can’t

Can’t.

I can’t.

There it is.

No such word? Ha!

Can’t. Can’t. Can’t. Can’t. Can’t.

Somewhere right now, there’s a positive thinker reading this who would like to be able to set me straight. That person would like to convince me of the importance of speaking positive words, of thinking positive thoughts. They would explain to me that negative thoughts become self-fulfilling prophecies.

I understand the theory.

And yet, the simple truth is that can’t exists.

There are physical truths. I can’t be in two places at one time.

There are intellectual truths. As useless an exercise as it would be, I can’t calculate all the digits of pi.

There are spiritual truths. I can’t make myself into a good person. There has been one good person ever to walk this earth. I am not Him.

Numerous other truths—things which can’t be done—will come to your mind as you contemplate my half-hearted stab at providing examples here.

I do know one other truth about can’t, as well:

Frequently, the fact that a thing can’t be done today doesn’t mean that it can’t be done tomorrow.

Last night, I sat in the living room and proved this particular truth to myself. I sat in a wooden chair with my silver French horn bell resting on my leg, as the Lovely Lady played the piano to accompany me. Looking ahead in the piece we were working through, I noticed a high A-flat followed by a B-flat coming up in the notation.

This was the test.

Two months ago, I sat in that same chair and said aloud, “I can’t. I can’t play anything higher than a G on my horn.”

It was true then. In fact, the G itself was a little iffy, truth be told. Years of neglecting to practice have, sadly, impacted my ability to play the horn in the higher range expected of an advanced player. Something needed to be done.

I have played that horn many hours since that day. Purposely, I have exercised my lips to achieve a higher range—a range not accessible to me before.

But last night, I was ready to give it a shot. The A-flat and B-flat were coming up in the music. What would happen?

The A-flat was upon me. I depressed the thumb trigger and the middle valve and tightened up the muscles around my lips. Supported by my diaphragm, the air flowed through the mouthpiece, into the horn

Clear and in tune, the A-flat sounded. Perfect!

Success!

But now, the B-flat was there, too. The trigger stayed where it was and the first valve went down as the middle came up. Still the air flowed.

Disaster! No B-flat came out. A sad (and very wrong) G sounded instead. Ashamed, I continued on and finished up the piece. The Lovely Lady, sitting on the embroidered piano bench cover, looked over at me, a little smile playing on her lips.

“The A-flat was nice.”

It wasn’t enough! Stubbornly, I put the horn back up to my lips and pursing my lips, blew through the tubing. The sequence of notes was right there on the page and in my fingers. Right up to the A-flat I charged, and then on to the B-flat.

There it was! A high B-flat!

I’m not saying it was pretty. It wasn’t even that clear. But, it was a B-flat! It was.

I can!

This little lesson holds true in many aspects of our human existence.

Today we can’t. We don’t tell a lie when we admit it. It doesn’t mean that we can’t achieve the goal in the future, if we work toward it.

Can’t today doesn’t always have to be can’t tomorrow.

Three years ago, I started to ride a bicycle. Oh, I rode when I was younger. Much younger. That was for fun. When I started again, it was for fitness.

I rode my bike six miles the first time. Six miles!

I was sore for a week.

The next time I got on my bicycle, I rode two miles.

As I got stronger (and less sore), I rode eight, then ten miles. Twelve miles was a trek. I don’t want to talk about how slowly I rode.

I couldn’t ride any farther.

“Fifteen miles? I can’t go that far!”

It wasn’t a lie.

But, that too changed. These days, thirty-five mile rides aren’t all that unusual for me. I ride almost twice the speed I did back then.

I’m not looking for a pat on the back. You see, several of my friends ride what they call century rides a couple times a year. One hundred miles at a time!

I can’t. Really, I can’t. Not today anyway. Time will tell.

I may never be able to ride that distance. There may actually be a physical limitation which keeps me from doing that. And, folks who want to encourage me remind me of my friends, some of them older than I, who ride that distance regularly.

“They can do it. Surely, you can too!”

Here’s what I’ve figured out about that:

Their can’t is further down the road than mine. For today, anyway.

Does it seem that I’m being foolish? Is this much ado about nothing? French horns and bicycles—what difference do those make?

I do have a larger point. Really.

I’m tired of hearing things called truth which just aren’t. There are limitations. There are laws which don’t change. They haven’t from the beginning of time.

As nice as it sounds, the words I think I can repeated by a little train again and again will never overcome the laws of nature set into motion by the Creator.

Regardless of the printed text in a book, or the scenes in a movie made way back in the seventies, a seagull can not fly into the rock face of a cliff and just reappear on the other side.

Too depressing? Oh, don’t give up on me yet! Hope is not lost.

You see, I do know the One who made everything that can be seen out of that which could not be seen. (Romans 4:17)

Perhaps you do too.

And, silly hypothetical paradoxes aside, can’t is a word which does not apply to the Creator of all we see and don’t see.

He can.

I said earlier, when talking about spiritual truth, that I can’t make myself good. I can’t.

He can. He will. (Philippians 1:6)

It is a real word—can’t. There are many situations in which its use is warranted. And, quite a few where it is not. I’m working to learn the difference where it applies to myself. The reader might do well to study the matter, too.

But, I’m also learning, sometimes the hard way, not to tell God He can’t.

It may be just me, but it seems that the creature giving instructions to the Creator is just a trifle arrogant. And, perhaps even completely futile.

He can.

He does.

He will.

