Turning a Chore Back to Joy with the Right Tool
I've been playing my Linton clarinet for 43 years, longer than I've driven a car. My father gave me a fine quality wooden instrument and it has served me well–and more than paid him back. My parents got into a lot of UCLA football games for free because I played that clarinet in the band.
The clarinet sat in its case for many years, but our current church needed a second clarinetist ten years ago and I got the part. We play once a month. The music isn't difficult so I don't have to practice, but it's generally in my "sweet spot" and I love it.
The instrument has been tweaked a couple times–new pads put on the keys because some invisible moth likes to chew them. Other than that, it's been the same instrument from the beginning. My father chose well.
Except about a year ago, I noticed I had to blow harder to keep the tone pure. By the end of two services, I felt wiped out. Nothing had changed with the clarinet. I figured the problem was me and I needed to work harder.
Six months later, I no longer could hit the lower register with confidence. Squeaking–the bane of the beginner–shanghaied me in too many services. It was embarrassing and irritating, not to mention a distraction from the music. I played tentatively, and after muddling along for a couple months, finally took the instrument to Gary to be repaired. He replaced a pad–those microscopic moths again– and my clarinet and I played beautifully–for one service.
I switched reeds, I prayed, I focused harder. I loosened my embrasure; I tightened it. Nothing improved, joy fled and a month ago I pondered giving up.
In despair, I returned to Gary. He put his mouthpiece on the instrument and played the clean, clear, warm low notes of a fine instrument. When I put my mouthpiece on, I felt humiliated all over again. I had to blow hard, my tone airy and juvenile–more like fizzing pop than aged brandy. I switched reeds, more of the same. I couldn't meet his eyes.
Gary is a tuba player.
He suggested a new mouthpiece.
Why? This one had worked fine for 43 years. It looked exactly the same, how could a piece of newer black plastic make a difference?
I told him I'd think about it.
When my twenty-something son heard the story, he bought me a new clarinet mouthpiece for Christmas. 
(Kind of looks like Darth Vader, doesn't it?)
The first time I blew into the new mouthpiece with the new reed, the tone sounded clear, strong and effortless. I nearly cried.
Playing with the right tool, I was a musician again.
We're all like my clarinet, intended for a purpose. God gifts us with talents and abilities suited to us, and us alone. He puts us in a time and place to glorify Him with our lives. But sometimes what we've done in the past–the "jobs" we've performed for God's kingdom– don't play so well in the present. We need to be tweaked.
It was hard to let go of that old mouthpiece–I'm not sure I would have done it on my own. I needed my son to hear the story, see the obvious solution, and present me with a new mouthpiece. Beautiful music, using the same old musician but with an improved tool/clarinet, was the result.
That makes me wonder if sometimes God calls me to do something in a slightly altered method and I don't want to try a different way. It worked my way in the past, why try something new? It doesn't look worn out, why should I replace it?
Because sometimes just playing the right tool can turn a chore back into a pleasure..
