MOLD ME AND MAKE ME Mike Davis, Bloomington, IN His name was Ed Parker. Few, if any readers will know him, and I’m certain he has long since crossed the chilly Jordan of death. Nonetheless, it seems fitting to note name for the sake of honesty. Ed was a farmer/carpenter during the depression years, and like several of the area in which he lived, hard work and little pay was the “norm” of life. Not only money was scarce in those days; even times of joy for family and friends seemed fleeting. Ed was one who generously supplied a goodly portion of joyful entertainment. You see, he was the local “fiddle player” and it only required a small request to have Ed play his “fiddle.” If I recall the cause of his injury accurately, Ed was working on some carpentry project when something captured his left hand and crushed it – fingers and all! His business helpers immediately took Ed to my grandfather’s office, the local physician/surgeon in the area. Seeing the urgency of the matter, Grandfather successfully stopped the bleeding, but was very concerned about the broken bones in his fingers and hand. You see, Grandfather also enjoyed playing the “fiddle” but admired Ed’s abilities! Ed, during this painful experience, inquired if the injury would end his playing delights, and with honesty, Grandfather replied, “I just don’t know. Your finger-bones are so badly broken they will likely remain very stiff if they do heal.” As mentioned, Grandfather was a fiddle player too, and realized straight, stiff fingers would forbid additional playing of the instrument. What might he do, that would at least grant some hope and encouragement to Ed? Grandfather excused himself for a few minutes and returned with one of his fiddles. In the presence of Ed, Grandfather removed the strings and proceeded to break off the neck from the body of the fiddle. I can only imagine the horror in Ed’s face when he saw the ruin of the instrument! Without much more conversation, Grandfather placed the neck of the fiddle into the correct position of Ed’s hand, and carefully, gently, deliberately, fashioned each broken finger to a correct position on the neck, as if Ed were going to play. He then casted this assembled repair and told Ed, “Well, we’ll know in proper time.” When the proper time of healing elapsed, Ed returned as directed and Grandfather removed the casting. When he removed the neck from Ed’s hand, he asked Ed to try to move his fingers. Though stiff and awkward, Ed was successful in moving his fingers; but he could not straighten them – only “wiggle” them enough to reach from one string to another in a motion pleasing and promising to the fiddle player! In time, and with extensive therapy, Ed was able to delight his family and friends with the simple joyful playing as he had done. He never straightened his fingers, but was forever grateful Grandfather had thoughtfully molded and made them in a useful pattern enabling the continuation of such joyful music. Someone asked why I keep that old fiddle. It has no strings and there is no likelihood of returning it to a viable instrument of joyful music. The strings are missing, the body and neck remain separated by a ragged break, and even the bow is broken. On its back is a simple label placed by my Dad reading, “Ed Parker’s hand.” Because of the several times Dad related the story, the tangible evidence reminds me of the need of a broken patient, and the skill of a wise physician. That lesson alone merits retention of this item! I feel the same about the several Bibles kept in my library. Many of them belonged to preachers I’ve known well. They include their notes and markings, and a few have the pages folded for easy reference. It isn’t the book as much as the lessons granted from their former owners, that makes their value immeasurable to me. The Sacred Word within those bibles molded and shaped these preachers, as they accepted the Great Physician’s skill on their hearts and filled them with His truth. That, to me, merits the retention of these bibles within my library. Now, as I sit in the comforts of my home study, perusing the several items that make an ease of reminiscence, I admit few others may want to keep what I have kept. Yet, if nothing else, these are the precious things that have molded me into what I am and pray to remain – a servant of the Most High God, whose care for me is more exquisite than all the accomplishments these memorabilia will ever fashion! You see, I continue letting HIM mold me and make me after HIS will!
Posted on: Sun, 23 Jun 2013 02:47:21 +0000
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