I wait so long?"
I think spending quality time with God is kind of like playing a violin. First, if we're not careful, we become too busy for it. Then we start to look at it as a chore. Suddenly we start prioritizing everything but the thing that really matters. And if we've gone so long ignoring our best Friend, why stop? It takes too much energy to keep up the relationship.
Yet the whole time He waits. He waits in that corner that we've relegated Him to. He's not powerless of course, but He's patient. He wants us to choose Him. He wants us to want to spend time with Him. Perhaps it takes a little conviction or a little fear to bring us to our senses. What if we get to Heaven and we can't remember when we last spent time in His presence? What a terrifying thought!
But when we do finally pull Him out of that corner, the terror is gone. The joy is infinite. The melody that our hearts make together is sweet. It's a song that nobody but the two of us can understand. It's personal. Real.
And we wonder, "Why did we wait so long?"
Let's not wait.
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