A Musician’s Prayer

Father, I am your instrument;
I open my case
That you might pick me up
And use me.
You test my strings;
Some of them are broken,
Some are out of tune,
But I have sufficient promise
That you start to tune me;
You remove the broken strings,
And find ones to replace them.
It is painful to be adjusted so,
But with each alteration
My sound strengthens;
The new strings awaken a sound
Long forgotten;
Some create a sound
I have never heard before,
Was unaware that I possessed.
You begin to play me
So beautifully;
In humble joy, I cry.