House Mouse and the Classical Guitar

I was in the kitchen this morning practicing my latest guitar creation. Wish I could figure out why I only write guitar music that I can barely play. Anyway, that’s a topic for a different time. On to our point for today. We have a few house mice that are thankfully thinning out. I heard one of the survivors scampering in the corner while I played this morning. It brought to my mind one of the dumbest things I ever tried to sell to my wife.

We had only been married a few months. I was in the room next to our bedroom playing my classical guitar. These were the days when I was really a classical guitarist — footstool, no position dots on the neck, left hand fingers perfectly perpendicular to the fretboard, and fingers as close as possible to the strings.

I was playing my heart out — pling, pling, whoosh … pling, pling, pling, whoosh. My ear only heard the plings. My brain subconsciously edited the “whoosh” sound that my fingers were making as I changed positions on the neck of the guitar. Lindy, who was half-asleep in the next room, heard the whoosh sound and yelled, “Donnie, there is a mouse in the house!”  After fifteen minutes we figured out that the mysterious whoosh was only the sound of changing positions on the neck of the guitar.

Here comes the classic donnieism — I attempted to convince Lindy that “whoosh” sounds were only the sign of my great classical guitar technique. Expert fingers are suppose to stay close to the strings and naturally that causes  the “whoosh” sound. Believe me, that was hard to sell with a straight face.

That’s so funny.  But aren’t we Pentecostals doing the same thing? We take our children to kids camp, let them romp and stomp with the church youth group, and politely lay hands on them and listen to their fervent testimony when they come back from camp. Then we watch them leave the church in droves at 21.

We lie to ourselves and say it is because we are standing for the truth, the old-fashioned way, righteousness … you fill-in the blanks. But, we are lying to ourselves. Young adults have stood for the truth, they have stood for the faith once delivered to the saints, and they have stood for righteousness. Young adults are not allergic to God. Righteous young men and young women of long ago prove it. However, our young adults are simply sick of watching us play church.

Ichabod, ichabod, the glory has departed.   We must get our anointing back. We don’t need slick, we need sanctification. We don’t need a program, we need power. We don’t need a fresh course, we need sweaty-palm Holy Ghost conviction.

In a nutshell. We need to pray through. Our kids need for us to pray through. Our country needs for us to pray through. Our churches need for us to pray through. The night is coming and we need oil in our lamps. The glimmer of the little shiny toys that replaced anointing oil years ago has no light within itself. We need the anointing oil from the hand of the Master to the light the way in the darkness.

My Lord and my God, let a revival start and let it start with me!

— Donnie Bryson

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