Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. We tend to judge easily without knowing the person’s capabilities and talent.
I visited once my friends in Mindanao. The usual things I do is to know their condition, have some bonding and where there journey in life leading them. Me and my two religious friends made an apostolate with the people in the mountain who live in a small nipa huts.
How simple their life is, as I keenly observed and looked at every part of the small hut. The possession I only saw was a family picture, a transistor and a cracked pot, nothing more!… And of course, a happy family. The living room or shall I say the multi-purpose area where they received us warmly gave me an atmosphere of simplicity and nothingness. A feeling of contentment what life has to offer. I met Raymond, the head of the family and he prepared a noodle snack for us.
In one corner of the house, I noticed a very old acoustic guitar with three rusty strings on it. Well let me brand it a “trash” you’ll agree that there is a big difference between an old and a trash. So, imagine what I mean, an old trash guitar. I strum it with my fingers and I told Raymond that his guitar is very nice (a false compliment). And I was surprised with his answer as he told me… Yes! It is indeed a very beautiful guitar. And it can play a lot of beautiful music. My eyebrow started to heave and I responded with a sarcastic smile… really! And you know what he played in it? The music of Eraserheads “Ang Huling El Bimbo” and the music of the “Beatles”. Wow! I was amazed by that! A guitar with three rusty strings can play a lot of beautiful melodies.
Now what’s in my mind? Raymond plays God in my mind. The guitar, us…, who are wounded, broken, a trash. And the music that played beautiful melodies, are the talents, our capability and ability. What we can do, what we can share, our inner strength and divine graces. I stop a moment and reflected that time. I was moved in a deep contemplation realizing that I myself is a trash, an old guitar with three rusty strings. No one wants me, or a finger of a rock star I will not foretaste. No one notice me, what I can offer in my small way. What people easily recognize are my woundedness, my brokenness and my scars. But in the eyes of my Master, I am indeed a very beautiful guitar. And so I don’t mind them as long as the Master put His hand on me, impossible melodies and beautiful love songs I releases. Impossible it may be but ordinary as a result of His magnificent stroke.
My Master, my musician, who holds me animate all the beautiful hidden melodies in my heart that comfort and heal the soul. When the Master strikes me, I play well like an expensive brand new guitar. And everyone praises the Master how good He is, playing beautiful music in a wrecked guitar.
As for me, astonishment holds them for it is impossible for a trash like me to be the Master’s favorite instrument. What great lesson I’ve learned from a trash.