Broken Guitars And Masculine Temper

I have a feeling that the readership of this blog consists mostly of men (if I'm wrong, ladies, please speak up). Since I believe that to be the case, I'm going to write briefly today about a topic near and dear to most men: our temper. I believe that, at the end of their respective ropes, men tend to get mad and women tend to cry. And neither gender knows what to do with the other one when they are exhibiting these emotions.

Now, I am a fairly easy-going fella; the phlegmatic/melancholy type who can get angry about things, but rarely blows a gasket. I want to tell about a time when I did, however. I've been thinking for a while I might write about this, but frankly I was a little ashamed to even bring it up because at this point I'm the only person on earth who knows about it. But here goes.

When my grandfather (on my mom's side) passed away, I was given his guitar and one of his harmonicas. Having his guitar was something quite profound, because I play guitar (sort of). It wasn't much - just an old "Vibratone" probably purchased from the Sears and Roebuck catalog, but it was his, and my grandpa meant the world to me. I cherished the instrument, and proudly displayed it in my home.

And then one night I lost my temper.

I don't even remember now what I was angry about, and I won't supply the gory details of my outburst, but I ended up sending something through the air that hit the guitar and knocked it off of a somewhat lofty perch (where I thought it would be safe). It came crashing down and the body split wide open and the neck partially separated from the body. . . . . . .

I'm not sure I ever felt so ashamed. I was horrified. I surveyed the damage, speechless. Eventually I wrapped the broken guitar in some cordage and put it back up where it had fallen from. I didn't know what to do. It's been sitting up there ever since and constantly reminds me of this simple truth:

"Man's anger does not bring about the righteous life God desires." James 1:20

The only thing my human anger has ever brought was shame. And destruction. And a need for repentance and repair.

Tonight when I get home, I'm going to fix Grandpa's guitar. I'm going to remove the temporary binding I affixed to it to keep it together, and I'm going to glue, clamp and clean that thing. And if my emotions then are anything like they are now as I'm writing this, I'll probably cry.

Look for an update and photos in the next couple days . . .