IT lies on my table; a piece of wood, actually a bamboo with holes in it. I pick it up, glance at it, nothing spectacular in its looks, nothing to talk about, actually, what’s there to talk of a dirty bamboo with holes all over?
In fact other pieces of wood on my shelves have been shaped far better; some artisan, craftsman has made little decorative elephants, they look quite realistic, the chiseled statue of Lincoln looks impressive, so what if the chin is a bit long, at least honest Abe looks a lot better than my bamboo with holes!
’Twas something that belonged to grandfather: I pick it up, not Lincoln and his long chin, but the bamboo, it must be over a half a century old: I handle it carefully, and stare at dust that has gathered all over. “Clean me!” says the dirty bamboo. “You’re just a dirty piece of wood!” I say with disdain.
“You know I’m not!” says the bamboo, “You know you can make me the most beautiful piece of anything in this room. Please,” says the bamboo, “Please Bob do it for me!”
I pick up the old piece of bamboo, dust it carefully and wipe it with a wet cloth, then place it against my lips and blow.
I know I haven’t played a long time, and the first sounds could be strange to the ears, but they aren’t, my fingers move nimbly across the holes as they used to do before, my mouth exhales controlled breath and suddenly that piece of bamboo has come alive.
There is a knock at the door, my neighbour stands a little uncertainly, “I heard beautiful music from a flute!” she says.
I hold it up to her, the dirty piece of bamboo. “What beautiful sound it produces!” she says, smiles and goes back to her home.
I look at the flute, “Thank you!” it seems to be saying. “You wanted it!” I said. “You asked to be played and we made music sweet together!” I look at the flute again, then at myself in a mirror at the far end of the room, “I look old and tired!” I think to myself, “But,” and I look up and grin, “There’s a God above who wants to produce great music through me! Play me Lord!” I whisper.
It was not just my neighbours who came to me saying, “There’s something different about you Bob, you’re calm, you’re joyful, you’re smiling!” I look at that old piece of bamboo, my grandfather’s flute and we smile at each other: Both of us needed somebody to make our lives play sweet music again..!
