I’ve shared this testimony many times, but not here. Last night I felt led to share it again, so here it is.
In the mid-1990s we worked in a church in Atchison KS. On a visit back home to Louisiana my old Pastor gave me two Lee Oskar harmonicas. One in the key of C and I can’t remember exactly what key the other was, I think B flat or F. Either way it soon failed, having a dead note and I was left with C. I had a box full of other brands, but this one was by far the smoothest and easiest to play. It had somehow gotten a little dent in the cover like it was dropped in rocks, so I’d recognize it anywhere. Amazingly it kept on going well past its expected lifespan.
I really like the Lee Oskar Harmonicas, better than any other brand that I’ve tried. Personal opinion, I’m in no way affiliated with them, I’m not being paid to say that, but now I exclusively play Lee Oskar Harmonicas.
I’m not really that good either, but I enjoy making a joyful noise, heavy on the noise, unto the Lord.
In 2004 I went to Baghdad Iraq to work as a contractor during Operation Iraqi Freedom. I took my harmonica with me and would carry it in my back pocket so it would be convenient. It was a comfort to me during some pretty scary times, but one day I noticed it was gone. I tore my things apart looking for it, but it wasn’t to be found. I was broken-hearted but decided to order a new one and move on.
That one was special even though it was damaged and scratched up. It had a sentimental value that couldn’t just be replaced.
Weeks later, while working night-shift, I was in bed in the early morning trying to sleep when I heard a familiar sound. It was someone blowing and drawing air through a harmonica. I quickly got dressed and went to the door to have a look. A Filipina lady was sitting on my doorstep playing my harmonica. I asked if I could see it and she handed it over. The dent, the scratches, it was, in fact, my lost harp. I asked where she found it and as I’d suspected, it had fallen from my pocket while I was walking around the site. To my great relief, she insisted that I take it back.
The camp I was in was huge. All totaled there were about 25,000 people living and working there. Thousands upon thousands of doorsteps, row after row of rooms just like mine. That she decided to sit on my porch to play it was nothing short of miraculous.
In all its flawed perfection my harmonica was back where it belonged.
God began to deal with me about this. About how I was special to Him, but I kept separating myself from His care. I kept getting lost in dark and foreign lands and how it breaks His heart when I’m away from where he wants me. How He searches for me while I’m outside His Will. That He loves to hear my voice praising and worshiping Him and desires my adoration more than anything else I can give Him. But ultimately I have to realize that I’m separated and have to call out to Him if I am to be found. Like the prodigal son, I must realize that I am lost and come home. He is waiting. I don’t have to fix me, just find my way home and call out to my Father. He’ll tell me what to do next.
God Bless You Richly
Greg