If you can’t fly then run, if you can’t run then walk, if you can’t walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.
(Martin Luther King Jr. ~ American minister/civil rights leader ~ 1929-1968)

I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.
(Philippians 4:13 ~ NSRV)

We were deep in conversation today, my friend and I, when we were interrupted. I wasn’t optimistic that the break would be that profitable.

Usually when folks bring in old violins, they leave disappointed.

I can’t count the number of times the old fiddles have been carried through my door, many of them, cradled gingerly like a precious treasure that would shatter if anyone breathed on it.

It belonged to (fill in the blank—Grandpa, Uncle John, my old neighbor…), and we’re sure it’s a Stradivarius.

It never has been. A Stradivarius, that is. Ever.

I have disillusioned more people with my appraisals of violins than any other instrument. Unfortunately, the world is full of fakes and imitations. A name written on a label is no guarantee of authenticity.

I have even learned to soften the blow by lowering expectations from the start. Today was no exception.

“It’s almost certainly not made by Stradivarius.”

It turns out I didn’t need to make it any easier of this couple. They knew exactly who the maker was. This one hadn’t only belonged to Uncle John. It had been made by him.

I should have known that their expectations were not the same as many others by the way they carried the instrument. It wasn’t even in a case and they certainly weren’t handling it with kid gloves.

They didn’t want me to tell them they could retire on the proceeds from the sale. Far from it. These folks wanted me to confirm that the violin was no more than a wall-hanger, suitable for display on a wall in their den.

Wouldn’t you know it? I was going to disappoint them, too.

I examined the instrument and was amazed at the quality. The solid spruce top was well-proportioned and carved expertly. There were no imperfections to be seen. The beautiful hand-rubbed finish glowed in the light.

Flipping the violin over, I gazed at a wonderful flamed maple back, again perfectly proportioned and without a flaw to be seen. The joints were tight and uniform, the structure sound as could be.

A well-shaped neck and scroll atop it completed the picture. It was a fine violin.

I was confused.

“Your uncle made this instrument? And, you think it’s not going to be playable? Why?”

The couple explained that the uncle had actually been a lawyer who never played a violin in his life, either before or after making the violin. He had made one violin just to prove it could be done. Then he built eleven or twelve others.

No one knew where the others were, nor if they were good instruments or not. Because he was not a musician, they assumed he had failed in proving his point, so were going to mount the violin-shaped object in a frame and save it for posterity as a piece of art.

I objected.

This was as fine an amateur-built instrument as I have ever seen. There was absolutely no reason—none whatsoever—for it not to be played.

I even took the time to tune the strings, which were horribly out of adjustment. Sliding the tilting bridge into place and tightening the pegs to the correct tension, I then found a bow and drew it over the strings.

My friend, who had been sitting quietly through the episode, exclaimed suddenly. He couldn’t help himself.

“Astounding!”

It was, too.

The voice of the instrument was exquisite. Like the maker, I don’t play the fiddle, but I know how to tune one and even my inept fumbling with the bow on the strings produced a tone unlike any that normally proceeds from most of the cheap, student instruments which come through my business.

The full-bodied tone left nothing to be desired. Nothing at all. Beautiful clear treble pitches and deep, booming bass notes emanated from the instrument instantly. Nobody in the room had any question about it.

This instrument isn’t a piece of art to be hung on a wall! In the right hands, it will make music that all listening will easily recognize as art, instead.

It is not a Stradivarius, nor is it worth a million dollars. It is a fine family heirloom which will hopefully be played by one of the maker’s descendants, proving every naysayer who ever doubted the lawyer’s ability to build a quality instrument completely wrong.

Moments before the couple walked in, my friend had asked the rhetorical question, “What am I giving to God?”

He and I are both reaching our senior years, the realization that time is growing short consuming our thoughts. An old friend died suddenly last night of a heart attack, and that weighed heavily on me as we spoke of the urgency.

In our conversation, we had talked about stepping out, not knowing what the end result would be—not even necessarily knowing what we were being asked to do. It’s as uncomfortable a thing to do as I can think of.

But, as the couple walked out of the door, cradling the instrument as if it would shatter if anyone breathed on it, we looked at each other in disbelief. Both of us smiled as the lesson of the non-musician luthier hit home.

It can’t be done!

Stick with what you know!

Really? Did you ever notice it seems that God purposely took people who had done other things and used them in ways they never thought possible? Shepherds, fishermen, tent makers, tradesmen trained for a lifetime of performing specific tasks—He gave them responsibilities which in no way resembled those earlier vocations.

To Abraham—Go to a land that I will show you. (Genesis 12:1)
To Noah—Build an ark. (Genesis 6:14)
To Moses—Go tell Pharaoh to let My people go. (Exodus 8:1)
To Peter—Upon this rock will I build my church. (Matthew 16:18)

I was reluctant to give my friend advice today. God puts inside each of us His dream, His direction. It’s a dangerous thing for another person to give counsel that contradicts that.

If that violin I looked at today is any indication, it’s also a little foolish.

Sometimes we have to follow God, even when people around us don’t understand.

My friend says he’s got things to do. Maybe it’s time for me to get moving, as well.

I wonder. I’ve never built a violin.

You?

Then the Lord said to him, “Who has made man’s mouth? Who makes him mute, or deaf, or seeing, or blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Now therefore go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall speak.”
(Exodus 4:11-12 ~ ESV)

Those who say it can’t be done are usually interrupted by others doing it.
(James A Baldwin ~ American essayist/novelist ~ 1924-1987)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

The Truth About Can’t

The Instrument