If Guitars Could Speak (part 2)

As I began in ministry, “Brooksy” was there as my tool - like Moses’ staff... (Not that Brooksy does any crazy miracles or anything... Like turning into snakes, turning water into blood and things like that).

As the years went on, and I would visit home, Dick would always be there to ask, “How You Doin’? You still playin’ that ‘ol cedar top?” With a big smile I would reply, “Yes Sir. Everyday.”


In May 2008, I saw my friend Dick again. But this time there were no witty jokes or a heartily, “How You Doin’?” This time, Dick was laying in a hospital bed. He was weak, hardly able to speak and laid on his back. Though when I saw him, he still had that big smile!

Doctors weren’t sure what caused Dick’s sickness. All they knew is that something, perhaps his meds, were causing his lungs to deteriorate, causing his oxygen levels to drop.

As I walked in and sat down beside Dick’s bed, he looked at me, looked at “Brooksy” in my hands and just grinned. I sat down and began to play and sing for my friend Dick. A played a couple of new tunes I was working on and a couple of old favorites. After a few minutes, Dick slowly raised his hand and pointed at me. With his other hand he was pulling up his oxygen mask. With all the voice and air he could muster, he whispered, “Amazing Grace.”

Per his wish, I began to sing, “Amazing grace how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me...” As I sang, Dick closed his eyes and this calming peace broke out all over his face. But then Dick did something I wasn’t prepared for. As I started into the chorus, “My chains are gone, I’ve been set free...”, Dick raised his hands to the Lord in worship.

Here is a man with no words to sing, no voice to be had, but his heart and hands were lifted in praise to the Lord. Although, he doesn’t know it, Dick taught me much about worship that day.

After I finished this song, we prayed together. With tears beginning to fill both our eyes, I said goodbye. He simply grinned and nodded as I walked out of his room.
About 2 short weeks later, my dad called to tell me, our friend, Dick, had died.


Over the years my guitar (and other instrument) collection has grown, and I still play “Brooksy” from time to time. But mostly, she hangs on the wall in my office for all who come in to see. She hangs there as a testimony. A testimony to the Grace of a loving God and a testimony of an obedient man named Dick.

Man, if that guitar could speak... I wonder if it would say, “How You Doin’?”