Whistles

One of the things that I always looked forward to as a child, and I must confess, even as an adult was when my Dad would make me a whistle in the springtime of the year. He knew just when the bark would be right on the maple trees. He would choose a tender branch, without knots, and carefully cut it, at an angle  from the main tree with his ever present jackknife.

 After he had the length that he wanted he would cut a notch at the top, then he would make a fine cut at about the middle part of the soon-to-be whistle. Next he would begin gently tapping the top part to loosen the bark. He would ever so carefully begin to twist and pull the bark until it separated from the branch. Once it was off he would set it aside and then carve a notch in the end of the branch for the mouth piece. After another cut on the wood so it would line up, he replaced the bark back onto the branch. Then the test came.... would it whistle? Of course it always did, but we had to let it dry before we could use it very much. But once it had dried you couldn't separate the bark again. It had become a new thing. It was no longer just a branch, it was now an instrument.

Oh, I loved my springtime whistles that Dad made for me. Over the years he has made me very tiny ones with high pitched whistles and longer ones with a richer sound. They will never play in an orchestra but they are every bit as precious to me as any instrument is to a musician. Dad hasn't made me a whistle in a few years but I have saved a couple of the ones from years ago. I keep them in my jewelery box where they are safe and treasured.

When I look at the whistles I still have I remember just enjoying watching him as he worked over the branch to make it into something wonderful for me to enjoy. His big hands were so skillful at coaxing the bark off the small branch. He was patient and took his time. He knew just where to make the cuts and form the instrument.

Our Heavenly Father does the same thing in our lives. He can take a life that is plain and ordinary, with no direction or purpose, and turn it into something wonderful. He patiently works on us until we become something beautiful and useful in His hands. When my Dad went to the woods to look for a branch, the only thing that separated one branch from the other was the touch of the craftsman's hands. All of the branches remained branches but one. That one became a whistle. That branch became a source of joy. It became a gift to those who received it. It became something to be treasured. Just because a loving father worked on it.

 "For you created my inmost being;
   you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
   your works are wonderful"
Psalm 139:13-14